Mementos To Remember Those We Will Never Forget

If you ask most ‘Angel Mummys’ you’ll find that they have something that they wear that reminds them of the baby they lost.

When I looked through the photos I had taken by my friend and photographer Simon a couple jumped out at me as poignant and it made me think – noone else chose to get a print of them, yet they meant so much to me. Why? Well, they linked my two children.

I will never get a photo of my two babies together. No Effy-Mae holding a small newborn Jackson (carefully, under the watchful eyes of a hovering adult), no sibling school photos. I try and make up for this by taking Jackson to her grave and documenting this, but she will never be in a family photo. Or will she?

A few weeks after losing Effy-Mae, with the pain still raw, I went and got a tattoo. It is my favourite and most meaningful tattoo I have and I love it. I got her footprints, that the hospital took, tattooed with her name on the inside of my upper arm. When Jackson was born one of the first things I did was to put his foot up to my tattoo and compare them. (His were about double the size.) She was part of that moment, she was on my mind, and how could she not be?

As a tribute to both my babies my site title has a photo I took of my tattoo with Jacksons newborn feet, but I wanted a photographers take on my idea to get a photo of his feet with my tattoo. Simon instantly envisaged what I was after and despite it being fiddly to pose taking extra hands to hold Jackson in just the right way, I absolutely love the result -the photo means so much to me, where to others it doesn’t.

 

The other was a photo that he took of Jackson holding my hand, yet its the rings on my finger that give this photo its meaning. I bought one of the rings on Effy-Mae’s first birthday and plan to get the other engraved with her name. By the time the photo was taken I’d been wearing them for a few months (moving them from one finger to another as I gained weight during my pregnancy with Jackson) and I plan to wear them for the rest of my life (or until I wear them out!) Few people know the significance of these rings, but to me they are some of the most important items I own. If I ever take them off to do something and forget to put them back on I feel totally lost.

 

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You may wonder why I need mementos for a baby I will never be able to (nor would I want to) forget. Well, they include her in moments in my life that she would otherwise be absent from. They mean she can be present in family photos and they show others – those who may, in time, forget her – that I don’t want to, and never will.

Differences In Care

I always thought my care during my first labour was poor. Infact, it was non-existent, but I never realised how poor until I had my second labour to compare it to, and they couldn’t have been more different.

Both my labours have been induced, my first, at 21 weeks because my baby had died inside me and my body refused to acknowledge this so labour had to be started artificially so I could deliver my sleeping baby.
My second at 38 weeks because of what had happened in my previous pregnancy and the objective was to deliver this baby safely as soon as possible without creating any more risk to myself or my baby.

Both my labours were relatively short from the start of painful contractions (established labour) my first was about 12hours, my second was 7hours.

But this is where the similarities end.

