Grab yourself a cuppa, get your feet up and make yourself comfortable, because things are about to get pretty deep; this is going to be a long one.(my longest yet!) In order to give the topic the respect it deserves and needs, I’ve decided to throw myself into this one, and be as open and honest as possible..
The loss of an infant or an unborn baby.. It’s hard to imagine the kind of pain a mother who never got to hold her baby in her arms, or held them for just a few brief moments before they had to say goodbye, must feel. From the moment a woman discovers she is pregnant, that baby is hers. That baby is a part of her, and shall remain so for always..
This story is about as personal as it gets. It’s a story of love, and a story of heart ache.. For many years, miscarriage has been considered a taboo subject, but we are finally finding our voices, and speaking out about our losses; letting the world know that we are mothers, whether we held our baby in our arms for moments, only days, or just in our dreams. We created life, and it was stolen from us, and has left an imprint on our hearts forever. I largely put the increase in awareness down to the brilliance that is social media, and blogging! For all the negativity that surrounds social media, there are definitely plenty of positives. It has been an instrument for many of us to share our grief, whilst connecting with other people in a similar situation, but also enabling us to inspire others with stories of strength, courage, and hope. I know that without the support of a few very kind and inspiring souls I have befriended on social media over the years, I most likely would never have revealed the truth about my darkest days, and subsequently kept things bottled up, feeling alone, and ashamed.
Putting the events that would unfold into words, has stirred a whole wave of emotions that have barely surfaced since the birth of our daughter. Despite how hard I find it to talk about our story in much detail, I believe that it is so important to share, because anybody experiencing loss absolutely needs to know, that it is okay to talk about it; these things do happen, sadly far too often, but you are most certainly, not alone. Our babies deserve to be talked about, they deserve to be remembered, today and every day.
So, I guess I should just start at the beginning.
The Honeymoon Period
It was August 2015. Trist, and I, were in a newly wedded bubble of pure bliss, and happiness, wrapped up in each other, and full of excitement for our new life to begin as man and wife. Life was easy and we were more in love than ever. We had just returned from our honeymoon in the Dominican Republic, where we’d indulged in the all-inclusive bars, and drunk copious amounts of the native drink, mama-juana- a drink made from honey, rum, and red wine, soaked in bark. (Also an aphrodisiac.)
The locals would often joke, ‘a drink of this will put a baby in your belly’ .. We just laughed, knowing that 18 months contraceptive free, had not seen a baby ‘put in my belly’ yet, so we were sceptical that this sweet Dominican concoction would suddenly change that. However, we weren’t dwelling on this too much. We’d previously agreed that if I wasn’t pregnant within another year of ‘not trying, but not not trying’, I’d see a doctor about it, to just check that things were okay. We also made another agreement; once we returned home, we would indeed extend our family.. by adopting a puppy!! We’d both grown up in family homes with dogs, and had always lived in homes where a dog was the heart of the family. In truth, we had often admitted that our newly bought house was yet to feel quite like a home, without the pitter-patter of doggy paws, and a big slobbery kiss awaiting us when we walked through the front door. So it was a deal.
We met with a breeder, not much more than 2 weeks after we returned, and picked our puppy; the only bitch left for sale, in a litter of labradoodle X labradors. We were fortunate enough to meet both mum and dad, as they both belonged to the seller. And what gorgeous temperaments they had! We were instantly in love with a beautiful strawberry blonde ball of fluff, and decided we would call her Daphne. She was only a few weeks old at this point, so it was project puppy proof the house for the next few weeks, in anticipation for our new arrival! But as fate would have it, 3 weeks after our honeymoon, I discovered I was about 5 weeks pregnant! We couldn’t quite believe it, and were both overjoyed by the news of our honeymoon/wedding baby! The dates would have equated to either our wedding or the very start of the honeymoon! So who knows, maybe the mama-juana really does work as the locals had predicted!? Whilst we were both very excited, it also bought us to question, was now the right time to be getting a puppy? How would I manage pregnancy, and training a hyperactive part-labby?! However, I was adamant we would still be bringing our Daphne home in a week, and that was the end of it.
