R.I.P my angel

October is always a difficult month for me. Even three years on. The first week or so of this month is when our baby would have been born. I'm not sure of the exact birth date, but we had worked it out to be between the 3rd and 7th October.

I have nothing to show that a baby existed, except the gorgeous teddy bear Mark brought home the day we found out we were going to be parents and the angel I placed in the rose garden has slowly crumbled over the years...all I have is the memory of being pregnant for 11 weeks.

I was nauseous 24/7. I had gained a midriff quicker than you can say 'pop goes the weasel'. I was moody and out of sorts. I had the most awful hair colour (thanks to the hormones playing havoc with my body) BUT it was amazing. I was going to be a mom and that was all that mattered.

Losing our baby was possibly one of the worst things I have ever gone through and even though I had only carried for 11 weeks, it was enough for me to know this little soul inside. Sadly when it comes to this time of year I find myself thinking about what she (in my heart I always knew it was a little girl) would be like at the age of three.

Would she have had curly dark hair, or would she be fair like Mark? Would she be funny or would she be more serious? Would she have my strange looking toes or would she have the most beautiful feet? Would she have my fingers, long, destined to play the piano, like my mom, her granddad and great grand father? What would she be saying now? And doing? Would she love swimming or running? Would she love to read and sing? Would she be a happy child?

In my heart I know she served a purpose in the very short time she was here. She allowed me to feel the joy of pregnancy and made me realize I could be a mom. Even unborn, she gave of herself selflessly and made way for Emma, our beautiful little girl.

 

In Heaven there must surely be
A special place, a nursery
Where ' little spirits ' not fully grown
Go to live in their Heavenly home.

The angels must attend with love
Tiny spirits on wings of doves,
The choir of angels must sing lullabies
Maybe quieten their tiny cries.

The Father must come by each day
To cuddle and play in a special way
These tiny spirits left earth too soon
Little ones called home from the womb.

These sparks of life did not perish
But came to the Father's love to cherish,
To grow and be taught in His own arms
Safely away from all earthly harm.

The comforter was sent to earth at once
To the parents who lost their little one
Their hearts so ache, their arms feel empty
The question 'why' seems so tempting.

Then all at once in the midst of tears
There comes a peace that stills the fears
The parents share the Father's own need
To hold their tiny spirit being.

They relinquish their own desperate hold
And release their baby to the Father's fold,
Then comes an angel to whisper the truth
Of a nursery in Heaven bearing rich fruit.

Of tiny spirits chosen to worship the Father
A place that couldn't be filled by another,
Called to be spared from the struggles of earth,
Chosen to be one of Heaven's births.

So Father, whisper words of love from me
To our unborn 'life' in your nursery.