I’ve quickly adapted to Elva not being in my tum or in my arms. I don’t like it and I’m struggling to accept it, but I’ve adapted.

I know I’ve adapted because amongst the I want her back I need her back I often wish I could go back to her labour. The days before when she had gone but I still had her close. They say the brain is the last thing to shut down my heart was last thing she ever knew of this world.

The pain of labour was horrendous worse than anything I’ve had before because I knew my pain wouldn’t end with delivery. But it was a feeling something that connected me to my baby. An experience that was uniquely mine and hers, no-one else’s.

I want to go back to the delivery the magical moment I got to meet my baby girl. The circumstance weren’t how we wished them but I still got to meet my little companion. My womb dweller.

I want to go back to the days I could touch her, feel her. Stroke her fuzzy head, kiss her little squidgy nose, rub her high cheek bones and just stare at her. Imagining those skinny legs kicking me, trying to picture her moving around crying saying mummy.

Those days were the easiest. She wasn’t with me but she was right by my side where I could take her in with every sense I possess. It seems so daft to think I would have know but I look at her and I wonder how did I not sense she was the perfect autumn baby.

She would have looked divine amongst the autumn leaves with pretty curls and lightening smile. Dark hair and eyes against the vivid red and orange leaves. Those days were the hardest but the best. They were the easiest too. The days get harder so at the time they were the hardest but continuing to live without her is a lot harder every day.

Grief is a riddle. You make no sense whilst making perfect sense. You contradict your own words whilst not. It’s a confusing world not many understand but too many belong in




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