Most of us at some stage in our lives will experience the loss of a loved one. Sometimes we are prepared for it, sometimes we are not, either way it is a difficult time. How we choose to deal with it though quite often reflects our beliefs and where we draw our comfort from. This months piece needs no further introduction as Emily so beautifully shares her heartfelt story with us…
“There is something divine that comes from tragedy. A burning inside that can either ignite your sorrow or turn it into something beautiful. We always have a choice. To keep falling or to rise again. That was my choice the day my angel baby died. That pain and sadness never leaves you but if you can hold on to hope, tightly and without fear, there is never-ending possibility.
Longing for a baby can physically hurt. There is an emptiness, a void, that nothing can fill. We lost our first angel early on but it was just as heart-breaking. A longed-for second child, a brother or sister for our daughter. Our family complete. When that dream is given to you and you feel such joy and excitement only for it to be ripped away, it is difficult to feel anything but desolation and despair.
My angel baby and I had 22 weeks together. He and I shared my body and I gave him my heart beat, my warmth. As he grew bigger, we communicated in unspoken words. A gentle wriggle, a poking foot or arm, a stroke. Each time I felt him move, my spirit sang. I talked to him, and soothed him. I took him on my favourite walks, along lane ways, and by the river, through fields and forest. Every step was a step towards him.
I blamed myself for losing him. I questioned everything. Was there something I did or didn’t do, if I had done that, would it have helped? We can twist ourselves up trying to work out why something like this happens. We can go round in endless, painful circles. None of it helps though. It doesn’t bring them back. Ultimately, perhaps it’s not for us to figure out. Things happen in life that we don’t expect, that we don’t want, that we think we don’t deserve. Perhaps. But that’s not what’s important. It’s how we respond. Things happen that we have no control over. I found that accepting that, and accepting that it wasn’t meant to be, helped in my grief. It’s not to say it won’t happen, just not at this moment. What will be, will be.
I’m a different person now, like anyone who has been through something life-changing. I carry my scar, quietly and carefully, like I carried my baby, remembering often and counting my blessings. My son is everywhere. We look for him every morning in the fiery, rising sun, in the gentle summer breeze and the fierce winter storms. We search the sky for him, in the brightest of stars and glowing, torch moon. He is in the air, and the river, and in our tears. We hold him in our hearts and in our minds. He is in his father’s eyes, his sister’s smile and his mother’s spirit.
Through the pain of our loss, we give thanks. For our love and our life, for our beautiful girl. We know we are lucky to have her and she blesses us every day with her sweet soul and happy smile. Together we have swam though the murkiest and darkest of waters to reach the shore again. Together, we can do anything.
I hope that by writing this, I can help someone else who has suffered, or is suffering. That I offer them hope and possibility over darkness and despair. It doesn’t have to be the end. It can be a beautiful beginning”.
By Emily Paget
To Emily and her beautiful baby Uther – thank you for the privilege of walking this path with you – it has opened by heart to an even deeper level of understanding the powerful beauty of living with magnificent grace and gratitude ♥