The trouble with pregnancy loss.

Today was the due date for our first Angel Baby. Had our little bean not been lost, we would have been making preparations for their 14th birthday party.

For 14 years now this date has come around and each time it prompts me to engage in some reflection. It’s not an upsetting time for me but instead it reminds of the upsetting times behind me; the trauma, the heartache, the worry and the loneliness.

It’s a date that until recent years, I have always remembered on my own. I’m sceptical that anyone around me (other than my husband or children) would be able to tell me the date our baby was due. I have for a long time felt hurt that this date means nothing to others, until recently. The power of reflection (and time) has allowed me to stand back and look at the grief others close to me have experienced and I wonder whether I have acknowledged their losses after a time. And I realised that I haven’t. I don’t remember the dates that my grandparents passed away or even their birthdays.

But I do remember them. I remember the warm memories, I remember the gestures of love, the smiles and the laughter, but I don’t remember dates. It doesn’t mean that I love them any less.

I’ve now come to claim by lost babies’ due dates as something of my own, and something very precious. They are special days for me to remember that I am their mum and they are my babies and that will never change. I’m so lucky they chose me to be their mum even if for a brief moment. This is our special day my little one. 😘