I was due to work a night shift on the day that we found out there was something wrong with Holly's heart. I made my husband phone into work as I didn't want to acknowledge that there was something wrong but I knew I wouldn't, couldn't, possibly go in that evening and care for other babies when I didn't know what was wrong with my own. 

I didn't imagine that I wouldn't ever be going be back. 

I can only explain it like imagining there is someone who is terrified of heights but working as a pilot. Or someone who is terrified of dogs, becoming a dog walker. I was a midwife who became terrified of looking after pregnant women. My baby died but yet my whole job centered around caring for other women and their babies. 

I was lucky (bittersweet at it's best) to be entitled to maternity leave with Holly as she was born at 25 weeks and so I gladly took it all. Finding out I was then pregnant 3 months after her death lead to the maternity leave being run back to back. 

So I created a bubble. My safe place. Other than my children, no one else relied on me. If I wanted to stay in all week, then I did. I saw who I wanted, I wasn't forced to do anything or be anywhere that I didn't want to be. My filter for 'giving a shit' had been broken and quite frankly I listened to my grief and did what the hell I wanted. But always, in the back of my head was the nagging thought that 'this couldn't go on forever.' Some day soon I was going to have to make a decision regarding work and I knew it wouldn't be easy. 

I had worked bloody hard to get my midwifery degree. I had cleaned up blood, mopped up the sweat and shed my own fair share of tears but with a heavy heart (and a sigh of relief) I decided to not put myself through anymore. Losing Holly was and is bad enough without having to experience a daily reminder of what could and should have been. I have so much admiration for those midwives who have lost but yet go on to still work and I am by no means saying that my grief is any 'worse' than theirs, just an acknowledgment that everyone is different and I had acknowledged my own limit.
 
So little by little my bubble was beginning to soften. I began thinking about new opportunities and slowly the thought of work became exciting. Supporting bereavement care within midwifery will always be of a top priority to me but I don't need to be a midwife to make this happen. In fact, I have realised that the way I can do this is best is to not be at war with the work itself and instead listen to my grieving heart.

I took the next step, applied for a job and suddenly, (and just how my daughter was born) silently, the bubble popped. The protective world that I had built around myself popped gently and kindly as I realised that I can do this. There doesn't have to be a battle and it doesn't have to be scary. I had already experienced the worst, I could absolutely, 100% do this. 

I have been invited for an interview. Nothing may come of it or everything may come of it but what I have realised is that it is okay to start something new. It is exciting, it is fresh and it is what Holly would have wanted. A mummy who took her time, looked after herself and is now ready to face to world with a stronger head and a kinder heart. 

We've got this my little heart, we've got this.

​x

"the feeling of being connected and accepted within ones community.."

I am not sure that anyone would expect the death of your child to somewhere down the line result in you feeling a great sense of belonging. In fact, a greater sense of belonging that you have possibly ever felt. I didn't expect that from grief. 

And yet somehow it has happened. 

The power of grief is so strong that when you find other people with the same loss and the same desire, it creates a togetherness and belonging unlike any other. 

I was incredibly honoured to be asked to speak at the 'Our Angel and University of York MidSoc's Baby Loss and Bereavement Care Conference' last weekend. It was a day designed to educate midwives and student midwives on the topic of loss with the aim to improve future care. I had spoken last year at the Bradford Baby Loss Conference but this year I felt different...

Last year, I was still new to this. New to grief and whilst I don't think it is something that I will ever be comfortable with, this year I felt the wider impact of what we as a baby loss community are trying to do, of what we are doing. 

We are changing lives. We are encouraging healthcare professionals to challenge what is expected, when dealing with death. We are educating people, all people, on preventing stillbirth. We are talking, sharing, caring and reassuring those who have lost their own babies. We are a formidable team of warriors who care about the lives and deaths of others. We are together, our belonging has a voice and we are a force to be reckoned with. 

None of us wanted to belong here but here is where we will stand and from this spot we will continue to shout and share. 

I am honoured and inspired by every single individual who attended on Saturday. I am thankful for the people of whom I have met and I am proud to call them my friends. I am in awe of the warriors who continue to inspire me and I am just so proud that in the mess of babies dying, we are making a difference. 

In the most devastating of situations, I have a belonging and I thank everyone who has thus far, become part of Holly's legacy.

It has been nearly 16 months since Holly died. One birthday gone and now we about to enter another year that only Holly's memory will see.  It would be incredibly easy for me to be bitter about this. It wouldn't take much effort to creep into a darkness and be enveloped in a swirl of hatred and misery. 

The hard part is choosing to dodge this path and therefore putting every effort into trying to be thankful for the life that I do have. For, I DO have a life and having experienced death on my door, I understand the beauty and fragility that life holds. 

Life can change in an instance. I know that, as do many people. But it is with a conscious effort that I try to not let that change destroy me. I am okay with Holly's death defining me, I am proud to carry her story but I try to avoid letting the death part, kill me too. 

