It’s now one year since we met and said goodbye to our precious boy. A whole 12 months of hitting due dates, anniversaries of falling pregnant, scans and of course, the weeks of heartbreak. Before finally reaching his first heavenly birthday. Like all poignant dates before it, the run up to his birthday was much worse than the day itself, which was actually a joyous and wholesome occasion. But it has brought me to a point of reflexion. Looking back on how far I’ve come, now it’s one year on from our TFMR and still birth. From the darkest of time to finding the light once more.
If you are living in your darkest time, read on
I wouldn’t of believed I could be where I am now. It seemed too good to be true, to live a life alongside the deepest grief. Which brings me to why I’m writing this post.
It’s for anyone who finds themselves where I was. Living moment to moment, unable to see past the end of the day. This is for those who need to know it will all be ok. That life will continue, yes, a little different to how it was before, but it WILL continue.
That you can think of your precious baby in every waking moment, but it no longer causes that deep, painful ache and sharp intake of breath. In fact, it brings a warm glow to your core and a sweet smile to your face. You’ll remember the moments of joy they brought to your life, however few they may seem at times. And the moments of trauma and pain will eventually ease. Find what helps you and do more of it. For me, it’s counselling for others it may be EMDR or CBT. If it works for you, lean into it. It could be your saviour.
What life is like one year on from our TFMR and still birth
Our baby boy was born sleeping in September 2023, days before his big brother started school. And it’s only now, as we return to the routine of the daily school run that I can fully appreciate how low I was 12 months ago.
The past two weeks I haven’t taken my headphones on the morning drop off. My old safety net that screamed ‘I’m busy, don’t talk to me’ whilst simultaneously drowning out the primal scream that lived within. Come 3pm I’m not hiding at the back of the queue, petrified of other parents befriending me. When I walk past friends of years gone by, I don’t panic and avoid their gaze, I wish them good day with a smile that actually reaches my eyes. I’m not dressed in the same ‘grief’ hoodie, the one I’d pull so tightly around my head to hide from the world. I’m starting to enjoy dressing for me again and feeling good for it too.
To some it may seem small, but noticing these changes are huge to me. I’m by no means returning to my old self but the altered version who has emerged is someone who I’m incredibly proud to be. Finally being in the light after so much darkness feels like a rebirth.
Holding on to hope
I suppose what I’m trying to say is, hold on. Hold on tight, and look for that chink of light. That piece of hope that every day will gradually open up before you. It takes time but it will happen. And one day you’ll take a moment to realise how far you have come. You could be like me, one year on from our TFMR and still birth and finally feeling courageous hope once more.
Appreciate your courage and strength, and know how proud your little one would be of you.
Hold on, my friend, hold on.
It’s always darkest before the dawn.
If you wanted to read more about our experience with TFMR you can read more here- https://flicksandredlips.com/2024/01/21/i-had-a-tfmr/
If you need further support following baby loss, please do reach out to one of the organisations who can help you.
Sands | Saving babies’ lives. Supporting bereaved families.
Saying Goodbye – support for miscarriage and baby and infant loss
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