Sometimes it just hits me that I am a mother to a dead child.
From the time I had Jack, my child dying was my worst fear. With him, I did everything in my power to keep him safe. Then, when pregnant with Sybella, I did the same. I took no risks. I sacrificed many things.
And I am the mother of a dead baby.
I will be, for the rest of my life.
I will often be doings something mundane, like stacking the dishwasher, and the full force of that concept will punch me in the stomach out of nowhere.
Sybella is dead.
My child is dead.
I then become physically unable to support myself. Sometimes I will sink to the floor and lean against the cupboard while I catch my breath. Sometimes the emotional punch to the stomach affects me physically and I feel winded. I bend over, clutching my stomach while I remember. That she died.
This still happens, 4 months on. Out of the blue, most of the time.
It is the worst thing in the world to be a mother to a child who died.