3 August Last Year 2008

I have been thinking of how I would write this story for a year now. It has been rattling around in my head. I have written different versions in my mind over and over. Now I put in down on paper to get it out of my head and make peace with this part of the story.

This is the story of the day and night Harry died.

I did not write a journal entry for this day, a year ago. The last entry in my journal was for 2 August.

I did write on the 2nd about our last night with Harry in our bed. He was vomiting frequently, restless and slept fitfully. Harry alternatively cuddled with me or Henry.

Our last day with Harry started like any other day with Harry. We woke up in bed together. Harry nursed, Lydia drank her milk. We lounged together, all four of us in our bed, Lydia and Harry laughing and playing together.

Next going downstairs to start our day of tube feedings and medications. Despite his rapid deterioration, Harry rarely appeared to be in pain. We had Tylenol for him and about a week before he passed over the doctors gave us codeine to give him if he needed it. But as long as Henry or I were holding him he seemed to be content. He did not cry or fuss too much, if at all. Especially during the day, as long as we were holding him he would settle in our arms.

I don't really remember what we did that morning. I don't really remember much of the early afternoon either. Janine took Lydia for a walk and bought her a lovely pink jeweled box at a near by bookstore. Lydia loves that box, keeps it one her side table (when it isn’t in her purse) and keeps special rocks inside it that we bought at the Grand Canyon last fall. She tells me the rocks represent her and Harry and things like "love", "peace", "happiness", and "love never dies". She knows still that she got it on the day her brother died, or as we prefer to say, walked over and left his body.

Toni came over. Toni is one of Harry's special people - Toni and Harry have had a strong connection ever since the first night she held him. It was in September of 2007. The girls (Lydia and Toni's daughter Natalie) had started back at dance class at the club on Monday nights. It was one of the first Family Nights in the Gym. I remember Toni scooped up Harry at the beginning of the dance class and he slept in her arms the whole hour. Harry had Toni hooked after that one evening.

As Toni put it later, "It was like he knew he was going to have to do something very big. So from a very young age he started gathering the people around him who he knew he would and we would need to get us through what he had to do".

Harry always perked up for Toni and would reach for her when he saw her, to be held in her arms. Our wonderful neighbours Jackie and Erika also spent much of the afternoon with us. Holding Harry, when he would let them and just keep us company and offering their support. Erika suggested bringing downstairs my comfy nursing chair. If we were going to be spending time holding Harry during the night, why not have one of us sit downstairs comfortably with him and let the other sleep for a few hours upstairs? We thought it was a good idea, and moved the chair and footstool into the living room.

Maybe around three in the afternoon, Jackie and Toni suggested that Henry and I get out of the house together and go for a walk, just to have some time alone. They assured us that Harry would be fine with them for 30 min to an hour. Henry and I went for a walk down our street to Palmerston Avenue, along Palmerston to Wolseley and down to Omand's Creek and then back home. We held onto each other so tightly, each almost having trouble walking and needing the other for support.

We were so exhausted. I don't recall all of our conversation together. We were both so worried about Harry. I do remember at one point, walking along Wolseley, just past the Wolseley school, we both broke down.

"Oh God," I cried. "Harry can't die. He just can't, I can't lose my son. I can't live without my son. How can I possibly live without my son?"

Poor Henry fell to his knees on the sidewalk with a heart-wrenching cry lamented, "My son, my beautiful son, my name-sake. He can't die."

Henry is such a proud Papa. He adores his princess Lydia. At the same time, he was so incredibly proud to have such a beautiful little boy. Sometimes he was worried he was too proud. Was this a punishment of pride? I have always assured him, as he has always assured me when I stray to the victim narrative, that Harry's illness is not about punishment. It is not about something we did or did not do.

Until that moment, we had not really talked about the possibility of Harry actually dying. I suppose that might be viewed as denial and I guess in a way it was. But up until July 18th, the day we found out the chemotherapy was no longer working, we fully and completely believed that Harry was going to beat his cancer. This was barely two weeks later. We were still adjusting from the shock of the path of chemotherapy and transplant being closed to us. We still felt we were trying to figure out a different path to healing Harry. We hadn't even had a chance to process that he really might die before we were faced with his actual passing.

