LetterstoLaila

 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...

 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 th...

  Wednes day   February 2024  This will always be the day that should have been so wonderful. I was so excited that morning. I didn’t realise how wrong it could all go. I didn’t think about the possibility that there might ever be something wrong. It had all been so seamless with your big sister: we wrongly assumed it would all go the same way for you.    The sonographer was very jolly and made jokes about you being in cahoots with the other babies in the waiting room because all the babies she’d seen had been in difficult positions that morning. She looked at your heart, and decided to come back to it because your arm was in the way, apparently. She checked everything and listed all your perfectly measuring, perfectly formed body parts and organs. She came back to your heart and still couldn’t get a good view, so she asked me to go for a wee (to my relief) and see if you might turn around. I didn’t know that the next time I used that loo I would be in tear...

   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 💔