Loss, what does it mean to you?

For me, it meant losing a child that was wanted more than anything else in this world. A baby that I grew and loved for 23 weeks. One who was going to come into our family and be the little brother that our older son always wanted.

The loss meant that this didn’t happen for us. The loss meant that we had to say goodbye. The loss meant that my life before would always be very different to the life that was coming. If you’re reading this, then you know my story already, my story of Termination For Medical Reasons of my dear baby Remi Brown, born and deceased on the 2nd December 2022.

Losing a child is complex, it’s complex for the fact that our culture and society doesn’t already deal with death, add a baby into the mix and it’s a whole other kettle of fish. From people not acknowledging our loss to others brushing over it quickly as their discomfort with my pain outweighed their ability to just sit in this dark hole with me. Having to terminate for medical reasons carries so much shame and taboo. People are harsh and say extremely hurtful things, this adds to the shame and pain that you are already dealing with.

Everyone deals with death differently, there is no right or wrong way, there is just your way.

My way was to feel the intensity, sit in the darkness and let it consume me. Whilst also finding the light through healers, journalling, and talking about my pain. In the depths of this darkness, no one could get me out, no one could save me or make it go away, but people who rode the waves with me knew that I would slowly climb my way out again and that someday I would return to a form of ‘me’.

I felt that I was in a hole, this hole was dark and I was alone. I could sometimes see people sitting on the edge of the hole looking down at me, sometimes offering me a ladder to escape my darkness, but mostly just sitting there waiting. Slowly as the months passed by and my grief turned back into joy, I saw the light coming from the top of the hole and the ladder that people had thrown to me was still there, but at this time I felt that I could climb it. Making my way to the top of the hole, to a new form of me, a mother who has lost a child while also raising a toddler. A woman who withstood the judgement of others around me. A Doula whose life is surrounded by pregnancy & birth. A complex woman who wanted to be the best version of myself I could be. That dark hole is always forever in my heart, a place that I can visit if I need, where I let the grief wash over me and I can connect to my pain, side by side with love.

Two sides of the coin, darkness & light. Love & sorrow. I feel both at the same time.

If you are reading this and you have lost a baby or child, then you know that there is nothing more debilitating than this loss. My heart stopped beating in my chest for weeks, at times I questioned if I would ever feel it beat again. If you are feeling the same way, I don’t want you to think that sitting in this darkness is pointless or damaging but see it as a necessary way to move through your pain and come to a place where you will always carry your grief with you, but as the weeks go on you just get more resilient and stronger at carrying it in your heart.

If you are reading this and you have someone in your life that is going through or has gone through loss, then you as their support person can play an integral role in their healing journey. You are not here to save them from the pain but you are simply there to sit in the pain so they don’t feel alone. The power of saying sorry weighs more than you’ll ever know. To say I’m sorry this has happened, and I’m sorry, I can’t take this pain away.

Sorry holds power. It means that you are empathetic to their suffering. That maybe at this very point in time don’t know what else to say but know that saying sorry is far better than saying nothing.

What does life look like after loss?

It looks like a deepness of learning more about myself than I have ever known before. The ability to know that I don’t need to fix the pain of others that it is better that they feel it, and know I’m here riding the waves with them. It’s made me a better mother to Archie, a stronger bond where he is my life and I am his. It has made me a more confident Doula, in knowing first-hand that life can be turned upside down in a matter of moments and that I have also endured the pain that you might one day go through. Lastly, it has brought me more joy than I let into my life before losing Remi.

His gift to me is joy. He wants me to feel joy all around me, from the moments of playing with Archie to the moments when I break down and wail at the feeling of missing him. Even in the moment of writing this blog, I listened to a playlist, each and every song that came up was linked to him, in memory of him.

He is always around me, in nature dancing in the trees, sitting with Archie in the moments where it looks like he is playing with someone else in the room, but it is just him and I. When you let joy in again, it has a way of making your life brighter, a way of gifting you the ability to accept that life is what it is, and you have the choice to make it as grand as you want it to be.

I chose not to stay in my suffering but to move through and carry it in my heart, along with joy and happiness again. To feel it all.

This is my story of life after loss. You have your own and I hope that through your journey you can feel all of the feelings and move through the other side.

In loving Memory of Remi Brown, Forever in our hearts.