We hadn't had a chance to even begin to accept the inevitability of his death and to think about how we might prepare for it, before it was upon us. Maybe if we had had more time, we would have accepted palliative care and made end of life plans and thought more carefully about how we wanted to prepare for and experience Harry's passing. But we didn't have any time to do any of that.

On that Wolseley sidewalk, both of us full of fear of what might lie before us, yet we both were unwilling to give into that fear. We, instead, again decided to choose love and hope instead.

"No." We recommitted to Harry and each other. "We will not give up on our son. We will not lose hope for him. We will walk with him in honour, love, hope and faith until the very end.” We just didn't know any other way of walking this journey with Harry.

We both felt revived after our walk and ready to face another evening and night. We could do this. Harry was so strong and brave. We would be strong and brave for him too. We decided I would take a nap when we got home. Henry would take the first shift with Harry, till maybe 2:00 am. Then I would take over for the night.

We came home. Henry took Harry. I went upstairs to lie down and try to sleep. I was so exhausted. I couldn't sleep. I picked up a book I had recently bought, called "The Divine Matrix" by Gregg Braden. It is an okay book. Baden is a bit too certain of his own perspective. Something I am always a little skeptical of when we are talking about realms of space and time that we humans can only glimpse. I immediately distrust anyone who claims that they know exactly "how the world works". Nonetheless it does contain some very fascinating ideas and definitely some real kernels of truth.

I can't find the exact passage I read at that time. I had simply opened the book to where ever it fell open and started reading. But the passage was about the power of intention to heal, the power of belief. How it is possible to jump from one state to another in an instant, through the power of intention and belief. My teacher, Kimberly, often says that too often, people give up when they are 99% of the way there in manifesting what they desire. I read that passage about the power of intention, especially in terms of healing and felt a new resolve. What if we are just at the 99% with Harry? What if we just have to get through the weekend and then we will turn a corner for the better? I will not give up on him. I will not give up hope and faith. I will stay centred in the positive and believe that Harry is healed.

I slept for a while and then came downstairs at about 6:00 pm. Henry passed me Harry. I don't remember what we ate for dinner that night. Janine and Henry must have prepared supper. But I do so clearly recall sitting on the couch in the living room, holding Harry, nestled in my lap, facing out, his wee head leaning against my arms chest. Lydia danced for us in the living room. She danced for Harry, a Happy Dance. I remember feeling very much at peace and very blessed to have my two beautiful children and felt reassured that somehow, in some way everything was going to be okay. Harry was going to be okay, we were going to be okay.

I don't have any really specific memories of the next few hours, between then and 9:00 p.m. Erika had come over to keep us company for the evening. I was also waiting for a phone call from Dr. Hall in New Mexico. We had phoned and texted her about the black gooey stuff that Harry had started vomiting on Friday, and we wanted to know if she could get a reading on how he was doing and what that might mean and what we could do for him to get it out easier. Around 8:00 pm, maybe, Erika insisted that Henry go upstairs and try to nap a bit. She and Janine could take care of Harry for a few hours, to give us a break.

Later, Henry told me that his last thought just as he was drifting off to sleep was that when he woke up, either Harry would have turned a corner and been better or he would have died. I have since asked Henry, “And you went to sleep? You didn’t think to get up at that point? With that last thought?” But, he explained, it was one of those fleeting thoughts when you are not really conscious, so you can’t really respond to it.

The only thing I do clearly, clearly recall of this time in the early evening is nursing my baby Harry for the very last time. It was just before I took Lydia upstairs to get ready for bed. I held him in my arms. As I had done hundreds if not thousands of times since the day he was born. At 16 months the two of us were old pros at it. He easily nuzzled in and latched on. He didn't drink much, but enough to comfort both of us. Harry often held one of my hands when he nursed and I am sure he did that last time. And I am sure I stroked his head and his impossibly soft cheek and wee bald head.

