It's been 22 years for me, and I can still remember so much of those 3 days I had with my son. I have 3 days of memories, that are still so vivid in my mind. I can just close my eyes and remember.
I remember the first time he squeezed my finger, he's whole tiny hand wrapped around my little finger, squeezing with all his might. He was just minutes old, but he knew I was his mum. We had that immediate special connection, that trust and that love.
I remember in the hospital, showing him all the flowers we'd been sent. The nurse bathing him as we watched. He was like a slippery little seal, and I think he actually enjoyed it. He was a good boy, he didn't cry, he didn't moan.
I remember taking him home. It was a beautiful spring day, close to Easter, the new flowers were appearing and the sun was shining, welcoming our son home. We were so happy, it was like being in a wonderful dream, but being awake.
I remember taking him out in the garden. Wrapping him in his little white shawl, covering his little white baby grow. I loved him in white! Walking up the garden, the sun beaming on his face. I cuddled him tight into me, propped him on my left side, covering my heart. It was a beautiful day, full of colour and golden rays. The warmth cradled both of us, and I remember him turning his head, closing his eyes from the sun. It was beautiful.
I remember the little noises he made, I remember the big noises he made.
I remember all the excitement, people coming round, cards, flowers, presents. People wanting to pick him up. Whispering around him when he was asleep. I can't believe there's so much that I can remember. So many memories in just 3 days.
Then I remember the cold. A cold like I'd never felt before. And then there was the silence. The confusion. The denial. The hope. Then everything went into slow motion. Everyone was rushing, I was trying to keep up, but my thoughts kept slowing me down. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I was trying, but it was like a mist had come up in my head and I couldn't see through it. Slow motion. Stillness. Silence.
If you're reading this and you've lost your baby, maybe you'll understand the silence and the slow motion. The utter devastation, the confusion, the denial, the anger. Not knowing who you are anymore. Not knowing your role. Desperately wanting to be a part of the 'mum club', but knowing you just don't fit in anymore. Knowing you only have limited things you can say about your child. Knowing that if you tell people about your child, you'd also have to tell about the stuff you can't quite understand yourself. The stuff you may have buried deep within you, too scared to bring it out. Not wanting to feel those emotions, fearing that if you cry, you may not stop.
But you do stop crying. You can feel the emotions, and it's actually good to feel the emotions. It's healing, talking about what happened. You will learn to carry your grief. I learnt to use my grief to help other parents. This is also a great way to connect with your child.
My connection is when I support mum's with my counselling and befriending. I help mum's to remember their baby, the good times and the hard times. Because every little piece of memory is important. You will cherish every moment, and always remember.
You Never Forget!
Email me (Natalie) for counselling support:

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