Missing Her

How can you miss someone who was never there? Well, I guess it’s hard to understand from the outside, but from the inside it’s simple. 

I miss the fact she’s not there all day, every day, stealing my food and snuggling up in my bed, I miss her first tooth, first word, first step, first day of school… I miss everything. 

So when I say I miss her, I don’t mean it how you mean it when you miss someone you’ve known a long time, that knowledge they won’t call again, make you smile again, but I do miss her, I miss, and will continue to miss everything about her for the rest of my life.

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To My Ex

We met, we fell in love. It should have been as simple as that. Happily ever after. We picked out a ring and I wore it with pride, happy to know I’d be spending the rest of my life with you sleeping next to you, carrying babies for you…

Then we lost our little girl and life changed, we changed. Something shifted irrevocably and here I am 3 years on laying in my bed on my own, waiting to be joined in the early hours by our toddler, the boy I did carry to term, the son I’ve dedicated the last 2 1/2 years of my life to. 

I love my life I have with our boy. It gives me purpose and grounding in a world that otherwise is terrifying and lonely, but some nights I can’t help but wonder what could have been if life had worked out how we had planned…  

So yes, some nights I cry about us, about how happy we should have been if loss hadn’t torn us and our plans to shreds. I cry for the daughter who should be in my arms and for the man who should be beside us. For the smiles and laughs and holidays that we should have had. 

I can’t look back too hard though, what good does that do? So come the morning I’ll be dry and steely eyed ready to face the day alone again.

But I do think of us sometimes, just sometimes I let my mind wander to us and the beautiful life we let go of.

Fantasy

I lay, scrunched up, in the toddler bed. My arms wrapped around my infant, eyes tight shut, feeling them breathe, listening to ‘Bing’ playing on my phone. Through my closed eyelids I can almost see the pink, floral bedsheets over us, the mousey blonde hair trailed over the pillow, the Disney princesses staring down at us from the walls and the vividly pink curtains lit by the headlights of the passing cars. Yesterday’s dress thrown carelessly on the floor and a doll propped up on the bookcase. 

I lay there totally absorbed in the fantasy that I am there with my three year old little girl, that she’s just had a busy day at nursery and we are relaxing together waiting for her eyes to grow heavy and for her to fall asleep.

I don’t want to open my eyes, to shatter the illusion I’ve created, but I must. ‘Bing’ is finished and my son shouts ‘Mummy!’ demanding that I put on another. 

So I open my eyes and it takes a second to adjust to what I’m seeing, my two year old son, short brown hair, laying in his rainbow duvet staring expectantly at me completely unaware of the war going on in my head fighting to adjust back to reality. I put on another episode and hug him close staring around his rainbow room. 

My rainbow baby.

Why celebrate 

Why celebrate your babies birthday when they are no longer with us?

I celebrate my babies birthday for the same reason you celebrate yours, because on this day 3 years ago I gave birth to the most beautiful baby girl. Because maybe I don’t get to tie her hair in pig tails for her party, but she still made me a mum 3 years ago and I plan to honour her for that.

Maybe to you it seems odd eating cake for a child who is not here, but how else do you celebrate a birthday? Cake, presents and balloons. That’s what birthdays have meant to me all my life and it would seem wrong to me to do anything else. 


I couldn’t face her first birthday. I took her flowers and I cried. I cried that it had been a year since I held her, a year since I had to let her go. 

But last year I celebrated. I celebrated the 21 weeks I carried her, the joy she gave me when I saw her on her scans and the love she unlocked in me when I gave birth to her and became a mum, and this year I plan to do the same, because as time goes on it’s not so painful. I don’t concentrate on the bad parts, I celebrate the good and I keep her memory alive for myself, my son and those who loved her.

As the Years Go By

Today it’s been 3 years since I was told I’d lost my baby girl, and it’s been 2 years since I broke up with the man I planned to spend my future with. 

The two events forever merged together, their anniversaries on the same day. The heightened emotions of the first anniversary of losing Effy the catalyst for the breakup. 

