There are so many things I’d like to include today, but some of the aspects are needed for other days.
The anxieties, I wasn’t expecting.
Time doesn’t heal.
Before I begin,I need you to understand I love Melody.
She is my baby number three,she completes my five children.
No matter what,I’d still chose her.
I hate being a mum to a baby who lived, for just over a month then died… A dead baby.
Yep I said the two words together.
She’s not an angel; my neighbour’s granddaughter is an angel,the school mums speak of their darling little angels.
When I miscarried my innocence remained, that only babies die before 12 weeks gestation. It was rare,I knew of babies dying. But it’s meant to be rare,unspoken.
The hospital never had death in their plan.
Melody dying means I no longer care about the tiny dots,we made but never made it passed hands or feet. I can’t think of them, the nicknames we gave to them for a simple identity, mean nothing.
I hate this side,because before Melody died these tiny dots of ours mattered. They’re included in statistics, they have a mention in awareness I don’t need to be aware too.
My most recent miscarriage in 2014, my 4th miscarriage, my 5th loss,was of course after Melody. As the process begun I felt nothing,aside from the chilled numb feeling… Not again.
They deserve better.
I felt more of an inclusion with the tiny dots. People could relate.
Losing Melody leaves me open to personal questions, “Was it something I’d done”. ” Well,she was obviously too tiny to survive”. From people who don’t understand.
To things being thrown around within the community.
“At least if baby had lived like with neonates,I’d have photos.”
Just because I was able to take 100 photos, or because we saw a tiny smile, neonatal death matters. Her life,her death matters.
This shouldn’t be our story.
We shouldn’t have a daughter who has died.