It’s october 15th – it’s a day for lighting candles for babies and children who have died. Who good to remember them. How much it sucks to have joined those who do it for such a personal reason.
We grieve and remember our lost baby and all that they would have been to us in our family. Those lost dreams.
I want to write but my words feel lost. I feel pulled to write but I don’t know what to write. I’m nudged to put thoughts down but don’t know what those thoughts are. It’s like there’s two parts of me fighting over what I should do.
We were pregnant. For 6 weeks we knew about a baby who would join our family next April. We were apprehensive about the change that this baby would bring but we were excited. Excited for our boys to have another sibling. Excited that this baby would get to have our boys as it’s big brothers. We were excited for Christmases and birthdays and family holidays and weddings. We had dreams and we thought about practical things like bedroom arrangements and car seat positions.
At 9 weeks and 5 days pregnant having excitedly told some of our closest friends the night before about our new baby I discovered I was bleeding. I struggled to get the words out to tell Ross. My voice wouldn’t work. My brain could not comprehend. I tried to reason that this happens to so many women whilst at the same time being filled with this dread that I knew what was happening to my body.
We lost our baby over that weekend and I lost a part of my heart with it. Our family will never feel fully complete as there will always be a part of it missing.
1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. I knew that 1 in 4 end this way and yet somehow, despite a totally normal fear that we would lose the baby, I never dreamed that it would actually happen to us. I was comfortable being 3 in 4. It was safe there.