So today I mourn two losses. Two futures I’d planned that will never be. 

On Thursday I’ll celebrate the 21 weeks I got to carry my daughter. 2nd June, the day I delivered her will be all about her, I’ll make a cake and take her presents.

But I’ll grit my teeth and get through today by remembering that however much shit life throws at me I will always come out even stronger, fighting, ready to take on the world another day. I may be hurt and broken but my god I am tough because I’ve survived the worst and I’m still here to tell the tale. 

Single Mum

‘So how often does Jackson see his dad’ is a question that is asked regularly, not only by people just finding out about our situation, but people who have asked before hoping for a new answer. 

My stock answer now is ‘a few hours a week’ and you see their faces change from hopeful interest to confusion and almost disgust. 

I know that their initial thought is ‘why’ and they wonder if that’s my fault, if I’m making it difficult, or discouraging it. Think Jeremy Kyle, possessive mum blocking access, but it isn’t me. I always have and always will actively encourage his dad to come and see him and spend time with him, infact I have wasted days upon days sat waiting for him to show up when he says he will, and then doesn’t.

I used to answer ‘a couple of times a week’ which though at the time also true, probably never equated to many more hours, and when I thought about it, a few hours is probably a more accurate answer. He won’t turn up until 2 or 3 in the afternoon when he wakes up, leaving again at any time between 6-10 depending how tired he is, whether he has work and whether Jackson’s asleep or not. That’s a minimum of 3 hours, and a maximum of 8 or so. But equally some weeks pass without a visit at all. 

When I first broke up with his dad at 7 months pregnant I almost felt it would be easier if he left and never saw us again, but the second my baby boy was born my world changed and I knew he needed his dad in his life. From then I have tried to facilitate him visiting as much as possible, but the hours have steadily decreased and his interest wained. 

This kills me inside far more than I expected it to. He has me, loving grandparents, adoring uncles and some fantastic ‘aunties’ in my friends, but he needs a dad. This boy won’t miss out on love, heck I’m pretty sure if he was any more loved he would pop, but he won’t know the role a dad is meant to play in his life. I know that with us being separated that was always going to be a difficult relationship to build, but it’s nigh on impossible when his dad doesn’t seem to try. 

Jackson was a planned baby. After losing our little girl we waited months for the doctors to give us the go ahead to try again and when they finally did I was hesitant. I wrote at the time that I was worried I’d never love another baby as much as I loved her, of course that all changed as soon as I found out I was expecting again, but it was him who pushed for it, who persuaded me we were ready, only 2 weeks later when I took the test and told him I was pregnant, he was less keen. He says it just took him by surprise that it happened so quickly, but really he wasn’t ready. He still isn’t ready, still hasn’t got past the grief for our little girl who should be in our arms, can’t get past that to see the special little boy who is. 

I spend my life running through this in my head. Screaming internally that how can his dad not want to spend every waking hour with his son. How can I facilitate it so he might want to see him more, what more can I do? I literally feel like I’m bashing my head on a brick wall and getting nowhere. 

Jackson does need a dad. However you look at it, it’s a special bond that cannot be easily replicated. Maybe one day I’ll find a partner who loves Jackson as much as I do, who accepts him as his own and becomes a father figure to him, but will that be too late for Jackson to create a strong bond with him? I don’t know. I grew up in a 2 parent family and I planned the same for my son. It breaks my heart that he isn’t getting that stable, happy, easy start in life. 

Maybe his dad will read this post and come to his senses, get some help for his grief about losing our daughter and step up and be the father Jackson needs. But then again, it’s been 2 years of me telling him all of this and nothing has changed so far so I don’t hold my breath. 

As a mother trying to do my best for my son, nothing kills me more than seeing a situation arising that will hurt him and being able to do nothing to stop it.

A Break

I’ve not posted anything on here for over 6 months now and for that I apologise. 

I suppose the reason for this is twofold.