I shall start with my first pregnancy.
As I was ‘only’ 21 weeks pregnant I was referred to gynaecology instead of the antenatal ward for my care. This instantly meant that my care was to be led by nurses and not midwives.
I was given a private room on the gynaecology ward and had my first pessary inserted. Apart from having my blood pressure and temperature checked occasionally I was left with my family until it was time for another pessary to be inserted.
My contractions began getting stronger and stronger but the nurses didn’t seem bothered because my waters hadn’t gone, that was the only question they asked when they checked in. I was offered codeine for the pain but nothing else. Gas and air wasn’t piped in to the department and wasn’t offered.
I was terrified. I was naive. I was 21 and 21 weeks pregnant. I hadn’t don’t any research about birth yet – who does that until they’re nearly there? And it wasn’t exactly explained to me that I would be going into full on labour so I didn’t know to research it – though I’m not sure I would have as I had just found out my baby had died – I wasn’t in a googling mood. I didn’t realise contractions hurt, I had always assumed that it was the actual pushing the baby out that hurt.
The pain was unexpected and excruciating, made 10x worse by the fact that I panicked and there was no one there to calm me down (I had my mum and fiancé there but they were just as clueless about induced labour as me so comforting words didn’t help) I threw myself around the room trying in vain to get comfy. I had never been in a pain that I couldn’t make better somehow. There was no position that helped, believe me I tried them all.
Eventually I sent my fiancé to ask for pain relief. It was the middle of the night, there were two nurses on the whole ward and one doctor on call. Someone else nearby kept crashing, the nurses were flat out and I was told that they’d get the doctor to come and give me an injection as soon as he was free. (It was never explained to me what pain relief was available or what I would be given, so I am still unsure what this injection would have been of) no one came and I decided I needed to go to the loo (baby was coming).
I couldn’t walk, I was supported the whole way and as soon as I got there I collapsed to the floor and passed out. I vaguely remember that by chance a nurse popped her head round the door to see if I was ok and then the crash button was pressed and doctors and nurses came running. I was helped onto the bed and remember being surrounded, but the crowd quickly disappeared when they realised I was ok. I was talked through the next contraction by a nurse and it was nice, I didn’t panic, I controlled my breathing and it didn’t hurt as much, but after one contraction she left and I panicked at the next one. They had finally listened that I was in pain and got me a canister of gas and air from the delivery suite, but I had three puffs on it and passed out. The crash button was pressed again and I was given oxygen and came round. No one had even checked how dilated I was, literally for hours no one had been down there. I told them I felt something happening, and the nurse looked, told me to push a couple of times and I delivered my daughter in her waters. Everyone left and the nurse took her away to ‘clean her up’ even though I begged for her to be ‘cleaned up’ in the room and not taken away from me. My beautiful, perfectly formed tiny baby was brought back in and we were left alone with her for 6 whole, uninterrupted hours. The only hours I’ll ever have with my daughter.

With my second labour I was on the delivery suite, with a midwife assigned to me, doctors on call and it was a completely different experience. My midwife didn’t leave my side the whole time, and had this had been my first labour she would have talked me through the contractions. I, however, knew exactly what to expect, that it hurt, a lot, but that I had survived it last time with no pain relief and I could and would survive it again. I didn’t have any pain relief with this labour because I didn’t need it because I kept calm and breathed through my contractions, the only time I did panic was when I felt the urge to push and it hadn’t been very long since I was only 4cm dilated so I didn’t think I should, but within seconds the midwife had realised I was panicking and was there calming me down and reassuring me. Quite soon after that I delivered my healthy 7lb9oz baby boy into my midwifes hands. It couldn’t have been a more different experience from my first labour if I tried. The main difference being that I didn’t panic, and honestly I know now that the panic made the pain so much worse.

Midwives are important during birth, yes they’re there for the wellbeing of the baby, but also to support the mother through labour. A midwives role is to keep the mother calm as stress for the mother causes stress for the baby. Obviously with my first labour this didn’t matter, but it made the whole experience incredibly traumatic for me. Hospitals know that, and that’s why they provide them. They have specially trained bereavement midwives for those having stillbirths. What was the difference between my daughter being born asleep at 21 weeks and another baby stillborn at 24 weeks? They get a midwife. I didn’t. I still went through labour, I still got to meet my sleeping baby, why didn’t I need to emotional, mental and physical support that a midwife gives a woman during labour?
Since I went through this I have found and talked to many other mothers in similar situations, many of which, around the same gestation or less got to have their babies delivered by midwives. I am glad that not all hospitals have the same policy, I’m glad that not every mother having to deliver their tiny sleeping baby have to do so almost completely alone with minimal support, but why should any? I believe that any woman going through labour should be given the support of a midwife.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness

This week has been Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Week and it ends tonight with an international wave of light with candles being lit at 7pm all over the world creating a continuous wave of light.

On 29th May 2013 my world was turned upside down when I was told that my 21 week pregnancy had ended, that my baby had no heartbeat and had died inside me a few days before. I was brought back into hospital a few days later to deliver her, sleeping, never to grow into the newborn baby, the toddler, the teenager, the adult she should have been.

