You came like a bolt into my womb and into my heart. And then my body and my world fell down.
You were so loved for that short time that I carried you.
A paper cut-out of a life full of future. Crumpled, discarded. As a fluttered heartbeat …..stops….. and bloody pulp gets flushed away.
My body throbs with your loss, achingly knowing you are not there.
This is grief without the memories to anchor back to. Only the space where your tiny form would have parted the air is gone.
I can still taste the place you would have been.
In my plans.
In my dreams.
In my arms.
I wrote most of this poem after having a miscarriage over 5 years ago and it’s now ready to be sent into the world. I am now at peace with our loss, and feel unbelievably blessed to have my husband and two boys. But I feel it’s important to be honest about what our unborn baby meant to me, and how it felt for the promise of that new life to be wrenched away. Miscarriage is very common, but I feel it is too rarely talked about.
Be free. We are here to look after those you love.
Last breath you are gone. A song to lift you on your way.
Open the window the sun has come out. Snatches of your life speak to me now.
Plaits round the head of a little Dutch girl. A quiet room with a ticking clock. One dress for a newly-wed doctors wife who doesn’t know how to make tea.
One lost child in a hospital tent. A drive through the night to an Irish beach. Windmills on the end of a teaspoon.
Drawers full of patchwork and home-spun wool. New roof on a Welsh cowshed. Girl at the window of an Amsterdam house looking down at an RAF doctor.
Long days in a children’s hospital. Grandchildren with gardens on trays. Embroidery on a child’s old dress.
There is a yellow daffodil in the bed where you lay. Be peace-filled now we will all be ok.
Know that Martin is with Neil. And tomorrow Neil and Annemarie will cross fields to feed the horses.
My Granny Els died earlier this year. She was an inspirational, complicated, beautiful and kind person. I have learnt so much from her and miss her dearly. Her life spoke and was full of stories. I wrote this poem aftersitting with her as she died and read it at her funeral.