Monday, 26 October 2015
21:10 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post
We wrote a love-letter to Anabelle in that week between her birth and funeral.
We told her all about her family. Who her Mummy and Daddy were. How old we were, where we worked. We told her about the moment we found out we were expecting a baby and how excited we were. We told her about her scans, her first scan at 11 weeks, her second one at 15 weeks after a small bleed, and then her 20 week scan where we found out she was a girl and named her.
How excited we were to be having a girl. We told her how pink was my favourite colour and it meant choosing beautiful girly clothes for her was going to be easy. We told her how we celebrated her girl-ness with pink champagne. How her Daddy had made a trip to Mamas and Papas to buy a big pink letter A for her name the day after her 20 week scan. How we had gone shopping the weekend after the scan to choose her very first dress. We told her how we had loved choosing and buying things for her. Special things.
We told her all about how we picked her name, and what her name meant. That Daddy had picked her names and Mummy had decided whether Anabelle or Violet was going first or second.
We told her how everyone was getting ready for her. How her nursery had been painted in a lovely lemon and pale pink. That her nursery theme was going to be hearts, butterflies and flowers. Girly girly girly. How we had chosen white furniture and a beautiful pink and white nursing chair.
We told her how we had loved getting to know her. That we had enjoyed our evening led on the sofa watching her move around in my tummy. That her Daddy loved lying on my tummy and talking to her and that she would kick him in the face! How we put big headphones on my tummy for her to listen to music and how much she loved her baby classical music CD. That the first time I ever felt her kick properly was when we let her listen to music.
We told her all about the record we had been keeping of her growing. Mummy filling in a pregnancy diary book each week about what had been happening and how I was feeling, and how each week I had been having a photo taken to see just how big I was getting with her. We told her all about the very special photographs we had been having taken with a photographer and that the last visit had been just two days before she died and how precious that was to us.
We told her all about our hopes and dreams for her. That we had made so many plans for her. That we already had chosen her nursery for after Mummy had returned to work. That we had already put her name down for WaterBabies and we were so looking forward to taking her to so many baby groups. How we imagined when she was a little older we would taken her to ballet classes and how cute she would've looked in a little pink tu-tu.
We told her all about the scare at 31 weeks where she threatened to come early, but that medicine helped and she stabilised and a scan before discharge showed everything was ok and that we just had to rest for a while.
We told her how busy we were getting ready for her in that week afterwards. How we washed clothes and chose her going home outfit from all of her a pretty clothes; a pretty turquoise romper suit with butterflies and flowers on it in pink, a pink vest underneath, pink socks and a pink cardigan Nana had made for her. We got our hospital bag ready.
We told her that Daddy had bought Mummy a very special present ready for her birthday. A necklace with 3 diamonds that represented our family, the biggest diamond for Daddy, the middle sized diamond for Mummy and the tiny little diamond for Belle.
And then we told her that a week later she went quiet, and at 32 weeks and 4 days grown we were told her heart had stopped beating. That she had gone to sleep. We told her how utterly heartbroken we were.
We told her how comfortable she must've been inside me because induction took five whole days. We told her what time she was born, what date she was born. How heavy she was. Who she looked like. We told her how she had her Daddy's nose and Mummy's mouth.
We told her that she was a Monday's child as the poem goes, and that a Monday's child is fair of face. We told her how true this was and how pretty she was.
We told her all about our time together. The 12 hours we spent with her, how desperately wanted she was, how we held her close telling her again and again how much we loved her. We told her about all the photographs we took, how we held her against how skin, how we took her hand and footprints, dressed and loved her. How the cardigan she wore was a special tiny one her Nana in those days while we waited for induction to work, so she had something to fit her perfectly.
We told her how special the midwives were at the hospital that had helped us look after her, and had looked after us. How they had helped with hand and footprints, helped me dress her, helped us have some of her hair to keep forever. We told her about the special handprints we had taken on a special jewellery making it so we would be able to have her handprint on a bracelet for Mummy. We told her how Daddy was going to have a special tattoo just for her.
We told her that handing her over and not being able to take her home with us was the hardest most painful thing we had ever done.
We told her it wasn't supposed to be like this.
We told her that we were going to put her memory box together, to keep all her precious things safe. The A her Daddy had bought, her first dress, the going home outfit that was supposed to be, the pregnancy diary books and special photos. the newspaper from the day she was born, the number one single, her birth certificates. That there would be so much more than that too.
We told her about what we had bought to wear for her funeral. We told her about her story book, Guess How Much I Love You, and told her she couldn't possibly ever guess how much we loved her. We told her we would be reading it to her each year on her birthday.
We told her about all the things we were leaving to be buried with her. A photo of her with her Mummy and Daddy, the first toy we had bought her; a little soft zebra and rainbow rattle, a tiny teddy bear for her to cuddle close, the blanket her Nana had made for her so she was kept warm, and of course this love-letter so all the words of our love were right there with her, always.
We told her how unbearably hard it was to have to say goodbye, that we couldn't bring ourselves to do it but that we had no choice and we had to let her go soon. We told her she was going to be in heaven with Jesus and that we knew her Great-Grandad would be looking after her. That we knew how much he would love her too because he had always loved me.
We told her how much we would miss her.
We told her so much in this one letter. Four and a half pages of typed A4.
But it never seems enough.
Because it wasn't supposed to be like this.
How I wish our love-letter to Anabelle could've been like the love-letters to my sons.
Like their blogs that were written every month for their first year and have been six-monthly updates after that; blogs that tell them all about them at the age they are at the moment, how wonderful they are and how loved they are.
I wish Anabelle had that too, growing up letters. Growing up memories.
Day 23. Capture Your Grief. Love Letter.
Day 23. Capture Your Grief. Love Letter.
- 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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