Gemma: Wave of Light

For a few years now I have followed the project capture your grief where for each day of October we have a topic to discuss about our loss. I wasn't able to do it this year; I didn't feel emotionally able to cope with it. I don't know why and not doing it has bought the usual worry and guilt about moving on and people thinking I had forgotten him but of course I have not and nor will I ever. I think if I'm honest it stems from my decision that we won't try again for any more babies and that means I will never have a straightforward pregnancy and go into labour like a normal everyday wife and mother and this has been tough. I have become practiced at saying "oh god no I'm done" and accept the usual well meant offered comfort of "well you have one of each now" but it has been a carefully thought out decision based on the fact that years of utter terror has taken its toll on me and also my husband who, shut outside the operating theatre when Ede was born, watching people running for more blood could only imagine the worst.

Today, Sunday 15th October, is international wave of light where it is asked that anyone who cares to, takes a moment to light a candle in memory of a little one who didn't get to stay; for an hour at 7pm.

You may wonder, what difference will this make ? I can't explain for everyone but I can explain for myself. (Here I am again bleating on).

I have a handful of pictures, a handful of memories of my pregnancy and of Isaac after he was born and that's all I can ever hope for. I'm lucky that I can display these in my home along with my other children's pictures; I know sadly not all mummies are able to do this.

As the years pass by there are times when the whole thing seems surreal, almost that I imagined another baby and I post the same photos and the same memories because I simply don't have any more to offer to keep him here.

When you take a moment to think about him or any other baby, to say their name and light them a candle it makes them real, it gives Isaac a momentary presence in your home, a new memory of him here and now and a momentary lightening of my heart that he is still real, he still matters to someone other than Andy and I when he barely got to visit for a moment.

With two bright and challenging rainbows I can often be found yelling "socks on" repeatedly or "get off her, put her down" like a deranged prison warden so it may not appear that I know how very lucky I am. I can assure you I do know and I am thankful for all three of my babies , and no matter who you are or how early your loss; your baby mattered and with every flying leap I make to stop Fletcher and Ede falling off the wall or sofa I remember how lucky I am to be able to do it and how much I wish I'd been able to do it the first time around.

It also very much means anyone currently suffering and so often in silence knows they are not alone.