Last week, I went to see a friend and her little girl. We’re all part of a group of new mummies that met through our antenatal class, and we’ve been keeping each other sane on our journey into motherhood ever since.

My friend showed me the latest magazine of the organization that coordinated our course. It listed all the babies born for the various class facilitators. Under the names and birth dates of all our precious babes was a note about another mum who was in our group. She ended up having a very different journey. Her little boy was born and died the same day.

Reading that really got me. Even now, I can’t write about it without welling up inside. I knew it had happened… but it happened before I became a mum myself and I guess that means it happened before I could even begin to comprehend the enormity of that loss. Before I could really understand the intense love you feel for this little being that has come into your life. It might not be there straight away, or it might be a feeling that is present and continues to expand. I found myself falling in love more and more with Lilly over time. I loved her when she was born of course… and I have been falling in love with her ever since. To think of her being taken away before I could even get to know her seems unbearable.

When Oliver first passed away, we were told not to make contact. After some weeks, our antenatal teacher told us it would be ok to send a card. I never did. I just didn’t know what to say. I know there’s nothing you can say. But you can say you care. And that Oliver matters. That he’s not forgotten just because I didn’t (and don’t) know what to say.  

There’s no neat and clever way to wrap this post up either. Some things in life just don’t work that way. But I guess the least I can do is to finally have the courage to print this and send it to Oliver’s mum. Because even though we don’t see her, she is not forgotten either.

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