count to ten; a.i

NINE

NINE

I was nineteen when we first met, and twenty-nine when you lay in that hospital bed.

So many things happened between those two moments that I can barely remember them anymore. But there's one scene that keeps playing over in my mind.

It was during the ninth year, and you were only getting worse and worse. I had to take up a second job as a taxi driver just to support us, but at least I got to drive people to your hospital sometimes,

and then I'd be reassured by the fact that you were just a few metres away from me.

Dying, slowly.

Less reassurance.

One day, sometime in January, I took Amelia to see you.

She was four by that time, and I remember carrying our son in my arms and talking to the receptionist at the desk.

Amelia ran straight to your room - she knew where it was.

When I came in, I heard you telling her a story and I started to cry. When I walked in, and you saw me, your face lit up.

And then when you noticed our son, our baby boy in my arms for the first time...

You started crying too. 

'What's his name?' You'd asked.

'Hugo Ashton Irwin,' I'd said, sniffing.

You held him in your arms, your yellow arms, and sung him to sleep.

That moment.

That single moment. That's what I'll remember for the rest of my life.

You were singing our favourite song.

'Look at the stars, see how they shine for you,' You sang.

'In everything you do,' Amelia joined in. Her voice was like yours - angelic, and I dropped down onto a chair, sobbing.

I wanted to live these moments in my home, not a hospital.

'Mummy, sing with us!' Amelia said, tugging at my arm as I sniffed into my palms.

'And it was all Yellow,'

So we sat there, all four of us, singing coldplay songs and crying.

Then, as little Hugo smiled at your kiss,  I couldn't take it any more. This life.

I knew you were going to die.

And I wished with all my heart that we could switch places.