2017 has been a sea of emotions. Happy waves as we expected our rainbow, anxious waves as we awaited a healthy pregnancy diagnosis, ecstatic waves at his arrival and the outburst of Eleni's love for him and then tsunamis as we continued to navigate a life without our daughter. 

In 2017 I have learned how to continue to carry Holly and to reflect on what I want out of my life. 
It is with the realisation that life will always be that much harder and that we will always have our 'grief dips' that makes choosing to be thankful, difficult at times. Nonetheless, being thankful (with it's bittersweet and confusing parts) is the path in which I will always aim to go down. A stumble in the wrong direction is bound to happen at times but that's okay, I am learning to allow the hard times in with the knowledge that I will get back up again. 

Almost 16 months on and I can tell you that grief doesn't get easier. Your heart doesn't stop hurting and the constant awareness of the absence of your child doesn't go away. I think as time goes on, grief just becomes a more accepted part of your life. There is no escaping it and there is no fighting it. So on the whole, we learn to continue because otherwise we just wouldn't continue. 

I hope that with moving into a new year, I will continue to be thankful. I hope that I can continue to make Holly proud in honoring her and helping others. I hope that more people will break the silence surrounding baby death and that we will all start talking about death, because maybe then this 'thing' that happens to all of us will stop being such an awkward topic to talk about.  I hope that in turn, more bereaved parents will feel that they can share their child and not be enveloped in their own swirl of hatred and misery. 

We all still have so much to be thankful for. Holly died but I am still thankful that she existed. I am thankful that she has shown me what matters in my life.  I chose to be thankful because Holly can't chose anything and so I chose to be the best that I can for her. 
 
I hope that 2018 brings everyone some love and that we all remember what is important in our lives.  Life is short, some even shorter than expected and so what better way is there to live it than being thankful for what time we do have?

Happy New Year my sweet little heart and Happy New Year everyone 
​x

... are words that no parent wants to hear, after making the impossible decision to terminate a pregnancy.

Last week I was struggling with being in the midst of a Sjogren's flare up and so I joined an online support group. I posted the story of my diagnosis, including the discovery of Anti-ro/la antibodies in my body and the loss of Holly.  Scrolling through the many replies, I noticed a picture of a little girl. Her mum had written that her daughter also had a diagnosis of complete heart block at 20 weeks but made it to 36 weeks with a heartbeat of 50 bpm. Her daughter had surgery and was now happy and healthy. She told me that she was advised that her daughter wouldn't survive pregnancy. She had written in her comment 'but I refused to give up.' 

She refused to give up. Is that what I did? Did I give up on Holly? 

Like a weight of a ton of bricks on my chest, I am sat there looking at the picture of this little girl with tears falling down my face. My 8 week old son is lying on my lap looking up at me and all I can think is, 'is he not suppose to be here because Holly would have survived?'

Not once since losing Holly had I worried that we had made the wrong decision. I was somehow able to think practically during her diagnosis. I wanted Holly. I wanted her so much but her quality of life was more important than my want for a child. On her final scan we were informed by four consultants that she was already dying. I agreed with them. I didn't know of any children who had survived such a poor prognosis, I was putting her before what I wanted. 

But with the words 'I refused to give up' ringing in my ears, darkness was clouding my head. Could Holly have been the little girl in the picture? Was I a coward to not give her a chance? Did I bring this life on myself? Will my grief now become this horrid journey of guilt and regret?

After Holly died, I made a promise to myself that I would not live a life of anger over her death. I always said that I would chose to share her with love and not hate. If I was going to have to live a life without her, then I had to put my life to an honourable use by sharing with love to help others.

It has taken me a week to get back on track. I didn't want to journey down a path of regret and 'what if's'. Teetering on the surface, I could feel how dangerous it would become. Whilst the little girl in the picture is surviving, I have to remind myself that her heart was not Holly's heart. The damage to her heart was not the same. I have to continue to believe that we did the right thing for our baby. 

I have always thought that whatever parents chose to do when faced with such a horrid dilemma is brave. It is a brave thing to just keep on going, down whichever path that may be. No route is easy and the decision made is never black or white. I talk about our experience because so often  terminations are associated with unwanted pregnancies and negativity. Whilst that may be true in some circumstances, I need to shout that for many our babies were wanted just as much as any living baby. I need people to understand that terminating a pregnancy is not an 'easy option' and that  it doesn't mean we gave up on our babies.

This is not a post written in anger but just a need to respond to those parents who bravely continued with their pregnancies. I need to tell you that I did not give up on my daughter. I did as you did and made what decision I felt was right for my child. No two hearts at the same, our diagnosis was not your diagnosis. Please be gentle with your words, we bear the weight of heavy hearts. 

I write this a week later, looking down at my 9 week old son whose entire being is dependent on me. I chose to not be swallowed into a dark grief and I promise that he will never fear that he shouldn't be here. He was born out of his parents love for protecting his sister from pain. He lives for Holly and because we did our very best for her. 

I am a parent. I would never and will never give up on any of my children. 

