"Mr Newbold, we can do no more, we have to pronounce your wife dead."
In a kind of devastated daze, I immediately went to find my son.
There was nothing more I could do for my wife, but there was a seven-month-old baby boy who was going to need me, now more than ever.
Thankfully he was oblivious to what was going on around him, and the horrendous loss that had just befallen him.
So in truth, in the immediate moments after his mum's death he was there more for me, than me for him.
Sure that balance soon changed, as I never returned to full-time work, and instead threw myself into taking care of him, and doing all the things we had planned that his stay-at-home mum would have done with him.
To this day, while I would change what happened in an instant, I will forever be thankful for this time we had together, and how close we are now.
I revelled in the stay-at-home dad role. We had a routine, our regular playgroups, swim sessions, soft play visits, music groups, treks to farms and bigger days out at safari parks, zoos and museums.
Max is now five, and in his second year of school, I love taking him there and picking him up, but I love it more when he's at home for holidays.
And I still consider it a privilege and honour to be his dad.
Ian starts his regular Parentdish column on bringing up his son as a single dad next week.
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