Symbols aren't something I usually associate with. Lots of things remind me of Isla but not necessarily 'Symbols'. But I do find significance for Isla in beautiful things. Such as flowers.
The Snowdrop Appeal are an amazing charity who I will mention properly later on in this project. They raised money initially for two cold cots to go into Derriford Hospital. That meant I was able to spend 2 precious days with Isla and be her mummy in the only sense of the word I now know. They are now raising money for a separate wing for bereaved parents at the hospital, which would save us the pain of delivering and staying on the main labour ward. So there's a snowdrop in my collage.
There is also:
~ A Forget-Me-Not heart shape - obvious reasons for that one and one of the flowers in my tattoo.
~ Some wildflowers - we will plant these at Isla's grave to keep her 'alive'.
~ Dandelion seeds - The literature I was sent home from hospital used these as a symbol of new life, new hope and new dreams. Also a symbol of time passing.
~ Crab apple blossoms - we will be planting a crab apple tree for Isla in December and I have blossoms tattooed on my side too.
~ A view of the wildflowers (with the rock) that are at Yealmpton Woodland Burial Ground, where Isla lays.
~ The large pink flower and the flowers on the beach were photographed for me by the wonderful Catherine of Gabriel's Garden. Catherine chooses a photo for each baby and then takes the flowers to the beach to be released into the wind. She specially chose this one for Isla.
So maybe I do do symbolism after all?!
This isn't me.
Our story was one of infertility and acceptance and great holidays together.
Not a stolen miracle.
That's what it feels like.
An out of body experience.
I can't believe it was me who saw a positive pregnancy test or a baby wriggling on screen.
Can't believe I felt her move or heard her heartbeat.
And can barely fathom it was actually me that laboured and gave birth to a baby girl who had died.
Its like I'm watching this stuff happen to someone else not me.
In my real life, I'm supposed to be ok. Happy even.
But that prospect seems impossible now. Happiness.
If this is my story, then happiness is what happens to other people.
I'm watching this from afar. It's not really me.
I don't impulsively buy a stupidly small car even if I've always wanted it. I don't book holidays without planning the ins and outs of all the practicalities. I don't get tattoos up my ribs because really I'm chicken and think it'll look weird when I'm old.
So this isn't me.
And yet.
It is.
It really is me going through all this shit and pain and misery. I'm now the woman who had 4 years of trying only to have a stillbirth.
Our miracle snatched away from us.
I can never go back to acceptance but I pray with all my might that I can go back to feeling happy again.
But if it's a happiness without my own baby then I don't want it.