Nothing can prepare you for hearing that your eagerly awaited baby has no heartbeat, but no one even tried. 1in4 pregnancies end in a miscarriage (yes, 1 in every 4 positive pregnancy tests don’t take a baby home from hospital) yet it was never delicately broached by my midwife, not even mentioned as a possibility. Of course everyone knows that not all pregnancies end well, but it’s very much surrounded by the ‘it’s so rare it’ll never happen to me’ phenomenon.
Infact the figures tell a different story. There is a quite large chance that it may happen to you, or atleast someone you are close to.
The majority of that 1in4 statistic will lose their baby early on, before their first scan. People are aware of this and stick to not announcing their pregnancy until they’re 12weeks gone. It has become an unwritten rule, but why? So you don’t have to tell people your baby didn’t make it? Because it’s so taboo to talk about baby loss. How many of your friends have lost a baby and you don’t even know?

Until I lost my daughter I wasn’t aware, not even remotely, of how many people had lost babies, but it’s not like they are quiet, it’s all over Twitter-it just never popped up on my account where I only followed celebs and TV channels. There are groups all over Facebook-but I’d never seen them because I only liked for sale groups or fan clubs.
There are individuals and charities all shouting about baby loss, the effects and how to minimise the risk, but first time, innocent, expectant mums are totally oblivious to this. Their contact with professionals extends to their midwife and if they don’t mention it then it’s very unlikely they’ll search for it, read about it, take it in.

If you haven’t had a baby yet or have had an uncomplicated pregnancy and are oblivious to this darker side of pregnancy, please open your eyes.
Do a quick search on Twitter #BabyLoss, and see how many tweets there are with this one tag. You’ll be amazed that you’ve not realised just how many people are shouting about this topic.
Please do some research.
If you are pregnant please please pay attention to your babies movement. Your midwives advice of if they’ve moved 10 times in a day then they’re fine is absolute rubbish. I wanted to scream at my midwife when she told me this in my second pregnancy because by then I HAD done my research. You should learn YOUR baby’s movements and if they change even slightly get it checked – they’d rather you get checked every week for nothing than they have to deliver your sleeping baby because you ignored the signs.

Baby loss isn’t something that just happens to someone else, it happened to me, and it’s happening to thousands of people every day. Break the taboo and speak about it, raise awareness and go into pregnancy with your eyes open, do everything you can to minimise the risk and then take any change seriously, even if you just feel uneasy, it could be your maternal instinct telling you something is wrong. I listened to mine but I was too late.

I am the 1in4.

In Her Name

Today should have been my daughters first birthday – had things have gone differently.
Today I realised she was being forgotten.

Since I lost Effy-Mae, I, like many other bereaved parents have sworn to keep her memory alive. Like parents of living children protect their children, bereaved parents protect their child’s memory. Today I realised I am failing her.

So I am going to step up my attempts to keep her memory alive by being more public about things I am doing or going to do in her name.

First is only a small gesture – when I was pregnant with Jackson I started knitting hats for the NICU at our local hospital with the wool left over from the blanket I knitted for her. From there I just couldn’t stop knitting, knowing the hats were for a good cause. I started this project off, like I said, when I was pregnant, but since Jackson arrived I haven’t had much time to carry on, but I will get back to it when life calms down a bit here, and I shall write some blog updates and tweet about how I get on knitting hats for babies born too soon.

My second way is a bit bigger, and for anyone who knows me they will know how out of character it is for me to willingly partake in any exercise, let alone say that I shall run a marathon (maybe not this year, or next, but I will. I won’t stop training until I do it)
It’s been my aim since she died to run a marathon to raise money for a miscarriage and baby loss charity – I haven’t decided which one yet as I haven’t had any dealings with any, but I decided to concentrate on giving her a little brother or sister first. I have now done this with her gorgeous little brother Jackson and what better way to shift the baby weight than training?! I mentioned it to my physio and she thought it was a great idea but recommended I wait until 12weeks after birth to start running. So in 2 weeks I will be starting right from the bottom. I have never exercised much, anyone who knows me will agree I am the worlds biggest couch potato, but for her I would move mountains – infact I’m going to move myself off the sofa and that’s a bigger feat!
So keep checking back for updates and look out for #RunningForEffyMae on twitter for updates on how my training is going!

