Deciding whether I should write about this subject deemed to be much harder than actually doing it. Once I started, the words kept flowing. The memory still fresh in my head, I couldn’t stop myself.
As much as I want to share my story, to make it real, to accept the fact I can’t change the past, to help others. I still feel broken, fragile and hurt. It’s so raw in my mind, in my heart, everyday that passes brings another spiralling emotion into the mix.
I want my words to mean something and resonate with others who have also felt the grief I feel inside. How do you determine what level of grief you should be experiencing? I didn’t feel my baby, I never got to meet them and I didn’t hear their little heart beating. I knew you existed, the sickness, the fatigue and all that comes with that first trimester. Does that mean that I should feel less than? Well that’s exactly what happened when a lady (health professional) said to me “it’s such a shame but at least it was early days”. There’s no doubt in my mind I believe it was meant as harmless. It affected me still.
You should know that when I found out we were pregnant again. I wasn’t happy. Not straight away anyway. I felt confused. I couldn’t excuse the thoughts, how would we cope? I hadn’t even considered the wonders of siblings meeting for the first time or holding a new born baby in my arms again. The doom of money and space were there taking over. I felt awful. I didn’t feel ready. I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t be a mother of two.
Meanwhile, I had my first baby blossoming into a little girl before my eyes and I was carelessly missing each minute wallowing. I knew I had to be there for her, to guide her and make sure she was always happy. It was time to let go. I will always be sad when I think of the little one we never got to meet but I know that when the time comes. We will be ready. And the little girl my daughter has now grown up to become, well she will be the best big sister in the world. Our family will be complete.