Rory was born and died on 13 March 2015 – the day time stood still and continued to march on at speed. That day is a haze of medication, pain, fear and sadness. Holding your tiny perfect baby in your arms and watching him die is almost indescribable and I do not wish it on anyone.
I can’t lie, the last 7 months have been harder than I ever imagined, harder than the 5 years of trying to conceive and infertility treatments for us to fall pregnant with Toby, harder than learning to walk again and again after hip operations as a child. There have been ups and down steps forward, back, and sideways. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have helped us along the way but I am grateful for each and every one of them. I also grateful for the hater who crossed my path, he made me stronger, more resolute. So I’m here, still standing, still breathing, still loving.
I started this blog not long after Rory died, I wrote one post but then wasn’t really sure what to do next, I was so new to grief that words were not forthcoming, I was still numb, still in shock and filled with disbelief. Precious IVF babies weren’t alowed to die were they? I’ve since learnt that death doesn’t care how the baby came about.
For the whole of October I followed a photo journal and posted on Facebook, a couple of people said I should start a blog. I’d forgotten about this page but remembered that I’d started but never really started. So I’m back to see if I can do it.