I will never do what some people manage in their baby’s names. Her name will never be known in homes up and down the country as some are managing, but I hope to be able to keep her memory alive in a small way, and make my baby girl proud of me.

The Day That Should Have Been

8th October was the due date I was given for Effy-Mae to arrive.

I know that it might not have been the date she finally arrived, but it’s all I have, all I know.

I’ll never know when nature would have delivered her to me if things had gone differently, so it’s the date I hold on to, the date I use to judge how old she should be if things had gone differently.

Today my daughter should be one. It should be her first birthday. An occasion for family to gather to celebrate with cake and presents. She should be toddling around, babbling to her family, enjoying her day.

Instead my body didn’t keep her alive and growing for the 9 months it was meant to. I was induced and delivered her asleep, far too early, her tiny body the final size it would ever grow, never to walk, talk, laugh and love.

And it seems like everyone, even her dad, has forgotten, has forgotten her.

I don’t know how to deal with this any more.

If she hadn’t died I wouldn’t have my son, born two months ago. He was conceived a month after her due date (although maybe biologically possible extremely unlikely) I wouldn’t give him up for anything, but I would give anything to have her back.

Today should be a happy occasion, instead, with everything that has happened, I am left confused about what to think or feel.

All that is left to say is Happy (should have been) Birthday to my gorgeous daughter.

Grief Tore Us Apart

Losing a child has to be one of the hardest things for a couple to go through. Someone that was part of each of them and that was to be part of both of their lives has gone so suddenly and they each grieve differently for the same loss.
From my observations this can do one of two things to a couple, it can either bring them closer together, a shared experience, a need to protect each other and look after one another, or it can drive them apart, fuelled by misunderstanding and fear of the future.

My experience is that it has driven us apart.

My miscarriage has slowly broken our relationship. Grief has festered around it slowly breaking down everything we had together.
How we both dealt with my rainbow pregnancy was the final straw, our grief made us see it differently and that stopped us seeing eye to eye. I need this little boy, not to replace my daughter but I need someone to love, he said he did too, he pushed for us to try again, but when faced with the reality of another baby he didn’t know how to cope with it, he shut down and pulled away from me.

We tried so hard for months to make us work, to get past this, but in the end we have just lost too much.

And now I have to work out what happens next. I am going to be bringing Jackson into a broken home, the exact future I never wanted for my child. I will have to look into what benefits I can get and go out and get a job as soon as he is born. Again, I wanted to spend time with my son, I didn’t want to be one of the mums who never sees their child, but I have to make sure we can live. I have to be practical.

The last couple of days have been hard. Every time I wash my hands or pick something up and feel that my engagement ring isn’t there it hits home again, it hits me like a blow in the face that the future I had planned for my little family has come crashing down around me. I have found myself so often just sitting staring into space unable to comprehend what has happened and how so much can change in just a couple of days. I should be used to this, my future has changed so often in the last year.

So now I need to get my practical head on. I am relying on my parents to support me as I gave up my job during my first pregnancy as my fiancé agreed to support me, and now I have a mortgage and bills, a house to finish before Jackson comes, and a cat to consider, not to mention I now have ALL the baby things to buy. This will have to be living on a budget, and a strict one at that. We won’t be rocking round the city in a Bugaboo pram but as long as it does the job the brand doesn’t matter, my son will be loved – already is loved – more than he will ever comprehend.

We Didn’t Cope, Our Relationship Didn’t Survive.

