I went to have dinner with a close friend last night. We were tucking into dinner, dicussing life and stuff in general. I have watched her go through so much over the last 4 or so years, sturggles with body image and weight, happiness and pressure on herself to do well…She knows about Lily and what I went through- 3 years ago now. We were in the middle of dinner- literally mid-mouthful- and she begins to talk to me about Lily. I just about choked on my food, not expecting the random turn in conversation, my baby all of a sudden being talked about like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I guess it was her round-about way of telling me what she did. She eventually shared with me that in 2008 she and her boyfriend fell pregnant- she was just 18. She got to 12 weeks when she lost her baby.

I think I am glad that we were out, at a restaurant when she shared that with me, and our conversation turned to miscarriage, the pain and the hurt, and how you never really get over it, my work withthe P&IL community.

I shoud mention, however that I was unable to utter a word about my ‘new’ baby- Little Speck, my baby I lost 3 weeks ago…I just could not say it….What is wrong with me? I guess the second time, it has been different. I did not let myself dream of my new baby, I try not to think of him. I do not speak his name.

HE DOES NOT HAVE A NAME! Speck does not have a name….I cannot bear the heartbreaking decision of what to call him. Speck  is just my nickname for what the baby was- just a speck. But ‘a life is a life, no matter how small’. Should I give Speck a proper name?

I feel so guilty, so sad, so…empty. Maybe the pain will go away faster if I do not think or remember him….

I am yet to introduce her to my ‘part time’ world, to the people who I am helping, to the people who are helping me every day- to heal.

And I will heal- one day.