This website is created in the memory of our precious
beautiful baby son, Oscar Ian Avery.
Oscar was born sleeping at 39 weeks and 6 days in Leeds on December 29, 2005. Oscar had a Velamentous Insertion of his umbilical cord, which in rare cases (approximately 1 in 500 babies with a VI cord) causes blood vessels in the cord to be suppressed or rupture at full term or in labour. We had no warning and VI is not routinely screened for in the UK. Oscar died suddenly and we hope peacefully.
Oscar was born at 05:50am weighing 8lbs and 9oz. Oscar has his mummy's dark brown wavy hair and his daddy's nose and chin. His mummy and daddy think he's just perfect. We thank him for every second he spent with us. We love and miss him every minute of every day.
Oscar means divine strength. After a threatened miscarriage at 14 weeks, Oscar stayed strong to be with us for the next 26 best weeks of our lives.
Sweet dreams angel. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
When someone comes into our lives
and they are quietly and too quickly gone.
They leave footprints on our hearts
and their memory stays with us forever.
Please feel free to light a candle or write a tribute for Oscar if you pass by. It's a great comfort to us reading each message left .
This little Dove of Peace flies from site to site, please help it make a line around the globe by taking it to your memorial site, or give it to someone else for their site. Thank You.
Oscar is a very special baby, conceived through IVF. His mummy and daddy had been waiting for him for many years. We loved him from the start. We will always love him.
We Thought Of You Today
We thought of you today,
But that is nothing new
We thought of you yesterday
And will tomorrow, too
We think of you in silence
And make no outward show
For what it meant to lose you
Only those who love you know
Remembering you is easy
We do it everyday
It's the heartache of losing you
That will never go away.
Bereaved Parents Wishlist
I wish Oscar hadn't died. I wish I had him back.
If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my child, I wish you knew it isn't because you have hurt me. My child's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.
Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more than ever.
I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might want to cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my child; my favourite topic of the day.
I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my child's death pains you too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, a card or note, or a real big hug.
I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over. These first years are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my child until the day I die.
I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my child and I will always grieve that he is gone.
I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or "be happy". Neither will happen for a very long time, so don't frustrate yourself.
I don't want to have a "pity party", but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.
I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is uncomfortable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.
When I say, "I'm doing okay", I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay and that I struggle daily.
I wish you knew that all the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
Your advice to "take it one day at a time" is excellent advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle an hour at a time.
Please excuse me if I seem rude, certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes to fast and I need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would let me find a quiet place to spend time alone. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my child died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before my child died and I will never be that person again.
I wish very much that you could understand~ understand my loss and grief. But... I pray daily that you will never understand.
Poem By Compassionate Friends
A Life may last for just a moment....
but memory can make that moment last forever...