Another year has passed my lovelies and tomorrow I’m another year away from the very last time I held my beautiful baby girl in my arms. As always I anticipate this post will be a raw and candid look at baby/child loss. I make no apologies for that. It’s a brief look at how everything changes and everything stays the same.
It’s been 7 long years since I last cradled my baby in my arms. I use the word long but it’s also a strange concept to me. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can bring that day to the forefront of my memory in a heartbeat. The smells in the hospital. The fact that I’d had next to no sleep and Benidorm was on the TV at stupid o’clock in the morning. Discussions with my husband about what he needed to pick up when he went home to restock on necessities.
The long walk from the ward to the car park to see him off and the even longer walk back to the ward. Then the moment all time stopped. Everything carried on going but I was almost having an out of body experience. Perhaps that was my subconscious making sure I absorbed every little detail.
I’m sure some of you maybe pleased to know I’m still not quite ready to share every last detail so publicly but I remember everything so vividly. Holding her while she took her last breaths. Washing her perfect little face and brushing her curly hair. Putting on a pink babygrow with “I love my daddy” on. Just sitting with her for those final few hours and taking in every last little thing. Wondering how we would ever be ready to hand her over. 7 years down the line I’m still not ready.
The last year also comes with all the usual would’ve and could’ve beens. These are relentless. They never end. Lily-Mae’s big brother started Secondary School. She will never start school, let alone Secondary School. I always like to imagine she’d of been interested in dance classes and can picture her in a little ballet outfit prancing around. All the things I spoke about in my post last year still apply. The pain is still like a heavy weight on my chest. Sometimes I just can’t breathe.
I find it amazing how I’ve learnt to sob without actually making a noise. I’ll wake from dream, not necessarily about Lily-Mae but just a dream and think I can hear her. If I smell even the faintest hint of vanilla it reminds me of her. I’ve still not managed to get her clothes put completely out of the way. They are vacuum packed and away but not all the way away.
I also don’t forget that 7 years later brings new questions. Our son is 7 years older. He has questions about why can’t we just get pregnant so he can have a brother or sister. Why does everyone else get babies and not us? Can we try and adopt a baby? Can’t we just have IVF? He’d love a sibling but I just don’t have the answers for him.
So here we are. 7 years in. I don’t only think about our daughter but friendships that were lost. We have no choice but to deal with the grief. Some people can’t. So they choose not to deal with it and instead opt to just fade out of your life. Yet more grieving happens for friendships that once were. I guess that’s ok as well. Not everyone has to deal with it.
Some people get to walk away but not us. Thankfully there are new friendships. Those I have come to believe that are forged in the darkest of times will be some of the strongest. There is the stability of close friends and family. The kindness of a text or message. A card. Even just an acknowledging look that helps you know this isn’t a path you walk alone no matter how you feel.
Until we are reunited my darling.