If you know me in real life and have found this blog, please honour my wishes and don't read on. I need this place to freely write my feelings to help me to heal and if you're reading, I'll censor myself. I have no way of knowing who is reading so all I can do is trust you to honour my wishes. Thank you.

(this doesn't apply to any of my fellow mums of angels I've been lucky enough to meet in real life)

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Where to start?

I'm not sure where to start. Two months ago today, I held our baby girl Matilda while my husband knelt down in front of us and held her hand as she died and left this world for hopefully a better place. She was beautiful and far too young at only 4 days old.

I love her and always will. That's the easy part. The hard part is everything else that goes with this thing they call 'baby loss' (I didn't even know this term existed 'before'). The emotions, the physical pain of grief, dealing with those people that just don't get it (why are there so many of them), and trying to look to the future with hope rather than fear.

Apologies to Jess for borrowing, stealing, whatever you'd like to call it, the idea of the title. It's not just that I lack creativity to the point where I couldn't think of anything better but I have this distinct sensation of my life being 'before' and 'after'. When I look at my wedding photos (it was only 10 months ago) it's like looking at person who I don't even know. I can't imagine what my thoughts were about losing a baby before it had happened to me. Did I try and imagine the devastating loss or did I just push it aside with the idea that things like this happen to other people? I don't know, I try and try but I just can't get my into my 'before' mind. I hear songs on the radio and think 'The last time I heard that was before'.

I'm not sure what I hope to get out of this blog but I hope getting my thoughts out of my head will go some way towards helping me deal with them. We'll see.


  1. I hope that writing helps.

    I'm so terribly sorry that you lost your daughter, Matilda.

    I also find it very difficult to imagine myself back into my own 'before' mind. I'm sure that I thought that losing a baby was one of those things that simply wouldn't happen to me. Strange when I was so petrified of having an early miscarriage.

    I'll be here reading if you don't mind. I found you from a comment you left at Angie's blog, Still Life with Circles.

    And I'm just so very sorry to read about the loss of your Matilda. I truly am. x

  2. Thanks for your comment Catherine. I'm sorry to have met you here and that you don't have both of your beautiful girls with you. It's not unreasonable to want that.

    I was really scared of having an early miscarriage as well and didn't tell anyone except immediate family until after my 12 week scan. But I never really thought about anything else going wrong. We found out Matilda had a rare genetic syndrome (Beckwith Wiedemann) when I was pregnant and I still didn't really think about the possibility of her dying even though we knew there would be challenges.

    Maddie x

  3. Oh Maddie, I'm so sorry to read about your sweet Matilda.

    I'll be reading along too.

    Love Jess x

    (PS I don't think I have the monopoly on the word 'After' - if only I WAS the only one to understand the distinction. I so wish there wasn't the need for your blog or my blog or anyone's)

  4. I wish we didn't need these blogs either Jess. I've just gotten back from a weekend away with other Mothers (and Fathers) of Angels from my forum. I'm so glad I've found them and got to meet them yet wish so much we never had to meet. It's hard to stand in a group of that many people and know we've all felt this intense and seemingly neverending (well it seems that way at this stage) pain.

    Maddie x

  5. I saw the title of your blog and it stunned me. It is incredibly potent because that's exactly how baby loss works... BC and AD are now longer the way we view time, but rather before the loss of that precious little one and after it. Because (as with AD) after it, nothing will or could ever be the same.

  6. My whole life feels like this - when I hear songs, talk to people, drive past restaurants I've been too.

    Losing our first child means everything about our life is the same but yet it's all different.

    Thanks for reading.