I lost my baby in February 2015. It still hurts and cuts just as deep today. That will never change.
This post is not cheerful. It's very sad. I have shed many tears writing it. But this is real life and happening to far too many women every single day. And for some reason, it remains a secret, taboo grief. At a time when we need support and friends around us, we hide our grief away. And this is wrong. So, if you are reading this and have suffered the loss of your baby, I am sorry. I am so very sorry for your heartache and loss. But you are not alone. Please don't feel alone.
A letter to my little lost baby:
To my darling little one,
Twenty months ago today I was told that you were not going to make it. Twenty months ago today my life changed. My world was about to fall apart.
I was eight weeks pregnant with you, my second baby. The previous evening I had had some light spotting, so was booked in to the Early Pregnancy Unit for a scan. I was sure it was just precautionary and that everything was perfectly fine. Light bleeding is fairly common, right? I was sure it was nothing to be overly worried about. The sonographer found your heartbeat fairly quickly and I could make out your fuzzy little form on the screen. But then she broke the news. Your heart was beating too slowly and you were measuring a lot smaller than you should have been, I was confused. She asked me how certain I was of my dates and was there any chance I could have them wrong? There was no mistake. You were too small. It didn't look good. She told us to prepare for the worst and to come back again in two weeks to be re-scanned. The air was sucked from my lungs. Daddy was clutching your big sister on his lap. We were both in stunned silence.
We left the hospital and went home. I felt confused, shocked, numb and sick. You were still there, alive, inside me. Your heart was still beating. But you were dying. You were too small. You weren't going to survive. And there was absolutely nothing I could do. I broke down in our kitchen. Mummy couldn't save you darling. I'm so unbelievably sorry. I wanted to, please sweetheart, believe me, I wanted to more than anything. I would have done anything and given anything to save you.
I don't know when your heart stopped beating. I hate that. I don't know when you died inside me. The scan two weeks later confirmed that your heart was no longer beating. But you were still with me. You were still there. I decided to let nature take its own course. I didn't want a Doctor to take you from me, I cried and cried and cried when you finally passed. It was awful. A day I never ever want to relive. My tiny baby, not much more than a bundle of cells, but still my baby, disappearing down the U bend. It was not fitting for my baby, it was not what you deserved. I said goodbye to you, crouched on the cold bathroom floor, gripping the edge of the toilet. Tears pouring down my cheeks, crying so hard I couldn't breathe. I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest. The pain was physical. I hurt. I felt sick. I wanted you back, but you were gone. I had to get Daddy to push the flush. I just couldn't do it. It felt so very, very wrong.
You were gone. But I continued to bleed. For weeks. It was an incredibly cruel, constant reminder that you were gone and I had failed you. I felt empty, like something was missing. Something was missing; you. I didn't accept it. I just couldn't. It was so unfair. I wanted you so very, very much. I cried for such a long time. I was very open about you. I didn't want to hide you away, like you had never existed. Not a lot of people knew that I was pregnant. I wanted to talk about you, my cherished baby. I didn't want you to just be forgotten. But I was very aware of how uncomfortable people were when I told them I had lost you. They didn't know what to say, or do. "It wasn't meant to be" "At least you weren't very far along" I could have screamed. It made me so very angry. You were meant to be. You were my baby. I wanted you so badly. You were gone. But also gone was your life, your first steps, first words, birthdays, graduations, weddings, children of your own. These will never be. I was also grieving the loss of these. And it was hard. It still is so unbelievably hard. I know they were just trying to help, trying to find some words to say. But there are no words that can help. I just wanted you to be acknowledged. I had lost my child. I didn't want you forgotten, treated like you didn't exist.
You would have been celebrating your first birthday around 18 days ago. I feel like you were a boy, but I will never know. I have no scan pictures, no baby photos. I hadn't even had my booking in appointment with the midwife. The only physical memento I have of you is a couple of sonographer reports. One saying you were measuring two weeks too small and the other confirming there was no heartbeat. Cruel pieces of paper.
I wanted you to have a name. Daddy and I called you Gabriel. Daddy loves that name and I thought it was very fitting for you, my darling angel baby.
I think about you all the time. I wonder what you would look like, how your little character would develop. You have a baby brother now, my rainbow baby. I'm sorry my beautiful little one, there won't be any more siblings for you. Pregnancy with your little brother was so very hard. Physically, but also emotionally. I spent 41 weeks constantly worried and anxious of losing my baby again. Joy to be carrying your brother, but the grief and guilt that it wasn't you. I never, ever, want to feel that way ever again. The gut wrenching, completely destroying pain of losing you; my darling, cherished baby.
I will always completely and utterly adore you and you will never be forgotten. My heart has a space that is only yours and will forever be.
Sleep tight, darling Gabriel. I love you.
Mummy xxx
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