We’d agreed that we wouldn’t tell anybody about the baby until I was much further into the pregnancy. It felt like our special, happy, little secret, and I wanted it to stay that way for as long as possible. I had this notion that I wouldn’t need to tell people until I was actually showing, which if my family were anything to go by, would be 6 months down the line. We kept it on a need to know basis, which meant that the only people we told were Trist’s brother, my best friend, my manager, and a few work colleagues (because of the nature of my role, I had to disclose my condition far earlier than I had necessarily felt comfortable to.) We didn’t tell either sets of parents at this point either, thinking it would be more exciting to give them less time to wait, when we did eventually share our news. Provisions were made, and I took on a temp role safely tucked away in an office at HQ. Having a playful puppy bounding around the house, felt like great practice. Having a fur baby to coo over bought the maternal side out of me. Everything felt so perfect. My heart felt light, and it was as if we were living out some beautiful happily ever after. Every night I’d undress and stick my tiny belly out, and ask my new husband, ‘have I got a bump yet?’ Truth be told, I didn’t even look bloated. I met my midwife, and she made me an appointment for our 12 week scan- Monday 28th September. It was a few weeks away, but I was thrilled! The next couple of weeks went by, and I felt absolutely fantastic. Not even a whiff of morning sickness, which at the time, I thought was bloody fantastic..
On the morning of September 24th my day started as usual. I enjoyed a little snuggle with Oscar cat, and our new family member, Daphne, before jumping on the train to head into work. On the train, I browsed Pinterest for quotes about magic, reflecting my own feelings, of overwhelming blessings. There was a cake sale in the office, and I went for a treacle slice. However, I took a couple of bites, and came across all queasy, so took myself to the toilet. That was when I saw it. A very small, but unmistakeable few drops of blood. My stomach flipped, as I felt the rush of panic tugging at my insides. I think I knew in that very moment something was not right. I had been floating around on cloud 9 for weeks, and was about to come crashing back down to earth.. No. I had to stop thinking the worst. After all, women bleed all the time in pregnancy, don’t they?! So I returned upstairs, trying to compose myself so no one would see the stress in my face, or redness in my eyes, but as I entered the office. my friend who was sporting a blossoming 5 month in the making, baby bump, was walking by, so I grabbed her, and pulled her to the side for a quiet word. She was very level headed, maybe she could sense my panic and was trying to calm me down, but she said the sensible thing; ‘if you’re worried just ring your midwife.’ .. I headed back down to the bathroom, text my other half explaining the situation, that I was going to give the midwife a buzz, and he definitely should not panic, because it was almost certainly nothing, and I was more than likely just being silly.. I rang the midwife, answered all her questions, and based on my answers, she told me not to worry, reminded me that my scan was only a few days away, and that as there wasn’t much blood, she was sure it wouldn’t be anything to worry about.. As the afternoon went on though, the bleeding got heavier. And the worry was not going away.
On the train home, the cramps hit. And the voice in my head trying to tell me not to panic, was being drowned out by that voice of dread and panic, telling me that something was very, very wrong.
I got through the door, and Daphne greeted me. Not in her usual piddling on the carpet, running round in circles greeting, but with an air of caution, and almost worry. I craddled our usually excitable Puppy before deciding to call the NHS helpline for some advice. My midwife had said it was nothing, but by this point I just couldn’t believe her. My gut instinct told me a different story altogether. The telephone agent took my details, and told me a nurse would call back shortly. Just as the call ended, I heard Trist’s keys in the door. I’d held myself together relatively well until now. But there he was, stood in the door, with a doting look on his face. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.. Bam! That was the ticket to send me over the edge. I turned away in an attempt to stop him seeing the tears escaping my eyes, and uncontrollable sobs. Why was I making this into something serious, when it may well have been nothing?! I didn’t want to believe it was what my mind was telling me, but every inch of me felt it. Instinct. As much as I’d tried to tell myself that some women bleed all the way through their pregnancies, I knew that I wasn’t one of them. He held me together, in his embrace. His strong, warm arms wrapped around me, and his face buried into my hair. And then my phone rang. I straightened up, shook myself off, and wiped away the tears, in an attempt to erase the momentary breakdown I’d just let prevail, in order to answered the phone.. The nurse went through the details again with me and advised I go to A & E. I hated leaving Daphne, and wished she could have come with us. Everything felt more manageable with her big brown eyes looking lovingly at me.