Losing a child has to be one of the hardest things for a couple to go through. Someone that was part of each of them and that was to be part of both of their lives has gone so suddenly and they each grieve differently for the same loss.
From my observations this can do one of two things to a couple, it can either bring them closer together, a shared experience, a need to protect each other and look after one another, or it can drive them apart, fuelled by misunderstanding and fear of the future.

My experience is that it has driven us apart.

Initially it brought us closer together, the actual birth was a bonding experience for us, but soon after that the cracks began to show. In the days and weeks that followed I withdrew emotionally and started being practical about things, doing what needed to be done. It’s how I’ve always dealt with things – I set my mind to the funeral and what I wanted, thinking about who I needed to talk to and what I needed to get, he withdrew and didn’t want to think about it. Ignored that the funeral had to happen and preferred to pretend that it didn’t. To me that felt like he was ignoring what had happened and leaving everything to me. At that moment in time we needed each other more than ever but neither of us could be there for the other.

After the funeral we pulled ourselves together and pulled together as a couple. I moved out of my parents house into the house I had bought before we got together and had been renovating in time for our baby’s arrival, but he refused to move in until it was completely finished, so I moved into what was once meant to be my family home on my own. I found this hard to understand, I expected him to want to move in, after all it was him that wanted to get engaged a few months into our relationship, and he who wanted to have a baby with me in the first place. He had started to change even then.
Initially he spent his days off work at the house with me, this was nice, we got to see more of each other and got to know each other again. We had both changed through the experience we had been through but we seemed to get back on track, we even decided to get a cat, a fluffy baby, something to fill the silence of the house, something to pour our affections into, but soon after we got her I fell pregnant, and from here on out our relationship fell quickly and irrevocably apart.

We agreed, after the postmortem results revealed my Antiphospholipid syndrome potentially caused her death, and we had established that this was treatable, that we would try again. I was nervous, not wanting to replace my daughter and wasn’t sure how to feel about trying again, he, however pushed for it and I fell pregnant after just three months of trying. I couldn’t believe it could have happened so quickly, but asked him to bring me a test and sure enough it instantly showed up positive. I was over the moon as soon as I saw the line, all worries bubbling to the surface but well overshadowed by the sheer joy of the little life that was already growing inside me. I bounded into the lounge instantly to tell him, expecting a reaction to rival mine, to be met with stony silence. He literally didn’t react to the news. No congratulations or are you sure or even a smile. He sat. His silence hit me like a wall. I was totally shocked at his reaction. He had been the one pushing me to try. I wasn’t sure I was ready, but I was pregnant so I had to be! I left him sat there so I could ring my parents hoping someone would be excited, and they didn’t let me down, they were over the moon that they were to be grandparents again, and hopefully this time hold their grandchild. My fiancé remained sitting not saying anything.

That simple non-reaction was the beginning of the end.

From then on he stopped coming round every day off, I’d be lucky if I saw him every couple of weeks, he didn’t tell anyone, not even his best friend, I was pregnant until I was 20 weeks and even then it was a small Facebook announcement whereas I’d been putting up every scan picture everywhere I could, desperate to enjoy every minute of this pregnancy knowing all too well it could end any minute.
He didn’t seem keen with coming to early midwife appointments either and decided to leave it up to me to tell him whether he should come. I told him that wasn’t on and from then he decided to come to every one but I never felt like he was actually there, he didn’t listen and didn’t seem to care. Midwives and doctors picked up on it when they asked us questions and he had to ask them to repeat themselves or refused to ask questions.

I have now reached 7 months pregnant and we have drifted so far apart I cannot see a way back. Our two year relationship has fallen apart. On the anniversary of finding out we had lost our daughter we lost our relationship.

Miscarriage has slowly broken our relationship. Grief has festered around it slowly breaking down everything we had. How we dealt with my rainbow pregnancy was the final straw, our grief made us see it differently and that stopped us seeing eye to eye. I needed to be a mum to this life growing inside me. From the moment I found out I was pregnant I was protective of him, I wanted to shield him from his dads unexcitement. I need this little baby, not to replace my daughter but I need someone to love, he said he did too, but when faced with the reality of another baby he couldn’t cope with it. Only time will tell how he will cope when Jackson finally arrives, whether he will step up and be a dad or whether he will back right off unable to cope with the fact this child is not Effy-Mae. Either way me and my little man will cope, we will be just fine together, a continuation of how it has been the whole pregnancy.

