My beautiful daughter died many years ago, passed away in the crook of her daddy’s comfortable arm, that’s how small she was. She left many years ago, as her soul took flight after only two days of this earthly life. I’ve always written about her and at the beginning, when emotions were really raw, writing was my consolation.
Time went on, however, and I didn’t want her life to have gone unnoticed, by others, so I joined a local branch of the Bereavement Group S.A.N.D.S. (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society). Later, I ended up running it, and I loved the shared experience of this nice group and people. Soon I became very much part of my community, alongside Fiona’s younger brother and sister.
Incidents of them and their friends pulled at my heartstrings from time to time. One such time was when all the local children were outside playing. Fiona’s little sister was walking around with a book tucked under her arm, her favorite pastime, even before she could read.
Her friend asked if she would like it read to her. Together they sat on my doorstep. It was a beautiful sight, yet sad, for I couldn’t help think but that it should have been her big sister reading to her. Alongside this, came the thought of me being pregnant at the same time as this little girl’s mum. Now, here was her daughter alive and well and mine was long gone.
There was no resentment there, only the feeling of loss for what should, could, have been.