I also clearly recall the look in his eyes when he was finished and I sat him up. It didn't fully register at the time. But I remember the thought flashing through my mind, "Harry's eyes look unfocused". His huge blue eyes. Once rimmed with the longest and thickest of lashes, now stripped by chemotherapy of both eyebrows and eyelashes. But still, always, Harry's huge, huge beautiful blue eyes. But they were unfocused. I know now, already starting to focus on the other side of the veil.

Somewhere around 8:00 p.m. I passed Harry to Janine for the first and last time. Janine had yet to hold him. Janine has two little girls, (with a third on the way, due in November!) and is well versed in soothing babies. Janine held Harry on the couch and I took Lydia up to bed.

The whole time Harry was sick we had never, ever once told Lydia that Harry might die. She knew he was very sick. She had accepted his chemotherapy and hospital visits with remarkable ease, as just a part of life. A wonderful colleague of my brother-in-laws had sent her two books when Harry was first diagnosed, "When Molly Was in the Hospital" and "What About Me? When Brothers and Sisters are in the Hospital". From the very first night she received them, these two books became Lydia’s favourite nighttime stories. We ready them several nights a week, if not every night some weeks. Lydia could relate to the kids in the stories. Molly had a feeding tube just like Harry. She had surgery and a bandage and scar on her tummy just like Harry. The IV pole and the various pumps hanging there looked just like Harry’s. In the other story, a big sister Laura is frustrated by how much time her parents are spending in hospital with her little brother, Tom. Tom is very sick and needs to be in hospital for a lot of treatments. I think these stories helped Lydia process her experience with Harry so deeply. She could relate to so many elements of the stories and we would always point out what was just like her and Harry.

But neither of the kids in those stories, Molly and Tom, neither of them dies. I could not bring myself to tell Lydia that Harry might die. I didn’t see the point, honestly, of worrying her about it. Until July 18th, as far as we were concerned, it wasn’t going to happen, so there was nothing to prepare her for. After July 18th we felt it was still too much for such a young child to comprehend. Not yet imminent enough to worry her.

But that night, preparing Lydia for bed, I realized that the time had come and that I had to prepare her for the possibility that Harry might actually die. The whole time I prepared her for bed, pee try, face washing, tooth brushing, I tried to find the words to tell her, a wee 4 ½ year old girl, to tell her that her beloved little brother, her Hares-y-Bares-y-Boinga-Boy, was going to die.

It was just around 9:00 pm. We had just settled into Lydia’s bed, the covers pulled up, Lydia snuggling with her lovie and blankie and milk in hand. We had started to read a story.

Now, here, everything happened so quickly, that my timing in my memory is a bit off.

Dr. Hall must have called. I was expecting her to call back, because I had brought the phone up to Lydia’s room.

Janine came upstairs to Lydia’s room; her green capris covered in the black vomit, and reported, “Harry has just had a massive vomit. He was sleeping peacefully in my lap and he just sort of rolled over, and not so much vomited as sighed a big sigh and then released a huge amount of black fluid.”

Janine continued, “I gave him to Erika to hold. I’m just going to change my pants”.

Just then the phone rang. It was Dr. Hall. I didn’t want to take the call in Lydia’s room. So I asked Dr. Hall to give me a minute to go downstairs. I promised Lydia I would return as soon as I was finished, that I just had to take this call from the Doctor. One of the few times in her life, Lydia agreed with me without a fuss, and snuggled in her bed with her milk.

I went downstairs and sat down at my desk in the dining room. Dr. Hall was starting to tell me what she was finding. But then Erika approached me, holding Harry. She was holding him upright in her arms. Her one hand was under his bum and her other across his back. Harry’s head was resting on Erika’s shoulder and his arms were up on her shoulders too.

Harry was wearing his blue track pants and one of his giraffe diaper shirts.

As she approached me Erika said, very calmly, “Harry, are you breathing?”

My heart stopped. I looked up at Erika standing next to me with Harry in her arms. My eyes went to his back right away and I knew in an instant he was not breathing. Erika asked again, “Harry, are you breathing?”

