Something inside so strong

Apparently, yesterday was International Bereaved Mothers Day. I didn't know. It completely passed me by until I read someone else's post about it this morning. Do I wish we'd 'celebrated' it or acknowledged it in some way? Not really. I think about Monty every day and I hold his memory close. I don't need a special day for that. He is part of our family. He will always be missing and he will always be missed.

I do silently 'celebrate' the lessons I have learned through sharing my life with Monty, even though I never got to know him as a person. I have found inner strength and been reminded of how lucky I am to have supportive family and friends. I have re-assessed my priorities and attitude to life. We live in the moment more than we used to and value our family time, which is so precious.

People tell me that I am amazing. They marvel at how I am dealing with the loss of my son: how I manage to get up and dressed each morning; how I can talk freely about him and my experience; how I answer my daughter's questions and explain what happened over and over again. But I'm not amazing - I'm just dealing with bereavement the best I can.

I have to carry on with life. I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter and they need me. More than that, they need me to be me. I'll never be the same person I was before but I can be almost the same, with a few healed scars.

Feel the fear and do it anyway?

I have longed to provide my daughter with a sibling since before she was born. I was delighted to find out I was pregnant for the second time at Easter last year but, six months ago, our lives were turned upside down when our son was stillborn. Now, we are faced with the challenge of trying again. Lots of bereaved parents go on to have more children but I am scared of losing another baby.

I never felt that my second pregnancy would be my last. I could picture myself with three little people toddling along beside me! So, in some ways, trying again would give us the third child I was hoping for anyway.

But...

I worry that everything will go wrong again. I worry that there will be difficult decisions to make. I worry that I won't have the strength to battle the anxiety. I worry that I won't be able to bond with my baby. I worry that I won't be able to talk about how I feel. I worry that other people won't understand. I worry about depression. I worry that all the worry will make me a poor mummy. I worry that there won't be a 'right time' to start trying and I worry about leaving it too late.

I didn't worry about anything during my pregnancies. I was considered 'low risk' and I never expected things to go wrong. I was so sure of myself as a mum-to-be, custodian of the unborn child. I was careful about my diet and how I exercised, and I was prepared for my babies' arrivals. I never thought I would come away from the hospital with empty arms, sore eyes and a broken heart...