Tonight at 7pm many angel parents and those who have never experienced loss lit a candle or two, or many in one friends case in remembrance of all the babies who grew their wings.
My social media profile was ablaze (no pun intended) with photos of them. Literally every post was a candle in some shape or form. It was nice to see people trying to raise awareness of pregnancy and infant loss but also sad because it shows just how many people I know that have this pain inside them and how many hide that pain.
I really wish that the wave of light was seen by many people and it will prevent other people from starting this journey. Even if it just helps one baby to be saved then it is all worth it.
The single candle in the latern is the one I lit for my Milo and the other was an arrangement my friend did for me.
Before losing my Milo I believed that there was a higher power but now I don’t think there is a merciful, all powerful being. If there was then my boy would never have been taken. No God would allow him and me to feel such pain and suffering.
I believe that there is somewhere after here (not necessarily heaven) but a place where my Milo is enjoying himself, watching us and waiting for the day we are reunited. To think my son is completely gone makes the pain 100 times worse.
Today is a day to share with the world something that is in my heart about my grief.
Dear World – I may cry when talking about my Milo but please don’t stop asking about him.
Dear World – I am so scared my Milo will be forgotten. I can see it is already happening with some people, even ones who met him. They just don’t bother with him anymore.
Dear World – I will never stop trying to educate mothers who put their unborn child at risk. I want to do my best to stop anyone else taking a step on my path.
Dear World – I want my boy back. I need him back. Every ounce of my being screams to hold my boy again. I have to make peace that he is gone.
Dear World – I will always celebrate/mark his special days. If you don’t want to then that’s okay, but you won’t stop me just because you feel uncomfortable.
There are two positive things that have come from the loss of my Milo.
1. My online angel parent friends. While we are all members of a club that no one chooses to join, knowing that they are around means the world. We are on our own separate journeys but we are also ‘all in this together’. Having someone to talk to that has a complete understanding how I am feeling helps me on my darkest days.
2. This positive made my life change again and she turned my world upside down and still does repeatedly. She makes me smile through the tears and gives me a second reason to get out of bed in the mornings. When she was born she was the spitting image of her missing brother but as she grows she is looking less like him and more like a little girl but sometimes I look at her and she has the same cheeky glint in her eyes like he had. I do feel sad that she never got to meet her little big brother but she will know him.
I am, of course talking about my beautiful 2.5 year old daughter Lilith Annabelle Kida.
I have yet to make something in memorial of my Milo. I have no idea what to make or do. I have a teddy that was made by my wonderful sister-in-law and I bought a handmade bunny with a M, from a friend as his Easter present. The others were having one and it felt wrong not to have one for my boy.
I do like making his grave look good and I regularly move/change the items we put down for him.
My symbol for my Milo is a Red Kite (bird of prey not an actual kite).
The red kite first became a symbol for my Milo when he was still alive and staying at the John Radcliffe hospital. There was a nesting pair and when I could see them flying/circling I knew I was getting close to being able to hold my boy.
We had one visit the church on the day of his funeral too. It hovered as we arrived and it was still there as the ceremony ended. It flew off as my Milo’s coffin was placed back in the hearse for the journey to his final resting place.
Whenever I or my living children see a red kite we always stop and watch it fly until it goes out of sight. Both children wave and say “Hi Milo”.
I hope to have a tattoo of one soon. It will be on the right side of my chest as that was where my Milo would rest his head when I held him.
I’m not sure I fully believe in signs from my boy. I’d like to think he was visiting us from time to time but I also like to think he is somewhere having fun with the other babies who are gone too soon.
In the early days I would allow the grief of losing my Milo take me, especially when I was alone. I must have spent weeks in my bed just letting the waves of pain wash over me. Aiden would come home from nursery and nap next to me so I didn’t have to leave my pit.
It was only when I could hear him tell visitors “mummy bed” without them asking or using the same phrase when answering the question of what he had done that day, that I started to realise that I could no longer allow myself the luxury of wallowing. It was affecting my boy and his life.
Now, 4 years down the life I have more control over my reactions. Special dates can still floor me and the run up to those dates are horrendous. They sometimes seem worse than the actual day.
I do still have occasions where the tears start when talking about my Milo. I try not to but sometimes I just can’t hold them back any longer.
I find if I am around my kids then I am much better at controlling the emotions. I have to keep it together for them. They do not need to see me lose it. It’s not fair to them.