A Year On

It’s been a whole year since the worst day of my life and I can still remember every detail of it like it was yesterday.

I have come a long way since then, I am now pregnant with Effy-Maes little brother, Jackson Theo, and the pregnancy is going well, but there are days where I wake up and feel a kick in my tummy and I am back to a year ago, still pregnant with my first baby, excited, innocent, and I can almost forget the whole last year has happened. That is, until I open my eyes and suddenly it all comes flooding back.

My pregnancy with Effy-Mae was perfect. I had morning sickness – ok a lot of  morning sickness, and that prevented me enjoying the pregnancy as I should have, I even gave up my job I was feeling so terrible with it. But all the midwife appointments and scans showed everything was progressing normally. I was a normal first time mum, excited and wanted to set up my nursery. I was desperate for a little girl, and when she kept her legs crossed for the 20 week scan we booked in for a private scan so we could find out what we were having so I could go on a shopping spree and deck out the nursery in either pink or blue. But a year ago today, at 21 weeks pregnant, I was told my baby had no heartbeat. I wouldn’t need a nursery, I wouldn’t need that private scan, I would be meeting my sleeping baby in a few days time.

Since that day I have never known how to write her dates down. More down to not knowing than anything else, the date I have chosen to use is that she was born sleeping on 02/06/13. I had infact lost her a few days before I found out, but was completely unaware at the time, still out shopping for a sensible 5 door family car, which I purchased the day before I found out. I found out I had lost her on 29th May 2013, and delivered her on 2nd of June 2013. Her death date is before her birth date, and I don’t even know her exact death date. Her movements weren’t very defined and it took me a few days to realise something was wrong, I thought to start with maybe I hadn’t actually been feeling her move at all (the movements still felt like gas bubbles at this point) but only when I hadn’t felt anything for a few days did I realise that they had infact been her moving and that I hadn’t been feeling them for a few days. At that point my maternal instinct had kicked in and I knew there was something wrong – I couldn’t sleep the night before I found out.

And that brings me on to how to mark her birthday this year which is coming up in a few days time. I shall of course take flowers to her, but I don’t know if I should be doing more than that. On her first birthday I should be making a cake and dressing her in a pretty party dress and having a little gathering of friends and giving her presents, but that’s a life that could have – should have been. I’m not sure I want to make her a cake to be eaten without her, and her grave doesn’t need any more ornaments. Really she needs a headstone, but I cannot decide what to write on it. It seems wrong to be celebrating her birthday without her, but it’s not like I have much choice.

Even though her birthday technically is 2nd June, she wasn’t due until 8th October, and I judge how old she should be by her due date, for example, when Jackson is due on 8th August she would be 10 months old, sitting up, smiling, however she will have been born and buried for a year and 2 months.

I have felt my mood slipping, from what was a fairly optimistic and hopeful, positive pregnancy glow, pretty much since the beginning of May. I’m trying not to let it get me down too much, I’m trying to enjoy this pregnancy, as well as keeping Effy-Maes memory alive, but May and June will always be hard months for me. May, the month I lost her, June the month I gave birth and buried her.

“Make it through the hardest storm and bad weather”

“She took the light and left me in the dark, she left me with a broken heart, now I’m on my own, if anybody sees her, shine a light on her.”

Legally She Didn’t Exist

In the eyes of the law my daughter didn’t exist.
There is no birth certificate, no death certificate, no pieces of paper to say that I gave birth to a little human and that she had been on this earth for 21 weeks filling her parents and our families with hope and excitement. If she had held on for another 3 weeks she would have been classed as stillborn meaning that she was a viable baby, but my little girl was, in the eyes of the law, a foetus.

