Saturday

 Saturday

Saturday 

February 2024

Nothing significant happened on this day. The first Saturday we were just in waiting mode. We were waiting to speak to the specialists in Bristol. We decided to try to have a “normal” weekend, whatever that meant. Your sister spent some time with Nana, and mummy and daddy tried to distract themselves with other things. We seemed to be in a suspended reality: nothing felt normal, but we weren’t ready to settle into something really being wrong. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach all weekend, yet every time you kicked me, I wondered if it was all just a strange dream. Nothing felt real.  

The following Saturday, it very much felt real. We were still in a weird state of being: playing a different kind of waiting game. The day before, I had taken a pill to end my pregnancy. Today I was carrying you, knowing I would feel your kicks for the last time tonight.  

Again, we tried to have a “normal” day. We tried to keep things light, happy and normal for your sister, and for us. It would be the last day we would be a 4: Your big sister, your daddy, me and you. It would be the last day I would walk anywhere carrying you safely inside me. It was heartbreaking. It was really hard to smile that day, although we tried to make the most of it.  

We went to some woodlands, walked along a river and tried to enjoy the sounds of the running water, the birds, the hope of Spring. I tried to block out the fact that we would never come here again, the four of us. I tried to block out the vision I had of two children running ahead of us, hiding behind trees, looking for snowdrops, listening for birds. I’d thought we would have walked here again later in the year, with you. But we wouldn’t because we couldn’t. Tomorrow we were going to start to say goodbye to you. I am so sorry, baby girl. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I wanted that last walk, the four of us, to last forever. But it didn’t.  x





Location: Exeter, UK

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Tuesday

Tuesday   F ebruary 2024 There were two Tuesdays that were significant to you.    There was the day we drove to Bristol to get the answers to the many questions we had and there was the day we were discharged from the hospital, without you.    I am sorry baby girl, but we weren’t thinking “positive” thoughts, or hoping for miracles that day. I think deep down we already knew what the answers would be, but we were told to go there and find out what the experts would say, so we did. They were the specialists who could confirm what they weren’t able to tell us in Exeter. They would tell us exactly how poorly your heart was and what they could do for you. We’d waited 5 long days for this appointment. 5 days in a suspended reality, not able to relax, to plan or to live. We were just waiting. We didn’t feel any better after that appointment. It was worse.    I remember feeling so sick on the drive. I sat in the passenger seat, reading up on the anatomy...
Read more

On Your Birth Day

Image
   Dear Laila,  A year ago today, I gave birth to you. So today is your birth day. A year ago today, we met you for the first time. But, it's not a day to celebrate because you came into this world with no signs of life. Our hearts were broken enough by then and knowing you arrived peacefully brought us some relief.   I have written you these letters; from Wednesday, the day of our first scan, and for the ten days that followed. They were the hardest ten days of our lives. I hope is that somehow, in some way, whereever you are, these letters will reach you. You'll know how very loved you were and how very sad we always will be to not have you here 💔
Read more

Sunday

Image
 Sunday February 2024 This is a really tough day for me. It will always be the day I went into hospital to give birth to you, but not to say hello.    Time went both slowly and fast that morning. We had a lazy morning, hanging out with your sister. Neither of us wanted the day to start: we both wanted to press pause. I wished I could stop time and make it not happen, but I couldn’t . There are so many powers we wish we had as parents: we can’t stop time, we can’t see the future, we can’t change the past. We can only deal with now and do the kindest thing we can to cause our children the least amount of pain possible.    Parts of that day will be tattooed into my mind for the rest of my life, yet parts are so fuzzy now, only a few weeks later. I remember trying to pack a bag and not knowing what I was packing for. It wasn’t like the labour I had last time: I didn’t need any clothes for a new baby. I didn’t know how long I would be in hospital for. I did...
Read more