Poor Dr. Hall. I didn’t say anything to her. I just dropped the phone on the floor. Stood up and took Harry from Erika’s arms.

I held him lying down in my arms. My left arm supporting his head, my right arm under his legs.

I could feel he wasn’t breathing. I think I knew in that instant he was already gone. But I could not believe it.

I thought to myself, “No, No, No, Harry, not yet, you can’t leave yet. We’re not ready. Oh God, Harry not yet. Please don’t go.” And in another part of my brain, a more distant observer said, “Oh, so is this how it goes? Is this how it ends then?”

I ran to the stairs and called up to Henry, “Henry, come quickly Harry is not breathing.” Erika was running right with me.

Janine suddenly appeared downstairs. She grabbed the phone. “Should I call 911?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, call 911,” I cried. “But wait, also call Cathy, the paediatric oncology nurse. She said to call her anytime the minute anything went wrong. Call Cathy, her number is in the front of Harry’s cancer binder.”

Janine had dialed 911 and handed the phone to Erika. Janine grabbed her cell phone and called Cathy. I recall Erica speaking calmly to the 911 Operator. We needed an ambulance. A baby had stopped breathing. To what address. Erika ran outside to check our house number. I stood in the living room and held Harry.

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO” ran screaming through my mind. “No Harry, not tonight, you can’t go tonight.”

Next was the most haunting moment of the whole night for me. Lydia came downstairs into the living room, in her nightgown, clutching her Lovie. She saw me holding Harry limp in my arms. She looked up at me with her big green trusting eyes, from her round cherub face and she asked me, “Mummy, what is wrong with Harry?”

I didn’t answer her. Or maybe I told her, “Harry has stopped breathing.” I am not sure. Just then Henry came downstairs. I had been standing just inside the living room, just inside the French Doors, Lydia was on my left. Erika came back into the living room, from the front hall via the dining room.

“We need to do CPR. Can you do it Cynthia?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Put Harry down on the ground.”

I put Harry down on his little change mat. I lay down my dear wee fragile son on a mat on the end of the living room carpet just near the dining room, his head near the big chair, his feet facing the couch.

“Lydia, go to Daddy right now.” I said to Lydia.

At this moment, Henry tells me. He held onto Harry’s feet, and they were already cold. He could have only stopped breathing for no more than 2 minutes at this point, but he had so cleanly jumped that his feet were already cold. In that moment, Henry said he knew that Harry was gone, even if he could not yet believe it.

Henry sat across from me, holding Lydia. Erika sat at Harry’s feet holding the phone and relaying the instructions from the 911 Operator.

As I have had to do so many times during Harry’s illness. I was instantly in that “mother zone” that place where a mother goes when her child needs her and she just has to completely focus and not think of anything but what they need.

“Sweep his mouth with two fingers for foreign objects”. Check. No foreign objects.

“Put a hand under his neck, with the other hand gently tip back his forehead. Listen for breathing”

Nothing.

“Pinch his nose. Make a perfect seal of your mouth over his mouth. Blow in three quick strong breathes.”

Harry’s chest rose with my breathe, as it fell more of the black liquid came out of his mouth. I turned his head sideways to let it drain out.

I think Lydia asked Henry at this time, “What is Mummy doing to Harry?”

Janine intervened, “Lydia do you want to go upstairs and read a story?”

I don’t know for how long I did CPR, not long, a minute or two maybe.

“Breathe, Harry, please breathe,” I pleaded in my mind.

But another part of my mind knew. He is already gone. But we had to go through the motions. What if he wasn’t ready? What if he wanted to come back? We had to give him a chance.

We heard the ambulance coming down the street.

The paramedic team came into the living room. They took over. They moved Harry to the middle of the living room. Machines, suddenly the living room was filled with 3 or 4 paramedics and a rash of machines.

Suddenly, Jackie was there too. Jackie is a maternity ward nurse. She knelt down to speak with the paramedics. Henry and I stood in the doorway between the dining room and living room, looking on, at our wee son, surrounded by paramedics and machines.

