Today something terrible happened while I was walking south of Bollington in Cheshire. It happened in the Derbyshire town of Chesterfield which is just eight miles south of Sheffield.
It happened in the maternity unit of the local hospital. And yes, you may have guessed it already. A baby died.
The father is someone I have known since he was four years old. In primary school, he was my son's best friend and he came to this house countless times to play or to eat.
The last time I saw him - which was about a month ago - I said, "I am looking forward to seeing your baby James. I hope all goes well and that you have a beautiful, healthy child in your arms. It won't be long now".
They didn't want to know the baby's gender before he or she was born. That would be a beautiful surprise as it has been for zillions of parents through the ages.
James's girlfriend went into labour on Friday afternoon. The unborn child was judged to have been growing healthily for forty weeks. But this morning, for whatever reason, it was announced that the baby had died in his/her mother's womb - fully developed and ready to live. However - it was not to be. The dreams, the imaginings and the hopes were over.
I suspect that by now the lifeless babe will have been coaxed out of the womb by medical means. It is such a shit, such a bugger, such a tragedy and I feel awful for James and the lady he usually refers to as his "missus". She was going to be a brilliant mother.
Even the early death of a foetus through miscarriage is tragic but to carry a baby full term and lose it is horrendous. I will go to sleep tonight thinking of that baby and wake thinking about him or her. James and his lady would have loved the unborn child entirely and with all their hearts. What more can I say?
R.I.P.
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/ZYvfcNm
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