Stormy Clouds Overhead
We got to A&E, met by an entourage of ails and illnesses, and a sign with the words swimming across it; Estimated waiting time: 4 hours. .. 4 hours?!! I was exhausted already. How could I wait 4 hours?! So there I was, in a waiting room full of visibly injured and poorly individuals, with no obvious cause to be here, only eyes fulling up with tears every now and then. Trist got up on several occasions to address the receptionist, but it was no use. There was an order; we were all here for Emergency’s and I wasn’t going to be magically jumped to the head of the queue. 3 hours into our wait, the cramping intensified. Far worse than any period pain is ever experienced. With that, I took myself to the ladies room. I wished I hadn’t, because with that, there was a substantial amount of blood as I sit on the toilet. I think the sheer amount alone, told me everything I needed to know.. but still, I had to sit in that waiting room for a further 2.5 hours. It was midnight by the time a nurse called me in. She led me up the stairs, to a room, where she took my bloods, and told me, ‘I’m sure baby is doing just fine in there.’ She assessed the amount of bleeding, and told me excitedly, ‘you’ll get to see baby early- we’ve booked you in for a scan tomorrow lunch time.’ Her behaviour and manor even made me feel at ease. I thought to myself, ‘this must be something she sees all the time.’ ‘She’s the professional, she must be right, the baby is fine.’ It was 2am when we got home. I had Daphne up on the bed with me that night. My cramping was still intermittent, so I took a paracetamol, and tried to sleep. With a million thoughts running around my head, sleep wasn’t coming readily to me, so instead, I searched the depths of google looking at various forums for miracle stories about mistaken miscarriages, desperately trying to cling onto the little hope I had left, that our baby was safe and well in there. Around 4am, I finally managed to give up my woes, and get some sleep.
By the morning, things seemed to have slowed; less bleeding, less pain. The appointment wasn’t until early afternoon, so I managed to convince Trist to head off to work, reassuring him that I would ring him if anything changed.. however, an hour after he left the house, I quickly began to regret my persistence, and readiness to put on a brave face, as I found myself doubled over on the stairs, in the most agonising pain. It felt like someone was driving a cork screw into my uterus, and giving my ovaries a Chinese burn.. surely this was not normal? As soon as I updated Trist, he was immediately offering to come home. I hesitated, knowing that we were booked in for this scan, and considering our wait from the previous evening, I had no expectation that any further developments would result in the investigations proceeding any sooner. So I didn’t see much point in him dropping everything to be by my side when there was precious little anyone could do for whatever was happening. We agreed he’d finish his next appointment then come home. The only thing that even slightly eased the pain, was a hot bath. I lay there for well over an hour, until Trist got home around 11.30. A little later, we set off to the hospital.
Sitting in the waiting room of the ultrasound clinic was so weird. I remember seeing the machine you buy your ultrasound photo tokens from and thinking, ‘oh, we should have got cash out.’ I’d spent much of the morning looking through further forums at other women’s experiences. Experiences of hope, miracle babies, and ultimately happy endings. I guess it had given me a new found hope. I just kept telling myself that we were going to go into that room, and we were going to see our baby kicking about on the screen, totally oblivious to the stress he/she was causing mummy.
The Eye of the Storm
In those moments, as the sonogram failed to pick up any signs of life, something shifted in me. I held on to Trists hand so tightly, but emotionally disconnected while we shared the room with a complete stranger. I knew what had happened, the sonographers silence said it all. Eventually I managed to speak. ‘Is there anything there?’ I practically whispered it. She explained that it was hard to say, because there were several large masses and some clotting, which could be obstructing baby, so she’d have to use an internal camera to get a better view. We watched the images on the screen, and again, nothing that resembled any kind of life came to light. The examination was finished, and we were asked to head to the maternity ward where they would be expecting me. I had no idea what this part would entail, but as we started walking down the corridor, something inside me shattered. There was a large blue dividing screen in a waiting area, which I darted behind, bent my knees down, and wept. I felt out of control, and I felt frozen to the spot. It was like in that very moment of stark realisation, the joy had been sucked out of me. How was I supposed to get up? How was I supposed to just walk out of this hospital and get on with my life as if the last 10 weeks hadn’t happened? Yet still, nobody has said those words to me. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘you’ve lost the baby’. Trist crouched down beside me, kissed me head, and wiped the tears from my eyes. I could tell he was keen to keep us moving, and away from the prying eyes, but I needed a moment to find me feet, and my strength to face what I was fast realising was the reality of our situation. So I nodded, gesturing that I was ready to keep going, and for him to go ahead, whilst I took several seconds to attempt to compose myself. I took a few deep breathes, and emerged from behind the blue screen, giving my best attempt of a half smile, for my better half.
