Mother’s Day

This year Tommy’s, the pregnancy and baby loss charity,  is running a special campaign for those who do not have their little ones with them on such a significant day #WeAreAllMums

Their campaign inspired me to write down a few words.

Mother’s Day was always a happy day. My boys would usually need a gentle reminder, but they would always draw me a picture or acknowledge the day in some lovely child-like way. We would usually meet up with my mum and sister and go out for lunch as a family. Something we don’t very often get to do because of other commitments, so it is a great excuse to do something special together.

I always wanted to be a mother so everyday I get to spend with my children is Mother’s Day for me. No matter how much they refuse to listen, or behave like the world owes them a favour, or get in trouble at school, or make a mess, they are still the babies I always wanted. I am extremely fortunate to have them both, healthy, happy, safe, and sound. I know all too well that my fertility issues could very easily have put a stop to that.

This year, however, Mother’s Day is different and it will be every year. If our daughter hadn’t passed away, her name would be in the card. She would one day be drawing me pictures too.

Emily. My sweet little star.

I should have three children to hug.

Three children to drive me nuts.

Three children to clear up after.

Three children to kiss goodnight.

This Mother’s Day has a piece missing. It is defective.

Can I return it to the shop? Get an exchange?

“Excuse me, but there is a bit missing. Could I please have a complete set?”

I often imagine that little baby girl in my dream last year, wrapped up in a white snowsuit all bundled up into her car seat. Imagine her gurgling, smiling. She’d be six months old today, the 24th March. Just starting to try out finger foods. “Food is fun until they’re one” they used to say when I was weaning the boys.

I wonder what Emily would like. I wonder what she would dislike. What would make her smile? I know her brothers would. I know her daddy would. What would make her sad?Would she have my dark curly hair I imagined her to have? Would she be cheeky? Would she be clever like her daddy? Would she have her daddy’s nose? Would she have my freckles like her brothers?

Mother’s Day is jumbled. Flawed.

I am Emily’s mummy. She is my child, yet she is nowhere to be seen. I’ve not buried my child, no one has said goodbye to her, there has been no funeral.  Is she missing? Still out there somewhere? But no one is looking for her. People carry on. The world moves around me at 100 miles per hour and I am here. Watching. In limbo. Caught in a parallel universe. Looking out.

I am Emily’s mummy. I created her, I carried her, I gave her life, no matter how short. I carry her in my heart and I wear a necklace every single day with her name engraved, and her birthstone attached. Hoping someone will ask about it, just so I can talk about my daughter.

When we lost Emily, I imagined we would have another little one by now. The alternative was unthinkable. A little brother or sister for my three children. Another little one to fill in that missing space at the table. Would they have been another little girl? Or would we have three beautiful boys? That space remains empty for now.

Readers, can I please ask you to do me one little favour? Can you hug your children that little bit tighter this Mother’s Day and give them an extra kiss? I know I will.

And if you are missing your baby right now? Remember that bond you have and will have forever. No matter what #weareallmums

 

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