This time 5 years ago, my world had been ripped apart, my baby died.

I had spent almost 3 weeks prior to my miscarriage thinking, dreaming, hoping, fearing, planning. I had a list of names, both for a girl and a boy, I had a way of telling my parents, I had the next 12 months planned out- postpone my studies for a year and then go to uni. People studied with babies all the time, right?

In the early hours of the morning, on the 10th of August in 2006, I woke up to incresingly worse cramping, and bedding covered in blood. It was like something from a horror film, the tomato sauce thing, except it was worse than that. I was pregnant, and at the tender age of 17, I was thrust into the world and language of miscarriage and grief.

I showered, washed the blood away, only to make more, all the while, numb.

At the time, I lived at home with my parents. My mother dropped me to school early, a lie-the first of many- that I told that day, wishing me a good day as I got out of the car.

When I knew she couldn’t see me, I walked the short distance to the emergence department, where I was told “Your baby died, I’m sorry. But you’re young, so it was probably for the best.”

That was the beginning of my journey.

Its taken me 5 long years to accept the hand I have been dealt, and this year, on the anniversary of my first miscarriage. Each year, this day hits me with an overwhelming tide of emotion and grief.

This year?

This year is ok. This year, I am ok.

I am ok.

Lily Natalie Anne, you came into my world as such a surprise, and left it too quickly.

You will forever be my first baby, my love, my inspiration.

I love you.

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