Neonatal loss: When Kariss’s baby boy Kobe-James was born at 22 weeks and three days, he was taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and suddenly her world became machines, wires, alarms, oxygen and doctors. Kariss didn’t understand how someone so tiny could possibly be expected to fight so hard, but Kobe-James did as she stayed by his side. Then came the conversation no mummy should ever have to have when doctors asked Kariss if she wanted to turn off Kobe-James’s oxygen. Kariss knew how much she wanted her baby boy to stay but she also didn’t want him to suffer anymore so she made the most heartbreaking decision of her life and said yes. She held her beautiful boy in her arms and sang to him as he went to sleep. 

Please be aware that Kariss has chosen to share pictures of her son Kobe-James with her story. 

Kobe-James 🤍 My beautiful boy, my little warrior. 

There are parts of my story with you that I still struggle to say out loud because saying them makes it real, and losing you is something I don’t think I will ever truly learn how to live with. 

You were my baby. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I loved you. Before I knew what you looked like, before I knew your little personality, before I ever held you in my arms, you were already my whole world. I had dreams for you. I imagined bringing you home. I imagined watching you grow. I imagined the silly things you would do, the things you would love, the person you would become. 

I never imagined that my pregnancy would turn into the biggest fight of our lives. At 21 weeks and three days, I started bleeding. I remember the fear. I remember wondering if something was terribly wrong. I was still so early in my pregnancy, and all I could think about was keeping you inside me for as long as possible. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to give you every chance. 

I even went on holiday to see family, trying to carry on with life while knowing that something wasn’t right. 

Then, at just 22 weeks and three days, you decided you couldn’t wait any longer. You came into the world. My tiny little boy, far too early. You were so unbelievably small, but somehow, you had the biggest fight inside you. You were taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and suddenly my world became machines, wires, alarms, oxygen and doctors. 

I didn’t understand how someone so tiny could possibly be expected to fight so hard, but you did. You fought. Your oxygen levels went up and down. Your tiny lungs were struggling. There were complications, and there were moments where we didn’t know what was going to happen. 

But I stayed. I watched you. I talked to you. I loved you. I wanted you to know that your mummy was there. 

I would have swapped places with you in a heartbeat if I could. I would have taken every bit of pain from your tiny body and carried it myself. 

And then came the conversation no mummy should ever have to have. The doctors asked me if I wanted to turn off your oxygen. I will never forget that moment. How can a mother possibly be asked something like that? How do you make a decision when the person you’re deciding for is your baby? 

My baby. I knew you had fought so hard. I knew how much you had struggled, and I knew how much I wanted you to stay. But I also knew I didn’t want you to suffer anymore so I made the most heartbreaking decision of my life. I said yes, and I held you. 

I held my beautiful boy in my arms and as your mummy I tried to make your final moments as peaceful and full of love as possible. I sang our song to you while I held you close. I wanted the last thing you heard to be my voice. I wanted you to feel my arms around you. I wanted you to know that you weren’t alone, that you were with your mummy. And I sang to you while you went to sleep. That song has never been the same since. I can’t hear it now without tears filling my eyes. Sometimes it comes on unexpectedly, and for a moment I’m right back there, back in that room, back holding you, back knowing that I was saying goodbye to my baby. Everyone else hears a song. I hear the last moments I had with you. I feel the weight of you in my arms, and I remember having to let you go. That is something I don’t think I will ever get over. 

People might say time heals, but some losses don’t heal. You just learn how to carry them, and I carry you every single day. 

I carry the memories. I carry the questions. I carry the “what ifs”. I carry the life we should have had. 

I think about who you would be now. I wonder what you would look like. I wonder what your laugh would sound like. I wonder if you would be cheeky. I wonder what your favourite things would be. I wonder what it would have felt like to watch you grow. 

And sometimes, if I’m completely honest, it breaks me, because you should be here. You should have had a chance. You should have come home. You should have grown up, but although your life was painfully short, you were here. You were my son. You were loved. You were wanted. You mattered. 

And you still matter. You weren’t just a tiny baby in a hospital bed. You were Kobe-James. My little boy. My little warrior. My reason to keep remembering. 

I wish I could have protected you from everything. I wish I could have kept you inside me for longer, and I wish I could have had years with you instead of moments. 

But if love could have kept you alive, you would have lived forever, because I loved you then. I love you now and I will love you until my very last breath, so sleep peacefully, my beautiful Kobe-James. 

Mummy held you. Mummy sang to you. Mummy loved you, and even though I had to let you go, I will never let you be forgotten. 

Forever my baby. Forever my son. Forever my little warrior. Forever in my heart. 🤍 Kobe-James 🤍 

And that song? It will always belong to you.