To my son, my rainbow

Just 4 weeks ago you entered the world and became part of our loving family. Of course, we had been expecting your arrival for quite sometime but still nothing could have prepared us for the light you would bring into our lives.

You were so very wanted.

Pregnancy after loss is a bizarre, emotional and anxious fueled time. It is bittersweet, tiring and yet so full of love and hope. We were told when we were still pregnant with your big sister Holly, that any future pregnancies would carry a 20% chance of heart block. It is a terrifying statistic and whilst most people will tell you that 'the odds are in your favour' they haven't walked in our shoes when the odds of Holly ever being poorly was only 1 in 20,000. Odds and statistics don't mean much when your heart has already been broken. 

We wouldn't know if you were clear from the dreaded heart block until 29 weeks gestation so we didn't announce the pregnancy on all platforms of social media. We kept it to just a few, where we knew of people in similar situations who could support us on this journey. 

I wondered if people would think I was trying to replace your sister. Or if they would think that your arrival would 'make everything okay' and I would then be back to my 'old self'. I knew none of those things would be true but it was yet another learning curve on this life after loss spinning wheel. 

I made sure to cherish every time you moved inside me, knowing that I had felt Holly so little. I started to prepare for your arrival, going against the 'I'm not going to buy anything in case I jinx things' as I so desperately just wanted to feel normal. After all, I was sure buying you clothes wouldn't be a cause of heart block.

None of it was easy. Your daddy and I spent hours sat in the day assessment unit worried about your movements, I would stay awake for hours at night checking you were kicking me enough. I would listen in to your heartbeat, sometimes more than once a day to listen for any signs of a slowing heart rate. It was exhausting. 

Somehow we made it to 29 weeks. We were told your heart was healthy. I lay there with silent tears falling as I had done just over a year before when we were told your sister was so poorly. Tears of relief, tears of love and tears of sadness that Holly couldn't of had this outcome. 

Your early induction date came, I was too anxious to carry on with your pregnancy any further, knowing that I could take better care of you on the outside than on the inside. You were born, you were pink and you were crying. I sobbed. You were here, you were safe and you were breathing. My heart felt love. 

I have been asked if you have helped with my grief of your sister. I think you have just made me love her more and maybe that extra bit of love diminishes a slight bit of the pain. I wish I could have you all here but instead a very special part of Holly will always live on in you. You are Holly's gift and a beautiful reminder that she existed. 

We made it little one. We slammed the door on heart block and you have now taken a piece of my heart. Welcome to this crazy, mad world my little rainbow. May you always know how loved you are.

x

To my son, my rainbow

Just 4 weeks ago you entered the world and became part of our loving family. Of course, we had been expecting your arrival for quite sometime but still nothing could have prepared us for the light you would bring into our lives.

You were so very wanted.

Pregnancy after loss is a bizarre, emotional and anxious fueled time. It is bittersweet, tiring and yet so full of love and hope. We were told when we were still pregnant with your big sister Holly, that any future pregnancies would carry a 20% chance of heart block. It is a terrifying statistic and whilst most people will tell you that 'the odds are in your favour' they haven't walked in our shoes when the odds of Holly ever being poorly was only 1 in 20,000. Odds and statistics don't mean much when your heart has already been broken. 

We wouldn't know if you were clear from the dreaded heart block until 29 weeks gestation so we didn't announce the pregnancy on all platforms of social media. We kept it to just a few, where we knew of people in similar situations who could support us on this journey. 

I wondered if people would think I was trying to replace your sister. Or if they would think that your arrival would 'make everything okay' and I would then be back to my 'old self'. I knew none of those things would be true but it was yet another learning curve on this life after loss spinning wheel. 

I made sure to cherish every time you moved inside me, knowing that I had felt Holly so little. I started to prepare for your arrival, going against the 'I'm not going to buy anything in case I jinx things' as I so desperately just wanted to feel normal. After all, I was sure buying you clothes wouldn't be a cause of heart block.

None of it was easy. Your daddy and I spent hours sat in the day assessment unit worried about your movements, I would stay awake for hours at night checking you were kicking me enough. I would listen in to your heartbeat, sometimes more than once a day to listen for any signs of a slowing heart rate. It was exhausting. 

Somehow we made it to 29 weeks. We were told your heart was healthy. I lay there with silent tears falling as I had done just over a year before when we were told your sister was so poorly. Tears of relief, tears of love and tears of sadness that Holly couldn't of had this outcome. 

Your early induction date came, I was too anxious to carry on with your pregnancy any further, knowing that I could take better care of you on the outside than on the inside. You were born, you were pink and you were crying. I sobbed. You were here, you were safe and you were breathing. My heart felt love. 

I have been asked if you have helped with my grief of your sister. I think you have just made me love her more and maybe that extra bit of love diminishes a slight bit of the pain. I wish I could have you all here but instead a very special part of Holly will always live on in you. You are Holly's gift and a beautiful reminder that she existed. 

