I felt you slip away about 5am that day. I do not know what woke me from that sleep, but I am so glad it did.

I cried with my arms wrapped around my belly, your home, what was supposed to protect you until you were born. My body had failed me, I was a failure as a mother to you.

At about 7:30, I had compsed myself enough to lie blatantly to my mother , to get her to take me to school early. I went to the hospital from there.

I was quickly admitted to emergency- I was so shocked I got through those doors without having to wait longer than an hour. I lay, quiet, in shock I guess, in my school uniform, feeling small and very alone as a middle aged , male doctor ran the ultrasound wand over my stomach.

“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat. Your baby is dead.”

The words every expectant mother fears hearing. The cold, slightly patronising doctor told me what I already knew though.

“I’d reccomend you have a D&C to remove the remaining tissue.” he told me. I refused. He glanced at me, nodded and reccomended a special type of drug that would ensure all ‘ products of conception’ ( such a cold term) would be expelled, leaving little chance for infection.

I cried as a nurse, who I cannot for the life of me, remember her name, helped me shower and clean myself up.

My beautiful little baby was gone, before I had even had a chance to see her.

I was only a little late to school that morning. I actually went back to school and continued on as normal, as now, there was no baby, no life, no nothing.

I was a failure as a woman and as a mother. My body had let me down.

My poor Lily was gone.


Happy angelversary my little butterfly.