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Hello out there? Universe? Heaven? Whoever is holding the unearthed soul of my little boy! I am coming for you. I am coming to get my son back. I am DONE with you holding him. You had no right to take him in the first place. He belongs here. With my husband and I. He needs to come home and meet his new little brother. He’s missed too much already, and we’ve missed too much of him.
He would be 2 now. He’s meant to be running around our house – making a mess, playing with toys, squealing with joy. He’s meant to be at family events – playing with his cousins (and fighting with them too). Why does he have to miss out? Why do we have to miss out? Why do his cousins and aunties and uncles and grandparents have to miss out?
I used to think grief was just sadness. I now know it’s not. It’s all the other feelings too. All…at…the same…time.
Grief is the harsh, cruel pain of holding your stillborn son in your arms, whilst feeling utter pride and unbearable love for this perfect, yet breathless little life.
It’s your mind playing tricks on you; saying your baby is just sleeping. Then the overwhelming reality when you realise he’s not waking up.
I’m not a normal mum.
The normal joy surrounding a baby’s birth involves squeals of excitement and happy-tears, followed by the standard questions:
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“What did you name him/her?”
“How much does he/she weigh?”