We made it little one. We slammed the door on heart block and you have now taken a piece of my heart. Welcome to this crazy, mad world my little rainbow. May you always know how loved you are.

x

My little heart, 

Last week it was your birthday. A whole one year since I laid my eyes on your precious little face and kissed your delicate skin. It seems impossible that a year has passed with you in the stars and me here. I don't know how we have managed it but somehow we have. I don't think its called strength, I think it's just an endurance as being separated from you is still the hardest and most unnatural thing I will ever have to do.

I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to your birthday. I didn't want you to be a year older and I didn't want my missing you to hit the one year milestone. I didn't want others to have an expectation that now I should miss you less and I didn't want to feel like I would have to talk about you less. It took some real strength to pull myself out of that mindset and decide to just celebrate you on that day and forget any perceived expectations. 

For quite awhile, we weren't sure how we would celebrate your day. Eventually, Daddy and I decided we would donate memory bags to the hospital you were born at, to try and provide other grieving parents some comfort during their loss. We spent ages deciding what to put in them as we felt it was so important that they needed to reflect you, your life and your legacy. 

We donated some money to the wonderful mama, Emma Brewer at Kitty's Dreams. After Emma's daughter Kitty died, she decided to create beautiful blankets for babies gone too soon and donate them to many hospitals around the country. As you sit with a Kitty's Dream blanket, cuddling you in mummy and daddy's bedroom, we felt it would be really special to have these blankets donated in your memory. Emma created 7 beautiful blankets and socks for us to put in to the memory bags. Seven for you were born on the 7th and it will always remain my special number. 

I really wanted to include a postcard or print of your crematorium plaque quote in the memory bags. I hadn't realised at the time but the quote on your plaque, 'You are my angel, my darling, my star and my love will find you wherever you are' actually comes from the book, 'Wherever you are, my love will find you' by Helena Karchere. I decided to read the book online and my darling, it was just so perfect that I couldn't not include it in the memory bags...

In the green of the grass…in the smell of the sea…
in the clouds floating by…at the top of a tree…
in the sound crickets make at the end of the day…
“You are loved. You are loved. You are loved,” they all say.

...and so we bought 8 of these books too. Seven to go into the memory bags and one to keep for us to read to you. I will always remember being in hospital and reading 'Guess How Much I Love You' on the morning we said goodbye. It felt like such a special 'us' moment. It was something normal  that I could do for you and although I sobbed through every single page, it is a memory full of love and a memory I will forever cherish. I hope these books can provide parents with making some memories too, with a very special little quote inside which I will always relate to you. 

We realised soon after leaving you in hospital that creating memories with the sense of smell was just so powerful.  We were given the candle, Soft Blanket by Yankee Candle and now every time I smell it, I am immediately taken back to you. To being in that hospital, cuddling your tiny body and feeling so much love pour into you. Whenever I need to feel close to you, I light your special candle and the smell gives me so much comfort. Seven of these candles were bought, placed in little heart candle holders (because you are forever my little heart) and placed in the memory bags too. 

Finally, we had special cards made to explain that these donations came from you and were all inspired by your delicate but beautiful existence. Abi at www.whenyouwish-uponastar.co.uk lost her own little boy Lucas and since created a wonderful online shop making personalised prints. We have one in our living room of your perfect little hands and feet and so we couldn't think of anyone better to make some dedication cards for us. 

On the morning of your birthday we took these into the hospital. There was something quite surreal about heading back there, a year to the day that you were born. Knowing that just through the double doors on our left was the room in which you entered the world. It was difficult and emotionally tiring to be back there but it also brought so much comfort, to be back where you once were too. We went headed down to the hospital chapel and handed in your written dedication to go into the baby's memorial book. We had actually written it on the day you were born but couldn't find the strength back then to finish arranging it. We  hope that on future birthdays we can always go and see your dedication and spend some time feeling close to you, at a place where where you were so very real.  

After the hospital visit we went and picked three cream balloons to be released at your spot in the crematorium. They were identical to the ones that you had at your funeral, innocent cream balloons which were so simple and yet so beautiful. We got a special number 1 balloon to leave at your spot, picked up some chocolates cupcakes and your posy of flowers which were almost identical to the flowers you had at your funeral. I liked the feeling of these balloons and these flowers now being your  balloons and flowers, as you'd had them before. The start of a tradition to how we chose to celebrate you and a recognition of something belonging  to you. 

Then we simply just spent time with you. We said we loved you, we released your balloons, we sang 'Happy Birthday' and your sister blew out your candle. We celebrated your birthday in the way we only knew how, with all the love we could give. 

My darling, I can't tell you how hard it was. SO much harder than I had ever anticipated but then I seem to have a habit of underestimating how much these days will affect me. I tried so very hard to celebrate your day but it was inevitable that there would be some sadness too. Sadness because I miss you with every fiber of my being and that Holly shaped hole in my heart will always long to be filled by you. 

Despite the tears of sadness, I have to tell you Holly, that there were tears of love too. You are so loved. We were inundated with birthday messages, cards and gifts. You are loved by so many people, your legacy has impacted on so many people and that is so very special. I never imagined that so many people would wish you a Happy Birthday and I am just so proud that the taboo surrounding baby loss was well and truly squished on your special day. I could never thank people enough for acknowledging how much your life matters and understanding that we needed to have you celebrated. You matter, your life matters and your legacy matters. 