“We can’t get a pulse. Should we intubate him?” the main paramedic, a woman, working at Harry’s head, asked as she started to tape a tube onto his cheek to start the intubation.

A man approached Henry and I. He was the chief or head, or who ever was in charge.

“Do you have a DNR?” he wanted to know. If we did not have a DNR, because we had called the ambulance, they could not stop. They had to intubate him and transfer him to the hospital.

Henry and I could barely comprehend what they were saying.

Jackie, so calm, trying to mediate for us. “Was that necessary? Did we have to transfer him? Was that what we wanted?”

This is where I should have pulled out the letter. But I forgot completely about the letter.

“A DNR? No, we have not yet had time to sign a DNR.”

I took one look at Harry. Right up until that moment, I still though that somehow he was going to make it. I expected the paramedics to revive him. For him to have a big vomit, get all of the black stuff out, and for him to sit up and just smile at me and be okay.

But looking at him on the floor. I knew. It wasn’t going to happen that way.

And in that instant, we had to make the hardest decision of our lives. But also in that instant, seeing Harry lying on the living room floor. The decision was simple.

“No, no please, no more,” I said as we moved over to the paramedics. “Please stop. Don’t hurt him. Please stop.”

Henry pleaded too, “Please stop, we don’t want to intubate him”.

The paramedic working on Harry looked up at her boss for direction.

Suddenly, Dr. Israels appeared in the doorway to the living room.

“I’m Dr. Israels, this boy’s oncologist. He is terminally ill with cancer and expected to die. You can stop.”

And they stopped.

I collapsed under the dining room table. In tears, convulsing, screaming.

No, No, No, No, No Not Harry. No. Oh Dear God. He can’t be gone. NO.

But he was.

Very quickly the paramedics packed up and left. Someone helped me up.

Just as suddenly, Cathy was there too. We knelt on the living room floor beside Harry. Someone had brought a hospital bed pad from upstairs. Cathy placed Harry in the pad and picked him up and put him in my arms.

“Can we please take his feeding tube out now?” I asked.

I had always dreamed of the day it would come out, when he was all-better and he didn’t need it any more and he could eat once again on his own. Not like this.

We very gently removed the tape from his cheek for the last time and pulled the feeding tube out.

We moved up to the couch, Henry sitting on my right, and held Harry.

Lydia came downstairs.

“Mummy, what has happened to Harry?”

I pulled Lydia onto the couch beside me, on my left side. I cradled her in my arms and said,

“Lydia, my love, I am so sorry. Harry has died. His wee body just got too sick. The cancer was too much for him. He got too sick and his soul couldn’t stay in his body any longer. So he just jumped, Lydia. He just jumped right out of his body and into heaven. Remember how I told you, our soul never dies, it just leaves our body? Harry’s soul has left his body, Lydia. But don’t worry. My Daddy, your Opa, he was right in heaven waiting to catch Harry. And Harry jumped right into Opa’s arms in Heaven. And Opa is going to take good care of Harry in heaven now.”

I think that is what I said to Lydia. Or something very near to that. A police officer came into the house and gave Lydia a teddy bear. He said he was sorry about her little brother and hoped the bear would help comfort her.

Lydia just seemed to accept my explanation at that time and not ask more. We sat on the couch and just held Harry.

I suggested someone phone Toni. She would want to know and come right away. Somewhere around here Henry called his sister Sandy to tell her. Sandy said she would call Kathleen and Gareth at the lake and tell Henry’s parents, Dave and Grace, in the morning.

Cathy asked us if we had any thoughts on a funeral home. We should call someone soon to come and take Harry. We had no idea. There was a local funeral home just on Portage. We said okay, we liked the idea of someone from the neighbourhood. But we were not ready to call just yet.

“Would you like to give Harry a bath?” Cathy suggested.

“Yes,” Henry and I replied. “We would very much like to do that.”

