When I was at primary school, we had to say prayers three times a day. It was a Catholic school, so prayer-time was compulsory. We said them at morning assembly, before lunch and before going home.
In Class 3 (when we were 7-8 years old), our teacher would allow the students to include a prayer or blessing of their own at home-time. We had to take turns. She would go round the classroom, choosing three or four students a day. Normally, it was something childish and simple, along the lines of "Dear Lord, please look after my puppy who has hurt his paw" or "Dear Lord, please let it be sunny tomorrow so I can ride my bike".
One day, one of the girls in my class said a prayer that started the teacher crying:
"Dear Lord, please look after mummy's baby, who was stillborn."
The teacher asked her what the baby was called.
"Vincent"
We were all sent home.
I didn't understand.
I asked my mother about it whilst she cooked dinner. She said that it was very sad because the baby had died. I was confused - the baby had been born hadn't it? My mother tried to explain how some babies die before they are born and, when that happens, we say there are stillborn. I still didn't understand. In my world, it wasn't possible for something to die before it had lived; if it was born, it was born! In my head, the word 'stillborn' didn't mean 'born still, unbreathing and unmoving' it meant 'yet he was born'.
Nearly 30 years on, I remember that day. I remember the girl. I remember her brother's name: Vincent.
Nearly 30 years on, I am still confused.
Since my son was stillborn, I have thought a lot about Vincent and his mummy and his sisters and brother.
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