Our beautiful baby daughter Anabelle was born sleeping June 2010.
Blessed with the screaming arrivals of our gorgeous rainbow sons,
Alexander October 2011, Zachary November 2013 and Lucas July 2016.

After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows
Heartbreak. Joy. Death. Life. But most of all Love.

Wednesday, 30 March 2011


Half an hour ago I walked through my front door and into my living room. I greeted the cat, who as always ran straight to me, picked her up and she curled into me purring. Then I turned around and looked straight at Anabelle's photo. 

My beautiful daughter sits in our arms on our mantel piece. I look at her photo's daily, she is in my thoughts almost every hour of the day; but tonight once again the sheer foreverness of life without her has caught me. 

How did we not bring her home? We had her, she was there, we held her, loved her, kissed her. But now all we have is photographs of her with us. It is overwhelming that my beautiful baby daughter, in the photograph in her Daddy's arms, holding his finger, never came home. So tiny, so perfect. 

I don't understand how I'm supposed to process this. Once again my brain has gone into overload and it seems impossible to accept. How did this happen to us?  What happened inside me to make my body fail doing the job it is fundamentally designed to do? 

This new life is incredible; for all of the wrong reasons. It is so huge, that even 9 months on my head still cannot fully comprehend all that it really entails. Forever. 

We didn't just lose our daughter in her baby years, we've lost her whole life. Her first word, her first steps, her first tooth, her first day at school, her first boyfriend, the day she graduated, the day she should've got married. Everything. 


My New Normal said...

I don't have the answers to your questions. I too wonder why this happened to me. There is no answer. These things just happen. To good people like you, and like me. And somehow we need to find a way to go on. Because really, we have no other choice.

Anonymous said...

I asked someone at my sands group last week if it ever really sinks in, how do you ever accept that this is your life and not some story in a magazine or a bad plotline in a terrible soap. She said (and it's 11 years for her) that it becomes part of who you are. I don't understand this now and am still not sure I ever will.

Unknown said...

I get what the sands lady meant. Differently, but I get it. My son is the only one from 7 acknowledged pregnancies. I can get pregnant by a look apparently, but I can't make them stay more than 10 weeks.

My last baby left 4 weeks after I cremated his father, my sons stepfather, and the most wonderful man. It will be two years in July since the police came for me at school to tell me that he had been killed, instantly, in an unexplainable accident on the road. In that time, I've met someone else, we have a future together, but Rich, and his death, are part of who we are as a family. J knew Rich, and so it is just part of who we are. What I didn't want though, was for it to be the sum total of who we are. When Rich died, and then the baby, it was the end of my baby dreams, the end of us as a family. The end of us getting married, and growing old together, the end of himl seeing Sam join the RAF like him, the end.

But it's just part of who we are, because we didn't end. Sam and I went back to school in the September, we lived on, wwe had Christmas and birthdays and weddings and christenings, and Rich wasn't there by my side.

Now J andi will grow old, and do the things that couples do. We're getting too old to have our own children, but we have two beautiful boys between us.

Loss is just part of who we are. But so is happiness and hope.

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After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows. I'm Caz, Mummy to beautiful angel Belle and my wonderful rainbow boys, Xander, Zachy and Luc. Wife to Jon. Twitter @cazem Instagram @cazzyem
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