When I have doctors appointments now, my daughter, those 21 weeks, that hope, those dreams, is ‘my last pregnancy’ or IUD (intrauterine death) never a name. Occasionally the doctor will ask if she was a girl or boy, but that is as close as they come to acknowledging that she was a tiny human. She has been lumped into my old medical records and that’s where she will stay forever. She is part of my past, but to them she wasn’t her own person. The fact that her brief appearance in this world has changed my life forever is nothing. I cannot believe that doctors who have seen babies miscarried late can still class them as foetuses. They look like tiny humans, with hands and feet and fingers and toes and even a tiny nose. Just because if she had been born alive she wouldn’t have survived in the world doesn’t mean she didn’t exist.

I sit in a dilemma when a form or questionnaire asks if this pregnancy is my first. The logical part of my brain says that it is – I never got to buy baby food for her, there isn’t another child running around my house, and if I answer with no, they will probably ask about her, ask how old she is and what nappies I buy for her, ask me questions I cannot answer, but the defiant part of my brain says that no he isn’t my first child. She is and always will have that title, and he will always have a big sister. Maybe I’d feel better about answering yes if I had been able to register her as having existed. Maybe if the law acknowledged her existence I could then be more defiant about it. As it goes I say he isn’t my first, unless that changes the next question to be about her, then I go back and change my answer.

I’m in no way saying that the pain would have been any less if I had a piece of paper to say she existed, but I have a box of memories, and a heart full of love for my daughter who no family tree will know existed, who, if someone in the future looks up their ancestors, she won’t be there. I will, of course, keep her memory alive. Her little brother will know all about her, will visit her grave with us, she will become part of him as much as she is part of us. She is his big sister and I will never let anyone forget about her, but after I’m gone who’s to say my children will keep her memory alive? Will she just fade into the past? A part of his childhood that didn’t really exist? She will have a gravestone, her name hewn into granite, and that will last, but people won’t know who she was, that she was loved so deeply. They can’t trace her anywhere, her gravestone will be a dead end, not a key to her life. That thought terrifies me, but I don’t know how to stop her memory fading away from the world.

I feel like screaming to the world “HER NAME WAS EFFY-MAE, SHE WAS MY BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER AND SHE DID EXIST.”

Mother’s Day

Tomorrow is my first Mother’s Day as a member of the mummy’s club. The fact I won’t be spending the day with my daughter doesn’t make it any less of an important day for me.

My fiancé bought me a bunch of flowers for the day – I can’t help thinking that had my daughter been here that would have been a box of chocolates or a necklace that he would have presented to me on Sunday morning with my 6 month old smiling daughter there, on my bed opening the present with me, along with breakfast in bed.
Instead I am going to take the roses out of the bunch of flowers I was given and take them down to the graveyard for her, something I always do when there are pink roses in a bunch of flowers I am given.

  

Mother’s Day isn’t going to be a sad day for me though, it will be hard going to the graveyard, but I will spend the rest of the day with my own mum, Effy-Mae’s grandmother, spoiling her and making her feel as special as I should be feeling – as I am feeling, with my son in my belly kicking away I feel like every day he kicks is Mother’s Day.

We didn’t celebrate Mother’s Day last year when I was pregnant with Effy-Mae, we figured we would have plenty of time for that in the years to come, and to keep it fair we won’t celebrate it for Jackson until next year, when he is in my arms and can celebrate it with me, but I know in my heart I’m already a mum to two children.

Just because my daughter isn’t here to celebrate the day with me doesn’t make me any less of a mother, and that makes tomorrow just as much about me as it is about those lucky mums who get to kiss their children goodnight.

  • An 'Angel Baby' is a baby lost during pregnancy or early childhood, who sleeps in the clouds instead of our arms.

    A 'Rainbow Baby' is a baby born following the loss of an 'Angel Baby', a beacon of hope after a storm, while not denying the storm happened.

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