We lost you today.

On my way to the scan I allowed myself to be a little excited to see our precious baby’s heartbeat. I hadn’t let myself feel a lot of excitement in the past because so far finding out we were pregnant was just too much happiness to feel all at once. I absolutely believed you would be a reality for us, but to feel that in my heart was just too much of a risk to take after so many setbacks.

Over the last few days though, happy was beginning to infiltrate. So much so Dad and I told your Grandma’s, Pop, Aunt’s and Uncle’s that you were on your way to us. To see your family burst with love spelled the end of my heart.

Telling them meant it was real. It meant you were now in my heart, body and soul… and theirs. Everything I did was for you. I hope you heard me tell you every day that ‘you are healthy, you are loved and you are wanted’. You still are.

I could tell the sonographer couldn’t find your heartbeat. I had told her before even laying down that I was looking forward to seeing the heartbeat again. She was hovering over the same spot…. almost waiting, or maybe putting off the inevitable.

I kept thinking ‘whilst you’re looking I’m still pregnant’. I didn’t want her to look at me because I didn’t want to see another face full of sorrow for me.

She took the wand off my belly, took a breath and said ‘I can’t find a heartbeat; I’m going to get a Dr for a second opinion’.

I didn’t dare look to see the sorry face. I prayed in that room. I begged for you not to be taken from me. I promised to do whatever it took but please just let me keep our baby. In hindsight it turns out I was all alone in that room.

The Dr said that the pregnancy had no chance of continuing. She asked if I wanted to see the sonagraph screen and yes of course I wanted to see you! There you were. The most beautiful outline of an angel I ever saw. I was so happy to see you.

But within that perfect silhouette there was no heartbeat. How could perfect end this way? How could perfect not have a heartbeat? How did I not know you had left me? What kind of a mother doesn’t know her child has passed? That it was over?  This is something I’ll never be at peace with.

On my way home to see your Dad I yelled and screamed and cried in the car. Mostly to whomever it was I had prayed to all these months and for the last time today. Why? What did I do wrong? Why wait until my heart wasn’t mine anymore? Why the day after telling our family? Why be so cruel? Whether there is no one up there listening or simply no mercy was shown. I am now irreparable.

I broke your Dad's heart that day. I think I actually saw it break through his chest. Even worse I had no words to bring him any comfort. I couldn’t tell him everything was going to be ok. It’s not ok. Your Dad is an amazing man, you would’ve loved him, everybody does.

It’s been a few days now and the sadness has moved from my heart, into my bones. You’re not coming to us. Sometimes that realisation takes my breath away. I asked myself what advice I might have given to you if you were going through a great loss. I’d tell you that you are brave and strong and that there is pride and honour in standing and wearing such grief. I’d also tell you that such sadness doesn’t define you or become your identity. Maybe it can become something that one day sits in your heart as a badge of honour? A memento that you once experienced great love and loss in a fleeting moment. Maybe.

We miss you and I hope we always miss you. Thank you for 75 days of the purest love I’ve ever had the honour to experience.

Love Mum and Dad xxx

Have you ever been through a miscarriage? What advice do you have for other women going through it?