For Sunny. My Angel Baby. 27th May 2019
I loved you. I still do.
Even if I will never hold you in my arms.
You are the sunrise in the morning even though your time here never came to be.
I held you for 9 weeks. I am your mother and I always will be.
I saw you, there on the scan, without a heartbeat and i wept for all the lost moments,
all the things in this wonderful life I could never share with you.
I wept for not having ever heard you laugh. I wept for not having ever heard you cry.
I wept for not having ever bathed you or fed you.
I wept for not having ever seen what colour hair you’d have or how much you’d love your big sister. I know she already loved you, she’d kiss my belly before bed every night wishing our baby goodnight. I know she won’t remember this but I will, your daddy will.
We will always hold you somewhere in our hearts because even in those six weeks we knew of you we loved you and we dreamt of the future with you in it.
I was excited to share some news with everyone who was anyone in a couple of weeks, with an announcement so much more different to what is now my reality. In April we were graced with a positive pregnancy test, or four to be exact. We were ready to extend our family and give our little girl a sibling to walk life with. Over the coming weeks I experienced the usual symptoms like nausea and fatigue. I grew so much more quickly this time and within weeks I could not fit my work pants. Things were on the right path to welcome our baby in December, but the universe had other plans for this was not to be, not this time, not this season. Our little Sunny, as he shall forever be named, left us earlier this week at 9 weeks gestation and has left me feeling empty, lost and shattered. How can a mother ever say goodbye to their child, no matter the time they have been their mother or what that time has looked like? This is not my first angel baby, I have another in the stars, who I named Luna a long time ago but somehow this feels different. Harder. More Painful. More Unfair. Perhaps because this loss has also reopened old wounds from when I lost my moon, or perhaps because now that I have grown a child and I see her in the flesh I am so much more aware that I will never see my Sunny laugh or cry, sneeze or hiccup. I will never feed him or cuddle him to sleep. I have spent the past week half in my bed and half snuggled up to Audrey-Lee just to hold one of my babies close so I can remember to be grateful for what I do have that so many people long to have.
This baby, my Sunny was so so wanted, and we had already imagined them during our journey to conceive. We made plans for them. We took out our old baby things and stacked the shelves with onesies, swaddles and beanies. We started a list of names and planned for my time at home with our two children. We told so many more people than we told about Audrey-Lee because I felt so sure that this was going to happen. With Audrey I was so guarded, as I had lost before, but somehow, for some reason I felt that this baby was here for the long run, that nothing could happen. How wrong was I?
I know now that it wasn’t their time, it wasn’t to be, but I also know that I need to allow myself to grieve, to cry, to be angry. I need to let myself feel, and in turn let myself heal. No one else can do that for me, even if they try. For now I just need to sit with those I love and be still, silent, reflective. I need to let the pain wash over me so I can grow again, so that when the season comes I am ready for another precious soul to join our little family.