Despite being told that they would be ‘expecting’ us on the ward, we were made to wait for a further 90 minutes before a student doctor eventually poked his head around the door, and beckoned us into an examination room. He took my bloods, and talked at us. By this point I’d closed off, and he could have been saying anything for all I was absorbing from this conversation. I do however, remember the mention of the possibility of an ectopic pregnancy, suspected miscarriage, and again, possibility of an obstruction. I knew I had miscarried, but even at this point, the professionals still would not give me a definitive answer. Instead they took my bloods, and told me that I would have to continue to take bloods every 48 hours to assess what was happening. If the levels of HCG increased, they’d have to carry out further investigations, and if they dropped then it would confirm that the pregnancy had in fact ended.
It felt cruel that I had to return to the maternity ward every other day to wait for at least an hour, (despite being given actual appointment times,) to have my bloods taken, to confirm what I already knew. I remember, on more than one occasion, being in floods of tears, crippled by the fact that I was being made to wait on a ward where I was surrounded by healthy, happy expectant and new mums, where here I was, failing to do the one thing they had all succeeded at. Each blood test bought with it the nod of approval, that my HCG levels were dropping as expected. That was about it. Nobody offered any sort of guidance, asked how I felt, or still even said those words, ‘sorry, you’ve lost the baby.’ I felt like an inconvenience, and I felt like in their eyes, I was allowed to grieve. I had miscarried at close to 11 weeks, so the likelihood was that the baby had stopped developing around the 7/8 weeks mark. (This was something my GP would go on to advice me a month or so later.) Sadly, my experience with this particular hospital was far from a pleasant one, and despite the times the NHS has been a bloomin’ treasure, this time, I really felt like I had been let down. The singularly most painful experience of my life, and I was made to feel alienated, made to sit and wait for at least an hour every time, on the bloody maternity ward for a doctor to spare 5 seconds to take my blood sample. It was sickening. I’d be in tears on my way to each appointment, knowing exactly what I was about to be stepping into. It felt so very cruel, and each afternoon when I’d ring to get the result, I’d practically beg them to give my an inclusive answer so I wouldn’t have to go through it again. I spent every other day for 2 weeks on that ward until they finally let me carry on with my life.
My memory of the immediate days after the scan, are a little hazy. We all experience heartbreak in our lives. My first, was the death of my beautiful Grandmother, and again, when my a Grandfather, my hero, passed away 5 years ago. I even broke my own heart on one an occasion, when I ended a 4 year long relationship, because I’d fallen out of love, and ultimately, it meant saying goodbye to someone who was by all accounts, my best friend. However, none of those heartbreaks prepared me for this.. Losing our baby shattered me to the core, and my world came crashing in, in an instance. I had spent weeks building in anticipation & excitement, over flowing with love, to only have that pure happiness ripped away from us. There’s a line in the song- ‘Let It Out’ by Frances; ‘it’s a pretty rare happiness that we know, and a pretty cold sadness if it goes..’ And that was our reality..
I felt empty, and as if I had failed us. I was ashamed of myself, and couldn’t help but blame myself. It was my fault, and I had let this happen. Try as he may, not even Trist could really get through to me. I had built up a wall, and in truth, just looking at him made me feel physically sick. He’d wanted this baby just as much as I had, and I felt like I’d let him down, and taken away his chance to be a Father. In the meantime he’d taken time off work; to be there for me, but to also give himself some time to heal. We were both hurting, and it wasn’t going to just disappear over night. One evening about 4 days after our storm had begun, I told Trist I was going for a drive. He asked if he could join me. I agreed. That day, I’d called to check the HCG results, and it had been confirmed they were dropping at the expected rate. I didn’t have any hope really, I knew I’d lost our baby, but these words were the first real confirmation, so they really hit home. I’d been either stuck in the house, or in a hospital waiting room, for days, and I was feel claustrophobic. So I put on some music (Coldplay – Ghost Stories Album), Trist’s hand on my leg, and drove towards the coast. This album will always have a special place in my heart. The emotions I felt listening to those lyrics. Especially those of ‘A Sky Full of Stars’ and ‘O’.. It was as if I’d held in all my tears, and now my eyes were rapidly overflowing. I had to slow down, to see the road ahead. I could here Trist next to me, softly sobbing, as his hand on my leg would offer an affectionate squeeze. We didn’t speak a single word, but instead took those moments to simply let it out. As I pulled up onto the seafront, I switched the engine off, turned off the lights, and for a moment, sat in silence, before finally turning, and falling to my left, and holding onto my husband. Soaked in tears, I kissed him. We got out of the car, and wondered down to the ocean. Hitched up our trousers, and removed our shoes and socks. I’ve always had a great fondness for the ocean, and my heart had lead us there that night. So, we just waded out, hand in hand, into the warm, dark Autumn sea, looking up at the night sky, alight with the moon and stars, feeling the gentle waves against our legs. It was as if I’d been suffocating for days, but right here, standing in the ocean, safe in the arms of the man I love, I could breathe.
