Something told Camila not to go to the party… if only she’d trusted her gut
Turning around, I gasped as my beautiful bride glided down the aisle.
Dressed in a flowing white gown, she looked like an angel.
I’d fallen in love with kind, clever Camila as soon as I laid eyes on her when she was 13.
Teen sweethearts, we went to the same church and spent hours chatting in her parents’ garden.
When Camila went to college, she decided to focus on her studying and put dating on hold.
But I always held a torch for her.
Nine years later, after a break-up, we met up and went to the cinema.
When she kissed me at the end of the night, I could have burst with happiness.
From that moment, we were never apart.
And now, on our wedding day, I felt like the luckiest man alive.
Getting up to make my speech, I smiled at my wife.
‘I’ve loved you for so long,’ I beamed. ‘I’m here because I want it to continue forever.’
After our honeymoon, we settled into married life.
Camila was a teacher and a natural with kids.
We longed for a family, but we struggled to conceive.
As each year passed without a baby, we wondered if it would ever happen.
Then one morning, seven years later, Camila turned and smiled at me.
‘I dreamt that a child touched my belly last night,’ she said. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Let’s buy a test,’ I replied, excited.
After bringing the test home, Camila ran to the bathroom.
Flinging the door open, she was ecstatic.
‘It’s positive!’ she squealed.
‘I can’t believe it!’ I cried, both of us in tears.
The next day, on her birthday, a blood test at the doctor’s confirmed the happy news.
A few weeks later, she had an ultrasound scan.
'All the guests said they were healthy'
I couldn’t go inside because of COVID-19 protocols, but when she came out, she hugged me.
‘You’re going to be the father of a little princess,’ she smiled.
We were blissfully happy and chose the name Helena, in honour of Camila’s dad Helio.
We wanted to ensure everything went smoothly so we arranged private prenatal care.
After a battery of tests, the doctor came to see us.
‘You have gestational diabetes,’ he said. ‘You’re overweight and have high
blood pressure.’
Concern flashed across Camila’s face.
‘You are classed as a high-risk patient, but we’ll make sure you are treated and have a good pregnancy,’ he continued.
And thankfully, she did.
A couple of months into her pregnancy, the pandemic had worsened and cases were rising.
Worried about catching COVID-19 and putting our baby at risk, Camila was very careful and stayed at home.
Then, when she was eight months pregnant, she was contacted by a colleague.
‘They’re throwing me a surprise baby shower,’ she confided. ‘I feel uncomfortable about going, but I don’t want to let them down.’
After checking that everyone attending was well, I dropped her at the event.
‘Everyone wore masks apart from when they were eating,’ she recalled later that day. ‘Although there wasn’t much social distancing, all the guests said they were healthy.’
It had been a simple, intimate gathering with around 15 people.
A couple of days later, Camila’s phone rang.
When she hung up, she looked distressed.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
'I love you and Helena very much'
‘One of my friends from the shower has tested positive for COVID-19,’ she said.
‘Oh my God,’ I gasped.
‘It’s OK, I feel fine,’ she reassured me.
A couple of days passed, then one morning Camila woke feeling hot and clammy.
‘I’m calling the doctor,’
I insisted.
They had Camila booked in for a COVID-19 test and, to our shock, the test came back positive.
She had the virus.
‘Around a quarter of your lungs are compromised,’ the doctor explained.
‘I should never have gone to the baby shower,’ she cried.
‘Everything will be fine,’
I reassured her.
The doctor prescribed a cocktail of medication and monitored Camila closely.
She was unable to eat properly and experienced pain in her back and chest.
‘I need to go to hospital,’ she said the next evening, struggling for breath.
Before I took her there, she asked to see her parents.
‘I want to say goodbye,’ she said, sadly. ‘I don’t think I’m coming back.’
‘Please don’t say that, you’ll get through this,’ I pleaded.
But inside, I was worried sick.
After she settled at the hospital, I told Camila I’d be back to see her soon. Only, when I arrived with her clothes and belongings, I was turned away.
Desperate to know what was happening, the next day doctors told me Camila was being transferred to intensive care so they could better monitor her symptoms.
Early the next morning, I got another call.
‘A team of doctors are going to have to do a Caesarean to save the baby’s life,’ I was told.
My legs turned to jelly and I burst into tears.
Camila was just
33 weeks along — would she be OK?
I rang my family, then rushed to the hospital.
To my relief, this time I was allowed to see my wife. She was in isolation, surrounded by tubes and wires.
I was terrified, but thankful she couldn’t see my expression under my mask.
I rubbed her feet and stroked her belly, aware that she had spent days without human touch.
‘I love you and Helena very much,’ I whispered.
Suddenly, she turned to me.
‘Take care of my mum and dad for me,’ she said.
‘Stop it, Camila, you will be here to look after them,’ I replied.
The nurse ushered me out of the room and preparations for the birth began.
After around 10 minutes, the door opened.
‘Make way for the little princess,’ the nurse announced.
‘My baby girl,’ I said, tears of joy streaming down my face.
She was a tiny 4lb 4oz, but perfect in every way.
In time, the doctor came to see me.
‘Camila should get through this, just give her time,’ he said.
My heart swelled with hope.
And miraculously, Camila seemed to rally.
‘Her lungs, heart rate and blood pressure are all improving,’ the doctor said.
Meanwhile, Helena was breathing on her own in the incubator. It was such a relief.
As hours passed, I was told Camila was responding well.
Only, two days later, I was called into a small room. Dread swirled in the pit of my stomach.
‘I’m so sorry, but Camila has died,’ the doctor said, explaining that the virus had taken her life.
‘No!’ I howled, keeling over.
How could this have happened? She was only 31. She was recovering! I’d lost the love of my life.
‘She died sleeping, without pain,’ the doctor consoled.
But I couldn’t comprehend it. Camila had been too ill to even meet her daughter.
A few hours later, a crowd of friends, family and her pupils gathered outside the hospital. I’d never seen anything like it.
They kept a safe distance, but wanted to pay their respects to Camila.
At her funeral, a procession of more than 100 cars followed the hearse to the cemetery.
There, her brother Daniel sang a hymn they had liked to sing together.
Afterwards, I just wanted to see my daughter.
But she had to remain in isolation until her COVID-19 test results came back.
To my utter relief, it was negative.
Seeing Helena was the only thing that helped me through the grief. She was the double of her mum, with piercing blue eyes.
After Helena was discharged, I went to see the doctors.
‘Thank you for everything you did for Camila and my daughter,’ I said, handing them baskets of sweet treats.
Since Camila’s death, I’ve collected several photos and keepsakes, packing them away so that I can tell Helena about her special mum.
I’ve received counselling and am slowly trying to return to work, but it’s been extremely traumatic.
My heart is broken and I miss Camila every day.
But I’m determined to fulfil the dreams we had for Helena’s future and ensure she knows all about her incredible mother.
Wesmair Graciano, 36