  1. I have an 18month toddler running circles around me, he hasn’t grasped the idea of bedtime yet and I rarely get a chance to sit and write anything! 
  2. I haven’t felt the need. I occasionally think of something to write about but by the time I get round to it (see point 1) it doesn’t seem so important any more. 

I wrote before about cutting myself off, leaving groups and not joining in conversations, well I’m back, kind of. 

I’ve found myself looking through the #BabyLoss on Instagram and revisiting the baby loss half of my Twitter recently. It’s hard to know where I fit now because the pain isn’t so raw any more, I don’t cry (much, anyway, of course I have my moments), but I still feel I need a connection to this world, the exclusive group I never wanted to join but can never leave. 

And my need to write has returned. I find myself thinking of new titles and things to write about, I just hope that I can find the time to breathe life into these post ideas! 

So bare with me, (I seriously admire blogger mummy’s who post daily- how do they do it!?) I may not be regular, or prize worthy, but I’m here and will be writing if you want to read! 

Cutting myself off

A few months ago I left a group I was in on Facebook which was support for those who’ve lost babies.
I’m not healed, I still need support, but I couldn’t look and every day see another baby lost.

The one that ended it for me was a baby the same age as my rainbow dying of SIDS. I fear that happening every day and I can’t keep reading about it happening. It made me worry even more and I’m already a nervous ninny, I don’t need to add to it!

At around the same time I stopped reading all the blogs regularly about babyloss. I was making myself feel worse not better. I found that I was wallowing by reading them, it was making me worry about my Rainbow and realising how common baby loss is making me panick about one day giving Jackson a brother or sister. I now look at these on occasion and skip through and pick the posts I feel I can read at the time.

I wish I could still read those things and support the women going through it, I hope I do in a way through my blog, and talking to people on Twitter, but I cannot look through posts and posts of babies lost years before they should be.

I miss my daughter every day, and those groups helped me in the beginning, making me feel not so alone, but now I need to throw myself into parenting my son and missing my daughter in my own way.

Letters To My Daughter

I wrote letters to my daughter 2 years ago today, the day after I delivered her, before I started this blog. Even back then I chose to use writing as my therapy through the hardest thing I’d ever been through.

After reading through them I decided to publish some of my words:

“Ever since I found out I was pregnant all thoughts of my future involved you, then for all of that to be snatched away in a few hours; I didn’t know what to do.”

“You truly are gorgeous, and I am one very proud mum.”

“After what felt like a lifetime, and a second in one, I knew I had to say goodbye to you which felt awful. After giving birth you are meant to keep your child with you and protect them forever, but here I was letting a stranger take you away to do horrible tests and I would never get the future I dreamed for us.”

“Hopefully you are going to be buried in the local cemetery-it’s not quite my arms, but it’s the best place we could find for you to sleep forever.”

“It’s not fair that you came into my life and completed me. The thing missing from my life was a child-you, and then suddenly and irreversibly you have been taken from it again leaving a bigger hole than I had before.”

“I can’t believe that I have to say goodbye to my little daughter, it’s not right!”

“I love you, Jellybean. Now, forever and always. Mummy xxx”

How do you Celebrate a Life That Never Got to be lived?

It may seem weird to you, heck it would have seemed weird to me before my life took its horrible and unexpected turn, but today, my daughters birthday, nothing seemed more natural than spending it with her, at her grave, eating cake.

I had been thinking about Effy-Maes birthday since Christmas. I chose her present and since then I’ve been waiting until I could take it to her! Her birthday seemed ages away then, but it’s really snuck up on me recently. 

I hadn’t planned anything for her birthday, what can you do really? She’s not here to shower with presents and dress in a party dress. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to mark it though. I’ve talked before about not celebrating her birthday, after all, it’s another year since a terrible experience, instead I chose to celebrate the life I carried for those precious 21 weeks. 

So how do you celebrate a life? To me it seemed obvious it had to be at her grave, and it had to involve cake, it is her birthday after all! And of course, with the most important people in my life, my parents and my son.

So yes, to you, maybe eating cake around a grave seems odd, but how else do you celebrate a life that never got to be lived?

  • 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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