I spent the next couple of weeks (between my HCG blood check appointments) camped out on the sofa, cwtching my Daphne. Friends had offered to come and visit me, but putting on a brave face, and socialising didn’t have much appeal to me. Daphne didn’t want to talk about it, she didn’t want to fuss over me, she didn’t want to sit and tell me how it was all going to be okay, and I could try again in a couple of months. No. She just wanted to silently sit with me, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, offering me an affectionate lick now and then, and just being there. So that’s what she did. Daphne was my shadow; my ever faithful companion, and she never left my side, as if always keeping a guard of her human mama. And in turn she was my baby. So beautiful, and innocent. She just knew. She knew, and she somehow understood. Our perfect puppy. I will never forget what Daphne did for me, to help heal my broken heart.
We also decided to tell our parents. That in itself was a really tough decision; telling them that I had been pregnant with their grandchild, but had lost it. How do you deliver that kind of disappointing news? Anyway, both sets of parents were, as always, amazing! My mother-in-law, who lives locally, stopping by on a regularly basis, to drop off Welsh bara brith cake, cottage pies, or flowers. Whilst my own mother who lives 3.5 hours away, would call every day, checking in on my appointments, and how I was feeling, and that I was absolutely sure that I didn’t want her to come up and stay. Really, I felt stupid for ever keeping them in the dark. There are times when people really pull through for you, and this was one of them.
The Road to Recovery
In the following weeks and months, things started to go back to normal. I returned to work, we’d go out and see friends, but there was a sadness that would creep up and catch me unawares. My emotions were a little whacky, and the simplest scene of TV, or a line from a song would reduce me to tears. In the middle of October, we took a long weekend away, in a cosy little cottage in the Cornish fishing village of Cadgwith Cove. It was pretty, and peaceful, and couldn’t have been any closer to the sea. It was perfect, and just what we needed. A change of scenery, and some time away from it all, together. This place will always hold sentiment to me now, as it is a place where we did a lot of our healing. One dark night, sat out on the patio, under a blanket, we looked up to the stars. They were glorious, and scattering the nights sky, like glitter, when we caught a glimpse of a shooting star. Everybody knows, if you see a shooting star, you must make a wish…
On October 31st, we went to watch one of my favourite musicians; An Acoustic Evening with Gavin DeGraw, in Birmingham. We’d had a few drinks, laughed and smiled together, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, when just as Gavin was approaching the end of his set, it felt like someone had taken the air from my lungs, as the tears came from nowhere, and I had to make an early exit from the venue. Grief is a strange old thing, isn’t it?
“Grief is like is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All you can do is learn to swim.” – Vicki Harrison
We’d have good days, where we were happy and light, and enjoying life as newly weds. But there would also be those occasional days when our loss was all too real, and we’d feel a great deal of sadness about the life that never really was. As much as we tried to forget and move on, this was a part of our story now. I found I could laugh, and smile, and carry on, but I still carried a heavy load with me, and the smallest reminder would cut like I knife. It was the last week in November when I went to visit one of my sisters. My mum had been very discrete about my ordeal, so my sister was totally unaware of our loss, when she happily shared her happy news with me. She was pregnant. Her and her husband have been married for several years, and we’d all nagged at them for ages, about having babies, so this really was the best news, and I was SO happy for her. But after I left her house, the tears I’d halted for weeks now, were rolling down my eyes. A mixture of joy for them, but sadness for ourselves, that I should have been sporting my very own bump of 4 months by now.
On December 1st, a week after hearing my sisters news, I noticed that I’d never got my period that month. I’ve never been regular, and odds were my body would be pretty out of sync after the miscarriage in September. But something inside me told me to take a test. I had a test in the cupboard, left from the previous twin pack I bought that had revealed my previous pregnancy. I did the test, almost humouring myself, sure that I was just peeing on a stick for the hell of it. But 2 minutes passed, and clear as day, it was there. Two lines.. what?! People had said, ‘you’ll be pregnant in no time’, but I’d not even entertained the thought, with the wounds still so sore from our last endeavour. But here I was, now sitting on the bed, nudging Trist to wake up, and look. He sleepily looked at the stick, then up at me, and asked, ‘you’re pregnant?’. Queue the tears.. (2015 was a veeeeeery tearful year, incase you hadn’t already figured). There were so many emotions running through my head; excitement, gratitude, fear, guilt.. I took a further 5 tests over the next 48 hours, and the results were conclusive.