My little heart, a year may have passed but you are just as loved as the very first time I laid eyes on you. Your legacy has grown so much in such a short time and you inspire me each and every day to keep sharing your story. I was dreading reaching the one year milestone but baby girl, its okay. I can't stop time so instead I will use all the time I can to tell the world how proud you make me. 

You are an inspiration, you are so loved and my darling, I hope that wherever you are you felt the love on your birthday. 

Happy Birthday, my little heart
​x

In just over two weeks it will be one year since we met our darling Holly. It doesn't seem possible that a year has passed. I feel like although the days have passed and seasons changed, I have just been living the motions, somehow not really being present. Of course, this can't be completely true as I remember, vividly, so much of what has happened this year. It just feels impossible that somehow the world keeps on turning whilst I keep on grieving. I have survived almost a year without my daughter, a piece of my heart missing and that brings its own level of guilt and confusion.

Upon entering the dreaded 'one month until Holly's birthday' I felt completely terrified. I didn't feel ready for it to be a year and I still don't. It is the fear that there will be a sudden expectation for change in my grief for Holly. Will people now expect me to talk about Holly less, find her death less painful and 'move on' (all of which I find a common thought within some people who have never been exposed to baby loss). How could I possibly do all these things when Holly's death remains so raw and vivid in my mind, as if it was only yesterday? 

I have come to realise though, that a year is no length of time when compared with a lifetime of loss. It may be the anniversary, her birthday but it is also just a number. An important number on many levels, as it represents a year of my Holly inspiring me to help others but it is also, another day. No magical healing will happen, no 'closure' and no 'moving on'. Instead, it is a day to celebrate and honour my daughter before then continuing to spread her story as her legacy intends. 

It is very hard to understand how to even prepare for your child's first birthday, when they aren't here. Do I honour the day as an anniversary of her death, an 'angelversary' or do I celebrate it as her birthday? I have decided on the latter. More than anything, I want the day to be a celebration of my daughters birth. Holly may not be here in person but I think the way her story has helped others, more than deserves a celebration and a recognition that on this day she was STILL born. 

So then, how do we even go about celebrating Holly's birthday? It almost feels like arranging her funeral again. There is no guidebook, there is no right or wrong but yet a complete feeling of being out of our depth. My husband and I have decided on putting together memory bags, filled with items that are inspired by our daughter, to give to the hospital on the her birthday. These memory bags will be given to other parent experiencing loss, in a hope to show them that they are not alone. We felt that as Holly isn't here to receive gifts (that we would have undoubtedly spoiled her with) instead we will give gifts of kindness to other families experiencing loss, in her name. The memory bags are not yet complete but I will be sharing these in my next blog. 

There are a few other personal touches that we have decided on for Holly's birthday. At her funeral, Holly had the most beautiful flower arrangement. I have discussed recreating this in bouquet form with the florists. They can forever be Holly's birthday flowers and it brings so much comfort that it links to her special day on her funeral. We then plan on holding a balloon release, as we also did on Holly's funeral. There is something quite special about releasing balloons into the air, moving freely, like I imagine our Holly does. 

More than anything, I just want Holly to be remembered and to be celebrated. Prior to losing Holly, I wouldn't have known how to act or what to do if I knew someone whose baby had died. So I want to share that for us, please do not be afraid. Share with us, the celebration that she existed. For her existence has been so important, for so many people. Wish her a Happy Birthday, send her a card (if you want to) we would love nothing more than being able to read her messages of love. 

Holly has shown me that life can be lived in two ways, with love and with hate. Whilst I do have my fair share of moments filled with hate that she isn't here, I try to live this life of grief with the love she has given me. And so we chose to spend the 7th of September with how Holly deserves to be remembered, celebrating with giving gifts of kindness and with love. 
​

We had to wait a short while before we were able to plan saying our final goodbyes to Holly. We had decided with some gentle persuasion from our consultant that having a post mortem would be beneficial and so had to wait until this was carried out first, which took roughly 2-3 weeks. 

On a side note, I just want to talk a little bit about choosing to have a  post mortem. When we found out that Holly had complete heart block, we decided then that having a post mortem was pointless as we knew what her condition was. We couldn't see that we would gain anything from having one. However on the day we went in to start the procedure for ending the pregnancy, the consultant discussed our decision with us. She quite rightly explained that scans can only see a certain amount. They can never tell the true extent to a condition or if there is anything else going on that hadn't been picked up.  We understood that sometimes a port mortem can't actually tell you anything but at the same time, knowing that we could find out more into Holly's condition made us change our minds. 

We didn't get the results of Holly's post mortem until exactly three months later. Sitting down in the clinic after closing hours, we were given a full report on our little girls body. It wasn't easy, a post mortem report doesn't censor parts which parents may find difficult to read. It will tell you how much your baby's brain weighed and it will tell you that your little girl had eggs present in her ovaries. It is an incredibly hard read but what we got out of it made it worth it, for us. 