We carried Harry upstairs and to the bathroom. Cathy helped run a bath and we undressed Harry for the last time on the bathroom floor. His track pants, his giraffe diaper shirt, his diaper. We threw them in the garbage. I think it was just before we bathed him (or maybe it was earlier downstairs?) that Cathy cut off the two lumens that came out of his chest and tied the end off in a knot.

Gently, we lifted Harry into the tub and Henry and I washed him. We cleaned his perfect little hands and feet. We rubbed his perfect head. We washed his tummy and back. Lydia came upstairs to see what we were doing.

“What are you doing Mummy?” she asked.

“We’re giving Harry his last bath. Would you like to help?” I asked her.

“Yes.” Lydia said. And she reached into the tub and gently rubbed some soap on Harry’s tummy and rinsed it off. Then went back downstairs.

We carefully lifted Harry out of the tub for the last time and laid him out on the bathroom floor on his blue elephant bath towel.

Henry wrapped him up in it the same way he had done so many nights before and carried Harry to our bed in our room.

“Do you have any cream that you usually put on Harry’s skin?” Cathy asked.

“Yes, we always use the Aveeno baby cream,” I said. “It is in his room.”

Cathy went to get it. We gently rubbed Harry dry then uncovered Harry’s wee body and lovingly for the last time, rubbed him all over with his baby cream.

Lydia again appeared in our room.

“What are you doing Mummy?”

“We’re putting cream on Harry for the last time. Would you like to help?”

“Yes.”

So Lydia climbed up on our bed, took a dollop of cream and helped rub it on Harry’s arms and legs. When she felt finished she went back downstairs.

“Do you have an outfit you want to put Harry in?” Cathy asked.

Ah, the outfit. “Yes, we have a new outfit. My sister just sent it from France for his birthday. It is downstairs on the dining room table,” I sighed. My thoughts from a few days ago flashing through my mind.

Cathy got the outfit and we dressed Harry, for the last time, first in a diaper, then in his lovely orange shirt, then in his blue overalls.

We laid our favourite orange baby blanket on our bed and laid Harry out on our bed.

Janine came upstairs. “Would you mind? I have brought Holy Water from my church (or maybe it was Holy Oil?) could I anoint Harry?

“Oh Janine, that would be lovely”. So Janine made the sign of the cross with the holy water on Harry’s forehead and said a blessing and prayer for him.

Suddenly, Sara and Matt were there with us in our room. My memories are really rather disjoint. As people just seemed to appear, I don’t remember them coming, or me greeting them or anything. Suddenly they are there and helping in some way.

“Do you want to take any pictures with Harry?” Sara asked.

“Yes, oh yes, that is a good idea,” I agreed.

Sara got our camera and we took some pictures of Harry. I took a picture of his perfect ear, with his little brown beauty mark, so I would remember it always. We took a picture of his hand in my hand. My hands holding his feet. Henry giving Harry a kiss on his forehead. Me giving Harry a kiss on his forehead. And then Harry, our wee Harry, laid out on our bed.

Another idea popped into my head. “Can we make copies of his hand prints and foot prints?” “Jodi bought me a little kit in the hospital, but I never yet used it. It is in the drawers that we always take to the hospital for chemotherapy, in the front hall. In the bottom drawer I think.”

“Paper, I have scrapbooking paper in the office”. We found the paper and selected four orange sheets.

Harry’s hands were starting to stiffen by now. We had to uncurl his fingers to spread on the paint, but we managed to make two good hand prints and two good foot prints as well.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

Henry tells me that Sandy and Gary came that night too, and Sandy had called Susan and Russell from church, and Susan had come. But it is funny. I am so sorry, but I don’t recall that at all.

Toni and Guy had arrived sometime while we were upstairs. Toni had cuddled Lydia on the couch until she fell asleep and had carried her up to her bed, somewhere between 11 pm and midnight.

Toni came up to the room. Toni’s brother Rick is an undertaker and runs a crematorium. She offered to call him and see if we could use his services. That sounded much better to us, someone to whom we had a direct connection.

