Day 24 - Art
This time last year, I posted about the painting in this picture but I only had it as a print on some cards. It is painted by a friend, Toby Ray, whose work I love. It symbolised the hope of a rainbow baby whilst commemorating my dad, whose ashes are scattered near the Mewstone, the rock off Wembury in Devon. It meant so much to both Dan and I when my mum and step dad commissioned an original of it for our Christmas gift last year. By then, it held a whole load more meaning, as I was now 9 weeks pregnant. It hangs where I can look directly at it in our living room, a very special piece of art.
The button art is something I created for Caleigh's nursery. A rainbow, for obvious reasons, and then, to represent Isla, a heart etched with the words 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' - as in, dreams really do come true!
As I return to my post from last year, I remember that Siblngs was one of the hardest subjects to consider. The thought that I would never bring home a living child was so devastating. It played almost the biggest part in my grief. I wrote that I would not be pregnant again in 2012. Little did I know that just 11 days later I would conceive my second daughter! Amazing!!
Day 24 Capture Your Grief - SiblingsWell Isla doesn't have any. And that is what makes me go all faint-feeling and nauseous these days. Was Isla our only child? Will I only ever be mummy to an angel? Will our story only ever be 4 years of IVF and a stillbirth? Will Isla ever be a big sister? She seems to have potentially kick-started something in me but we've got plenty of other issues working against us, as we always have. Plus Dan is away now, basically until Christmas with the odd days in between. I guess I won't be pregnant again in 2012.
It breaks my heart to think of never being a mummy to a living baby. To think of never being pregnant again. Never feeling a baby inside me again. Never seeing another baby on an ultrasound screen. Never being able to get that beautiful Moses basket and cute little clothes out of our friend's garage. Never needing to open that box of maternity clothes again. To never feel that unconditional love for a little person who has grown inside of me again.
My picture shows the glimmer of hope I sometimes feel about our future. Some days it's all black - we will never know that happiness again. Other days I feel more positive and can find hope of a happy future, but the glimmer is so small still.