Just incase any of you readers out there need this. Not babyloss related, but still very important. Please share.
I caught this today on social media as my babyloss mama and friend Keira from the Zoe Rose Memorial Foundation posted these beautiful words. In honor of the loss of her little girl, my own daughter, and every other little one out there who left us too soon, a reminder that you are forever with our hearts. I love these words, and wanted to share the lovely picture it paints.
Love and prayers to everyone out there who needs that vision right now as we all remember those dearest to our hearts. Now & forever.
The world may never notice
If a Snowdrop doesn’t bloom,
Or even pause to wonder
If the petals fall too soon.
But every life that ever forms,
Or ever comes to be,
Touches the world in some small way
For all eternity.
The little one we long for
Was swiftly here and gone.
But the love that was then planted
Is a light that still shines on.
And though our arms are empty,
Our hearts know what to do.
Every beating of our hearts
Says that we love you
Even though I don’t have any reason to believe my own body couldn’t carry a normal term healthy baby, the very thought still causes so many unsettled feelings and worries….
When you’ve had a traumatic pregnancy and birth experience, the question of having more children becomes very complex. With healthy, relatively easy pregnancies, the question is, “would we like another?” and, if yes, “when should we try again?”. But after two 25 weekers, it’s not that simple. Then the question is, “I’d really like another, but should we risk it?”
The older Madeleine and Reid get, the more I can make peace with what we went through after they were born. They are doing so well, so incredibly well, and I live with an unending sense of gratitude that our story had a happy ending. But I still struggle with my own feelings about my pregnancy. I struggle with the reality that my body was unable to carry my children long enough to keep them safe. And I still mourn the dream I had for my children’s entrance into the…
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I can’t explain how powerful this post is. Just read it. 🙂
August 5th 2014
When I strip it all away, what’s left? If I heal the parts of her story that are hurt and anger and unfairness and injustice and resentment, what will be left? Will her story mean less? If I forgive the people who hurt me when I was so vulnerable and so broken, then am I betraying her? Am I saying it was ok for those things to happen because she wasn’t worth defending? How do I decide that I want the bad parts to go away, when it will make her story so much less detailed. If I strip it all away… What’s left? How do I find the courage to figure this out, without betraying myself. Can I grieve without all my resentment? Can I give up my anger and find grace?
I have been struggling with this for a long time. I’ve said before that…
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A post from my friend at Expecting the Unexpected….nails these interaction, with a unexpected interaction. 🙂
She approached with a friendly smile. “Don’t you have a new baby?”
I was at bootcamp and the woman behind the words was familiar to me. I knew she had a little baby from an interaction I had with her a few months ago. I remembered her friendly face. In bootcamp we often have to pair up. Many times I don’t know anyone in the class, so I look around to see who a welcoming face. This woman had caught my eye.
The words caught in my throat. Six months after my daughter’s death I don’t get choked up when asked about her; I can say the words with out crying. But I get hung up on what to say, how to say it. I almost dread disappointing people when they ask such a simple question, one that deserves a simple answer. I pause awkwardly when asked, thinking how they…
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Remember that we all have our own obstacles, we’re not trying to one-up each other. Share the love, and though others may have something you long for, they’re not trying to rub it in anyone’s face. As this author cleverly and accurately says…. We Share Because We Care.
WOW. This is moving. And an exercise in forgiveness, acceptance, and healing; beautifully written.
I see you there on the couch. Your dirty dressing gown hugged tightly around your shoulders as you stare vacantly into the middle distance.
I bet it feels like the first times in weeks that the baby hasn’t been screaming the house down. So now you don’t dare move in case you wake him. You’re semi-aware that now is probably a good time to grab a snack or a shower but you can’t move. The room is pressing down around you and you feel like you can’t breathe. I bet you can’t remember the last time you enjoyed something, or what it feels like to not be constantly worried about something, anything.
You can’t see the end of the next minute, never mind, the next hour, day, week and you certainly can’t imagine ever feeling like you ever again.
But listen, you will. You will smile, you will…
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Acknowledgement means so much – this is proof. It’s uncomfortable for some, but it can aid in healing for those who wish to share. Hugo inspires happiness in remembrance to his mother, even if accompanied by a bit of sadness, it is likely so much better than saying nothing.
Since the death of my baby son Hugo earlier this year I have been overwhelmed with love, kindness and support from family, friends, strangers I have met and new friends I have met online.
Very few of these lovely people were able to meet Hugo. My baby was born 16 weeks early and spent the 35 days of his life in a neonatal intensive care unit on a ventilator.
However, all of these lovely people know exactly how much Hugo means to me. They say his name, listen patiently to all the stories I have to tell about his spirited and mischievous character, and look at the many photos I have of my gorgeous son. They admire him, and agree that he was a wonderful baby.
For those few minutes, I feel my face light up and I feel like any other proud new mum showing off my amazing…
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A blog post a mommy friend of mine…. she is so strong and I am proud of her for expressing her feelings, and finding her voice even through heartbreaking loss.
I went to BritMums Live with a great deal of trepidation. I’d been in a deep depression since the death of my baby son Hugo in March this year, and developed anxiety issues that mean I sometimes feel unable to leave the house.
The kind and generous Kylie from Not Even a Bag of Sugar had offered me a ticket. I was interested in the Inspire sessions at the conference and how to utilise my blog to advocate for change, and raise awareness of issues.
The conference was the first significant thing I had done since Hugo died, so I was terrified.
However, I was determined to do this for Hugo so I put on my favourite dress, made myself look presentable, and got on the train to London.
I received a warm welcome when I arrived. I’d made eye contact and exchanged smiles with a few other women, but…
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Sometimes the baby’s fight in the NICU isn’t the only one preemie parents are going through.