At some point in the night, Erika told us something we were so grateful to know, “Don’t let them take Harry to the funeral home before you are ready. You can keep him at home as long as you want. There is not a set time. Don’t let them take him away before you feel ready. Keep him here for three, four days if you want to. It is all up to you.”

That gave us such relief. We were not ready to yet say good-bye to Harry, we needed to keep him with us a little longer still.

We sat in our room with Harry. Different people came up to sit with us and see Harry. I will have to get Toni to write of her experience in the room with Harry. I cannot do justice to her experience in that moment.

Somewhere around one in the morning, I realized it was now 8:00 am in Europe. So I decided to call my sisters and let them know the news.

I sat on the front steps, outside under the stars, and dialed Sarah’s in-laws number in the south of France. I think Michel, Christophe’s Dad answered the phone. I asked to speak to Sarah. Just a few days ago I had sat on the same front step and talked to Sarah and cried to her over the phone, “Oh Sarah, Harry is so sick and weak, but he can’t die. I can’t live without my son. How can I live without my son?”

But now, here I sat, and I had to call my sister and tell her that my son had indeed died and I had to figure out how to live without my son.

Sarah came to the phone, I said to her, “Sarah, I am so sorry to have to tell you, Harry died here at home, at about 9:00 pm this evening.”

“Oh no. Oh Cyn. Oh no. Oh I am so sorry.” I don’t remember what else I said.

Next I called Cecelia in Poland, and said a similar thing, “Cecelia, Harry has died.”

I waited until the morning to call my Mum in Guelph.

I went back inside. It must have been about 2:00 am by now. Everyone was tired. We said good night and Toni & Guy, Sandy and Gary, Erika and Jackie all went home. We had said goodbye and thank you to Dr. Israels earlier and Cathy had left too by this point.

Henry and I locked up the house, turned off the lights and went up stairs to bed.

We placed Harry in bed between us. We got ready for bed and then we crawled into bed, for the very last time, with our wee Harry between us. Harry’s hands were soft again by this point. And so I took his wee hand in mine and I held his hand and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. I held his hand in mine all night long.




3 August 2009

So much has happened in the past year. That night seems like such a long time ago. Yet it is still so raw as well. It is very late on the 4th, well it is now the 5th. But I could not go to bed before I got this story down, both of last year and last evening.

To mark Harry's First Angel Day, we held a Cherokee Ceremony of Remembrance at our house, with family and a few close friends. My teacher Kimberly gave me the ceremony. We planted a Pin Cherry Tree in our front yard in honour of Harry. We made a chain of coloured ribbon and each of us shared a gift Harry gave us during his time with us. And Lydia planted a Bleeding Heart, because, in her words, "we should plant a bleeding heart, because we hold Harry in our hearts and it will bloom every year and remind us of him". How does a five-year old know to say and think such profound things?

I know with all certainty, that on that day one year ago, Harry did not die. Yes, his physical body stopped working. But that which makes Harry, Harry, his soul if you want to call it that, that did not die. That never dies. Harry simply left his body and walked back over to the other side. I can't claim to know where the other side is, or what happens to us there. But I know Harry sends us signs from there to let us know that he is okay. He sent us another rainbow last night.

During our ceremony of remembrance, about mid-way through the ceremony about 7:30 CST, again, even though it did not rain all day and was clear and sunny most of the day. The sky started to cloud over about 6:30, in the southeast. I watched the clouds gather and start to swirl as I spoke and at 7:30, just as Henry was about to share his gift from Harry, another beautiful rainbow appeared in the sky - in the exact same spot where we had seen a rainbow after Harry had passed over. I know that was my Harry, letting us know, again, that he is still with us, that he has never really left us, that he is okay, and that he loves us always.

I didn't know how I would feel today. But I can honestly say I feel at peace. I will never stop missing my beautiful Prince Harry. I will love him and hold him in my heart always. But I know his life was exactly what it was meant to be and while his physical body may be ashes and dust, that which made him Harry lives on.

Mummy loves you dear sweet Prince Harry. Happy First Angel Day.

Love Mummy Cynthia

Finally, some pictures Uncle Gareth took of the Ceremony yesterday.