For three months I had struggled with the thought that we gave up on Holly too easily. That despite four consultants telling us Holly wouldn't have survived, maybe she would have proven us all wrong. I agonised, wondering whether the condition killed Holly or we had. However, sitting in that consultant room, I will never forget reading those words 'complete destruction of the heart.' There was never any chance that we could have saved her poorly heart. She would have never been a candidate for a heart transplant that she would have so badly needed, had she survived pregnancy. Holly was already dying and seeing those words have given me the greatest gift in this grief. It allowed me to feel reassured that we did the right thing and has eased some of my guilt. Holly never knew pain and I feel relief in knowing that as parents, we did that for her.

It is so important for me to write this as I would urge anyone going through this to think twice about the post mortem decision. I understand that it isn't the right choice for everyone but for others, the chance of getting answers and that extra reassurance might bring so much relief. 

So just over two weeks on, we were faced with the prospect of arranging a funeral. Being relatively young I hadn't been to many funerals, let alone organise one. We decided to go with the Co-operative Funeral Directors as they do not charge for a baby's service. Knowing that they don't charge reassured me that they probably look after a lot of babies and understand what parents need during this time. 

Firstly, we had to decide upon a cremation or burial. Not knowing if we would stay in this area forever, we decided on a cremation. We couldn't bare the thought of ever having to leave her and so decided we wanted to have the option to always have her with us. It was around this time that we had even discussed where we might spread her ashes but as time went on, neither of us really wanted to do that. I had initially felt like I needed to rush, to do everything in one go and make all the decisions right away but I have since realised that this isn't the case. I doubt we will ever let go of her ashes now, we certainly have no plans to and that is more than okay.There is no rush, there is no time frame and it is absolutely okay to take your time. 

We then found ourselves sat at the funeral home, brochure in hand. I can't even begin to tell you how alien it feels to organise a funeral for a baby. How do you chose colours or flowers or music when this little life didn't even have a chance to show us what it liked? It feels impossible but somehow you do find a way to try and say goodbye to your baby in the way that feels right for you. 

Once Holly was back from her post mortem, we were offered the opportunity to go and see her at the funeral home. I knew this would always be an option and before knowing she was back, I hadn't wanted to see her. I wasn't sure I could face saying goodbye to her again and in all honesty, I was scared to see what she would look like. 

However, that changed the moment we received the call. My husband had always wanted to see her again and I had a sudden urge to see her too. We even decided on the spur of the moment to take our daughter Eleni, whom at the time was only 18 months old.

I will never be able to put into words the sense of relief I felt when I saw Holly again. There she was, our beautiful little girl. The last few weeks had been such a blur for me, that it helped to see that she was real and that she was back, safe. I can't lie and say she looked the same because she didn't. She had changed but in the moment of seeing her again, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that I could kiss and touch her again. It wasn't until afterwards when comparing photographs from her birth that I could really see the change. It brakes my heart but I wouldn't have changed seeing her, for the love I felt in the funeral home was so completely worth it. 

Eleni won't remember seeing Holly but she will always be a part of her life. I took photographs of Eleni meeting her so that one day she can see for herself. The photographs now sit in a memory box ready for Eleni to look through, when she is old enough to know more. I have no regrets with seeing Holly again or taking Eleni. In that brief visit, my heart was at its most complete since losing Holly. There is something incredibly special about having both your babies together, in one room.

Back to the funeral, the decisions surrounding Holly's service, were of course personal to us. As with my previous posts, I want to share in case it can help give other parents ideas of how they may like to say goodbye. 

We decided on inviting select friends and family. Those who had been there for us and ultimately those who we felt comfortable grieving with. I think we had roughly 20 people come to honour our little Holly. Initially, I wasn't sure I wanted anyone there but I am so glad we did. It meant the world to us to see that Holly meant something to other people too.  The reality hit that she was real and loved by many more than just us. 

We had planned on only my husband carrying Holly's coffin in to the service. I was asked if I wanted to and had declined but as the time came, I couldn't not. I needed to do it for Holly and for my husband. We had been such a strong team that I wasn't going to let them down now. So we carried her little cream coffin in whilst Coldplay's 'Fix You' played in the background. 

We had a Catholic service at my husbands wish. I am not religious but I felt more than comfortable for him to have this service to bring him comfort. I did however ask him to speak to the priest prior to the service and ask for specific things to not be said. I didn't want to hear that 'it was God's plan' or that 'she is now in a better place'  and so that was our compromise. The priest was wonderful and more than happy to tailor the service for us, so don't be afraid to ask for exactly what you want.

During the service my husband delivered a reading and I read a poem I had written for Holly. I was completely inspired by my very special friend who had lost her little girl only 2 years before. I remembered how she had stood up at the funeral with such strength and grace to read a poem. So as soon as we were planning the funeral for Holly, I absolutely knew that this was what I needed to do too. 