I had a guard up though, and my anxiety was growing, so we agreed to go private, and pay for an early reassurance scan, for the earliest date available- December 16th. We agreed to keep it between the two of us, both half not believing it was really happening either. We had to have that scan and see our baby to believe that it was really happening this time. So for two weeks, we carried on as normal, but with an air of caution. By the second week though, I couldn’t ignore what was going on with my body. My boobs and doubled in size in no time at all, and I had been hit with extreme nausea, and found myself making a quick dash for the the toilet, or a sink, on random occasions throughout the day. Oddly enough, I took comfort in my sickness, because during my first pregnancy, I hadn’t experienced anything like it. Everything screamed pregnancy to me, but I still couldn’t let myself get sucked into it, until I’d had the scan.
The day of the scan came (or evening I should say). I was a nervous wreck, thinking we might not see anything anyway, because it was too soon.. I drank 2 litres of water to give the sonographer the best shot of seeing anything, which actually resulted in her asking me empty my bladder a little first. *oops* I climbed up onto the reclining bed, lay back and awaited the search for life. Before my head even had time to hit the pillow, the screen was focused onwhat like a bean, with a definite flickering centre. ‘Baby has a strong heart beat. Do you see that?’ ‘That’s the baby, and that tiny flicking, is its heart beating.’ I squeezed Trists had an smiled at him in amazement! It was magic. We had done it. The Sonograoher estimated our little bean to be about 6.5 weeks along, and sent us away with several scan pictures. This time we wasted no time to tell our nearest and dearest! Telling both sets of parents that same evening, by giving them a photo of their soon to be grandchild. It was the best Christmas present in the world. How very different Christmas 2015 may have been, but our little miracle was going to see our year of ups & downs end on an almighty high. The morning sickness stuck by me until I was about 16 weeks, but I didn’t mind. I felt pregnant, and it was really happening..
On August 6th, at 07:51am, after 15 hours of labour, our rainbow made her entrance into the world, via a water birth, and back to back labour on gas and air! (WOOO! GO ME!! ) Nothing could have prepared us for that moment. Her first breath, truly took ours away.
I can no longer look back at our loss with the same ache in my heart I once had, because we wouldn’t have our Rory Rainbow had things been different. Our first pregnancy came to an abrupt, tragic end, when our little bird found it’s wings way sooner than anyone could have anticipated, left us in the storm, soared into the clouds. However, they sent down a glorious rainbow, a little sister.. I for one, believe that Rory will always have guardian angel looking over her. Despite that heartache, the sleepless nights on tear soaked pillows, and pain we endured, I can whole heartedly now say, that I am grateful for what we went through. I will always be sorry for the life that was lost, and the little one we never got to hold. I will always wonder who they would have been. But that chapter has bought me to appreciate what we have now all the more.
Aurora; our little miracle. Meaning:- Dawn; Aurora was the Roman Goddess of the morning.. how very apt.. She fills out life with light and sunshine everyday.
Last week I added an addition to my collection of tattoos. I hope you’ll all be able to appreciate the sentiment of it.
So there we have it. It sincerely hope that this post finds it way to somebody who really needs it. So that you can know that you don’t have to go through it alone. Not only that, but above all things, you must always have hope. ❤️ If this speaks to you, and you need a friend, or a listening ear, I am always ready to offer love and support.
October 9th-15th is baby loss awareness week. On October 15th at 7pm people across the world are invited to light a candle, creating a wave of light, in the loving memory of our little ones that left us too soon.
On Sunday 15th at 7pm, I invite you to light a candle too, creating a #WaveOfLight in honour of the angel babies that were just too precious for this world. They deserve to be remembered.
formation & support, visit Tommys , who inspired the #MisCourage hashtag, as a means for women to share their stories, as well as offering hope and support to others. Tommys Charity have been a beacon of light to many women who have suffered a pregnancy or infant loss, and they are doing incredible work to raise awareness on the subject, and end the taboo, so please check them out, as well as the miscarriage association.
Thank you so much for reading, I know it’s been a long post, but the subject is very close to my heart.
All my love
If this is relevant to you, please see below, a sentiment that spoke to me at the time of my loss. It is absolutely beautiful, and helped me keep the faith. < a href=”https://balancedfitmamabird.files.wordpress.com/2017/09/img_3240-1.jpg”><<<<<<<<<