Tag Archives: neonatal loss

Capture Your Grief

For The First Time – Capture Your Grief

first time. the letter M


Today is the first time I have lived the 7th October 2017. I have never lived this day before. I won’t be trying anything in particularly new today. It is an ordinary day for us. The children are displaying in a carnival and we’re on a constant time watch to be ready to go. Things to get ready, helping to get 30 children ready today. So for me to physically go and try something new today would not happen.

I woke up this morning after a lovely evening out for the first time in what seems like ages, I laughed and felt on top of the world. I went to see a show, I never thought I would ever go and see. It was hilarious. Of an adult content, but it was so funny.

The first time I saw Melody I was strapped to the bed, wires and leads every where, she had been taken out via c-section, there was this giant green screen dividing my head from the working end. The room was hot, it made me feel faint, there were people everywhere, there wasn’t space to move in the room or add any more people. We could tell the operation had begin because the room had fallen silent. I remember begging the midwife stood next to me to tell me that she was alive.

“Is she sleeping? Has she been born sleeping?”

The midwife would take a second, which felt like hours to peer, I knew she was concentrating, but I needed to know. Her heartbeat was on the CTG moments before, but we knew she was fighting.

As I asked one more time, a squeak came. It was loud enough to fill the deafening silence; it was loud enough to be heard to fill my heart with love.

“No she hasn’t been birn sleeping.” The midwife said to us in her really soft voice; the Dr deliviering her confirmed so when she said the Melody had given her a kick as they lifted her out.

For the first time in days I felt relieved that she was born. That she had been born alive; we had no idea on how long we’d keep her, being a micro premature baby; nobody knew how well she would do.

The Doctors brought her to me, I could see her tiny pink face, she really was that tiny. 9inches of her…23cm.

The first time I saw her, I had no idea whether it would be the last time I saw her alive. I had to cherish it; I have had to keep that safe. She wasn’t meant to die.


Carly Marie Capture Your Grief

Day Six

Melody and Me.

Capture Your Grief

Belonging – Capture Your Grief 2017



I never really felt like I belong anywhere; at least not until I met my husband and our family life became as complete as it’ll ever be.

There were friendships in school, but they weren’t always what they seemed; I have always found it particularly hard to make and then keep friends. I am shy;  sometimes people mistake that for rudeness; but I try not to be. With this in mind it has caused low confidence-low self-esteem. I really shouldn’t let this define me, but I do.

When Melody died we were faced with people crossing the street, people telling us they didn’t know what to say; family being unsupportive; it leaves you stranded and alone.



Truth be told I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t the only one to have lost a baby, and I began to find other lost souls. Mums and Dads who were broken. They weren’t by my side but they were there, to listen, I could listen we could understand a little of what each of us were going through.

The online community became my safe place, my saviour I guess. It allowed me to be free; it allowed me to speak without judgement, the empty pities and with some understanding of what was going through my mind.

There have been things I have spoken about over these past few years, which I could never say to people outside of this community. I guess it is because just sometimes the things which leave my mouth can be so raw, that to anyone else, I could be seen as being crazy. But I am not.


As well as this community, I am grateful to the people who have stuck around every step of the way, and even more so to the people I have met since she died, these people have listened or read about our story, yet they choose to stick around and be my friends. There aren’t many of them, but I value them. If it is yacking on a Friday night, or a trip to the park or shops, I am eternally grateful to them.


It is a lifelong thing, she’ll always be my baby; and I guess I will always grieve. But to have the few who remind me to keep going are really worth their weights in gold.


Thank you



Melody and Me

Memories – What Day Would You Want To Live Again?

It’s that time of year again, the memories of dates, the dates of before, the afters.
Even if it has been since 2012 I can still remember the tiny details that come with Melody, her scans, my consultant appointments. When it went wrong.
Time doesn’t heal, it’s not a magic cure, she should have been starting school in 2016; with one daughter leaving her primary school journey, as the other begins, that was what was meant to happen.
Time doesn’t heal, but for me it was like a rebirth, learning to live again. A different path had been placed. Through no choice of my own, that was what lay before me.
She may have only been here 5 weeks…35 days…just over a month. But Melody changed me, she changed us.
Another place I use to take comfort in, brought up a question I simply had to answer.

What Day Would I Want To Live Again? – Memories

Obviously all my children’s births, meeting my husband, our engagement, even various adventure days too, all up there on my favourite days…..
But the day I would live again would have to be…

The day before our daughter died.
We were a normal happy family, excited about the following day where L was going to help with Melody’s nappy changes. L was very excited, she was maybe hoping for a very brief cuddle.
Sisters, girls together.
We were looking forward to April, because it meant we had one month until she’d come home, remember the text the morning it went wrong.
“She’s coming home next month!!”
Yay! I thought, only one month of to-ing and froing to go.
If I had that day again, I’d have stayed longer, refused a party invitation for my eldest so she could have spent what we didn’t know was Melody’s last afternoon.
I would have held her longer.
Kissed her more.

Taken in her tiny hands, her warm soft skin.

We didn’t know she was going to die.
Amongst the wires (monitors not vents), and aside from missing my eldest’s presence.
It was perfect.
The Sun was shining, it was warm.
31st March 2012 is where I’d like to visit.
We went to bed that night happy and excited that she’d be home soon.

It’s that time of year again daffodils are out a lot earlier this year, even earlier than their early arrival back in 2012.
Sad they may not last until her birthday this year. I don’t like it. The daffodils are disappearing, a lot like people’s memories.
But unlike daffodils and short-lived friendships, my memory and love for her will always grow.

Memories, with daffodils pictured through a tear drop

I would still choose her.