Holly's service ended to the music 'A Thousand Years' by Christina Perri and we asked for everyone to leave first so that we could spend our final moments with Holly, alone. We then went down to a spot within the baby's garden where we had a rose memorial planted for Holly. A few words were said and then we all let off cream balloons. As odd as this sounds, it was the perfect service and I was so proud of what we did for our little girl. 

Throughout the entire service and balloon release we did something which I am sure many people would think 'odd'. We asked my wonderful step father to take photographs for us. Again, I had remembered reading this somewhere and how it brought the parents so much comfort to be able to look back and remember the day. As I am sure most of you can imagine, the day does go by in a blur of grief as you fight to get through the day. I feel incredibly lucky that I have these photographs to look back on. Our time with Holly was so short that having another way to remember her, means so much. 

We didn't have a wake or even invite just a few people back home after Holly's funeral. I think we both felt like we needed the time together, to digest what had happened. More than that, we were both just utterly exhausted. 

There can never be a guidebook for preparing, meeting and saying goodbye to your baby. Every life, every situation is just so individual. But I do know that I got so much out of reading what other parents had done. I learnt not to be afraid to ask for what you want, as all that anyone wants is for this time to be right for you.

I am now preparing for Holly's first birthday and knowing how we do this, is still just as puzzling. I have learnt on this journey that connecting with other bereaved parents and reading their stories brings me comfort and ideas with how best to honour our beautiful girl. So I will continue to do this and continue to share in the hopes of bringing comfort to other parents too. 

​

​Angel Memory 

Though the seconds, hours and days will pass
We make our promise to you
We will love you until our souls reunite
As our bodies yearn to do

Time is brief and your life was short
But your delicate beauty shone
You touched our hearts, you showed us love
Darling, your angel memory lives on 

Through the seasons and the flowing waves
We will look for our little heart
The leaves that dance and the galloping tides
Unspoken bond, we're not apart

Now we know, the true meaning of love
An exhausted heart, a piece of it gone
But no regrets, you will keep it safe
Darling, your angel memory lives on.  
​

From the moment Holly was born, we were making memories. Our midwife was brilliant in helping to facilitate our care for Holly. All decisions were made by us and I am relieved to say that the care we gave Holly was exactly how we wanted. 

Again, this is just how we chose to do things. There is no right or wrong way in how to make memories because each baby, each situation and each person is unique. I hope this blog can just provide some insight into some options that are available and give some ideas to those who may be facing this themselves. 

Holly was delivered just like any other baby. Born in her waters we were actually able to break them and share seeing our little mermaid for the first time together. My husband cut her cord (something of which I am so happy he did as that opportunity couldn't happen with our eldest) and Holly was immediately brought up on my chest. At this point the midwife then went to call the hospital medical photographer to come and take some photos. We were lucky enough to deliver at a hospital that offered the services of their own medical photographer and so were able to have photographs take by him and then later by Leanne from the charity, 'Remember My Baby' which had been arranged for by my sister. We felt that it was so important to be able to have as many photo's as possible and I feel it is so worth seeing what services the hospital do provide as well as arranging for a charity photographer to come too. The reason our midwife called the medical photographer as soon as possible is because sadly, the way these babies look after delivery changes very, very quickly. I would strongly suggest taking your own photos as soon as you can even if your hospital can't provide a medical photographer. Don't wait. Being able to have the opportunity to remember your baby exactly as they were, can be a very special thing.

What followed after was care that any baby, born alive or dead should expect to have. We had scales brought into the room and so we were able to weigh Holly ourselves and take photographs. Our amazing midwife cut up the smallest size nappy she could find to put on our little baby. We got out the little dress to put her in and my husband picked her a hat from the hospital selection of tiny clothes. The most important part of all of this was that Holly NEVER left our side. Everything was done with us watching and with our consent. There is absolutely no reason as to why you can't be involved in every aspect of your baby's care. There is no reason why you should miss out on making these memories.  If you don't want your baby to be taken away at all then tell say.

After this we were given sometime with our Holly. She was placed in a portable cold cot so that so could stay with us at all times, whilst maintaining a cool body temperature. There was no rush for us to really do anything and so we simply, spent time with her. 

Our midwife would come in and out, providing us with information for her birth and death registration and other paperwork that needed completing. Sometime during this we started to work through the items in Holly's memory box. With the help of our midwife we took prints of her beautiful hands and feet. Despite Holly's hair being so fine, our midwife and my husband worked together to cut tiny hairs for us to keep. Again, don't be afraid to ask to do all these things. The midwives will be more than happy to help. This is your time to make your memories.

Inside the memory box were two tiny little teddies. One for Holly and one for us, the idea being that we swap them at the end so that we have Holly's smell with us. I wore Holly's teddy down my top the entire time before giving it to her. Of course I knew that she couldn't smell me but it was just another way of having her close to me, another way of feeling like I was doing something for her. We also kept an additional blanket with her which we kept after saying goodbye. Once home, I put the teddy and blanket in a tightly secured bag. Up until roughly 4 months ago, I could open that bag and be able to smell Holly. The sense of smell is so powerful and made me feel so close to her. That was my favourite part of all the memories we had made, it felt the most real.

