Our next guest post is from Bethany. Bethany and her husband, like Chris and I, decided to share her story very publically through a film documentary of couples who have experienced loss, titled Still Loved. They refused to be silenced and just “move on.” They took something so raw, so tragic, and exposed themselves with the hope that it will help other couples who face loss not feel alone. More so, bring awareness of this deep loss to those who can help support those couples when they fall short of the right words. With that, I will pass this over to Bethany.
“It’s ok, you can have another one.”
Those were the words of a close friend, less than a week after losing our precious twins, Harriet and Felicity (to PPROM), words that made me realize something. They made me realize that the loss of a baby is a lonely, desolate experience. Nobody seems to understand or dare to try.
If, like ours, a baby is lost before it is born, to most people that baby doesn’t seem real as they didn’t know it as a person. They had not spent months planning a future for their bump, they hadn’t agonized over names, they hadn’t seen that baby come to life on an ultrasound screen, talked to the bump, felt it kick, played it music. To them it was merely a bump, a bump that can be replaced.
After giving birth at 22 weeks to my silent little girls, it was this loneliness that I found so hard. I couldn’t be with my friends anymore, I was scared to leave the house in case I saw other babies or pregnant women, I couldn’t even be with my family as their lives were continuing whilst mine felt as though it had fallen in to a dark pit. But my girls made me find the strength. I refused to be quiet, I didn’t want to pretend they weren’t real. As they were born before 24 weeks they didn’t get a birth certificate, technically they never even existed, so I wanted to make sure people knew about them and how special they were. To talk about them, to make their lives matter, even if that made people uncomfortable.
Through social media I found others who knew how this felt, and knew that no matter what, another baby could not replace the ones we lost. Others who could help me see that one day there would be light again. People who helped me and my husband create a voice for Hattie & Flic, and to spend our lives raising money to help prevent other babies being lost. So now we are part of the Still Loved documentary, we have been to Downing Street, completed charity challenges I didn’t think we’re possible and met amazing people we’ll know for the rest of our lives.
Today as I sit holding my rainbow baby, I remain convinced that you can’t just have another. No matter how many more children I go on to have, Harriet and Felicity will always be my first born daughters. Having Stanley is a joy and brings some healing but he also makes me acutely aware of what I have lost. Before him I felt the loss of my girls in an almost hypothetical way, but now every little cuddle, smile, snuggle and precious moment I spend with Stanley is a moment I will never have with my girls.
Our daughters have made me who I am now, and I am grateful to them for showing how to treasure what really matters. I may not be able to hold them in my arms, but I will always hold them in my heart.
Thank you Bethany. It is so true what you said about your son. He is a miracle and that joy you feel now after so much heartache does make you even more aware what you have lost. Your words and your openness to share through your documentary, will have a resounding affect on so many other couples struggling to find away to pick up the pieces.
If you have a moment, please check out this post about Bethany and her husband and the film trailer for Still Loved.