I hadn't realised how quickly Holly would become so fragile. I wish I had known this as I would have cuddled her for much longer than I had. After our first few initial cuddles and asides from when the both the medical photographer and the 'Remember My Baby' photographer came, we didn't hold Holly again as it was clear how delicate she was becoming. I think any parent would tell you how they wish they could have just one more cuddle with their baby. If you can and you want to, then make the most of being able to cuddle your baby early on. Just cuddle and cuddle and cuddle.

We decided not to have friends or family meet Holly. At times, I have almost regretted that. I know how loved Holly is and I think so many people would have loved to have met her. However my feeling at the time (which the hubby thought too) was that we didn't have much time with her and because of this I couldn't not spend all that time with her myself. I couldn't look back and regret that I didn't use every second of my time spending it with her exactly how we wanted. I couldn't let anyone else hold her because quite simply, we felt that was time that we could have been holding her ourselves. Since becoming part of the baby loss community, from what I have seen, that probably puts us in the minority as most chose to share their babies. However, this was the right thing for us and I urge other parents to do whatever is best for them too.  Don't be afraid to say yes and don't be afraid to say no. 

My husband is Catholic and so asked to have Holly blessed by the local Catholic priest. I think he came that evening (some parts remain forever blurry) and he performed a lovely little blessing for her. We were told that almost much every religion can have this (or the appropriate equivalent) performed. I know this meant a lot to my husband and I am glad that this could bring him some comfort. 

Later that evening, Leanne from 'Remember My Baby' came and took some beautiful pictures of Holly. I can't stress enough how important I feel this charity is and I just feel incredibly lucky that this was organised for us. Leanne worked so gently with Holly and with so much consideration for us all. One of these pictures now hangs proudly on my living room wall. 

That night we put Holly in the little cold room which was attached to our room. I can't remember if we had to do this but I know we both felt  like we wanted to preserve her for as long as we possibly could. The only access to Holly was via our room and so we felt reassured to know that she was close to us still. Surprisingly we both slept all night, exhausted emotionally and physically. 

I had remembered reading a blog online where a mother had said that she chose to have sometime alone with just her and the baby. I liked this idea and so when my husband went for his shower the next morning, Holly and I spent time together. I spoke to her, told her I was sorry and how much I loved her. I read her a story book that came in our memory box. I will always cherish that time we had alone, time to just be us. 

I also read how a mother had written a letter to her baby. This was something I did too. The whole experience was so traumatic that some words I just couldn't verbalise. Writing them down meant that I could still tell her what I need to. The letter stayed with Holly and remains with her to this day. I can't recommend enough, the power of writing on your mental health. 

We knew we would be leaving her that day. Some parents have the opportunity to take their babies home for awhile. We were not given this opportunity but equally didn't ask. We had nothing for Holly at home. Being 25 weeks pregnant when Holly died, a nursery hadn't yet been made for her, we hadn't made a home for her and I think we both felt more comfortable to say our goodbyes there. We had until lunchtime with her.

Without question, saying goodbye to Holly's body was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. As soon as she was born all I could think about was having to leave her. It is the most unnatural thing to do as a parent. At this time, I didn't think I would be seeing Holly again (as she was going off for a post mortem) and quite understandably that moment broke my heart. I can't even write this without that heart wrenching pain feeling so incredibly raw. Our midwife came in and put Holly (in her little crib) in a little body bag with her blankets and teddies. Again, this was all done in front of us. Then she was placed back in the cot in the cold room. There was no rush for us to leave and we both went back in there a few times and opened the bag. We needed to see that she 'comfortable' and 'safe' although going in just 'one more time' would never be enough. I hope that no one has ever felt rushed in saying their goodbyes. We know we have to and we know the midwives help us to do this. We understand that someone else might need the room and that the midwives will help us in our goodbyes. If they didn't, we quite simply would never leave.  But if you need that one last kiss or one last cuddle then do it, just ask and do it.
 
We went straight from the hospital to the registry office. It wasn't something that I had thought of doing right away but my husband wanted to get it done. Having obviously called beforehand, they knew we were coming and were sensational with their support. We were seen straight into a room to avoid seeing any newborns being registered. Looking back, I am not quite sure how we got through that so soon although glad that it was one less thing to think about at a later date. 

I think it is clear that most of the ways we made memories with Holly, just happened as the time went on. We didn't have any plan because we didn't know how we would react, how the labour would go or how we would feel. But what did help me was having read some stories on what other parents had done. I was always so scared of not doing as much with Holly as`we wanted but I can honestly say that I have very little regrets, which feels so important when dealing with such a traumatic experience.

I think the biggest thing I realised was that no one minds you asking questions.  As a result of this we could do almost everything that we wanted to with Holly.  But the way we did things was just how we did things. There is no pressure and there is time, albeit never quite enough.  Do what feels right and just take in as much of it as you want to.  

​There is no right or wrong.