The wonder of Ginger

The Wonder of Ginger

I have wondered about you since the day you joined me.

I wondered if I was too old to be your mummy. I wondered if I was good enough, I wondered about our adventures; I wondered about the joy you would bring.

I wondered what path and life I would watch you take. I envisioned such beauty and strength and my heart beat with such excitement at the prospect of a beautiful baby girl. I just couldn’t believe my joy and excitement, waiting to meet you.

I couldn’t wait to feel and hold you in my arms and watch daddy hold you and your brothers’ proud faces behold their baby sister. I knew you would light up our lives in such a way we would never forget.

I was amazed at the way you entertained us with your wriggles and kicks. So often I looked in amazement at my belly as you thrashed about. I loved the way you enjoyed our baths every morning and wriggled with joy at the warm water I splashed over you.

The wonder of you captivated me from the first moment.

You were due on October 29, 2014 but you were full of surprises. I hoped you would come soon as I felt you were ready. But you held on.

On November 4, I felt your vigorous kicks around 3am. This was not your usual routine. I had been monitored that evening and sent home. I wondered if they had made a mistake. I trusted they were right and tried to relax.

Come morning, I wondered why you were quiet, why you weren’t moving during our morning bath.

I wondered if I was being silly and reassured myself all was fine. I went to see my midwife and wondered why I was so worried before when mummy and daddy listened to your heartbeat. We shared smiles as we wondered how many hours it would be before we finally met you. It was confirmed: all was well.

As I was having contractions every few minutes, the midwife wondered if it was worth being monitored at the hospital and booked us in to see a nurse two hours later.

As the nurse listened for your heartbeat something suddenly changed. I wondered why she looked rigid, why I saw fear in her eyes. I wondered why there was silence. I wondered why time stood still. I looked hard in the nurse’s face, trying not to look back at the screen. I wondered why you would go when we had come so far…together.

My heart shattered into a million pieces. My mind struggled to grasp what was happening.

As I looked down, I saw a man almost on his knees and a woman screaming, “No!” I could not recognise who they were. I wondered if this was a dream. I prayed it was and I would awaken. I wondered where you had gone. I could see you on the screen. I wondered whether the machine was faulty.

How was it possible to hear your heartbeat two hours before?

I wondered what we had done to deserve this. I wondered how we were going to tackle this new life. I wondered how a family’s life could be shattered without a warning or chance to prepare.

As I listened to the nurse’s muffled voice, telling us what we must do next, I wondered why I wasn’t contemplating what outfit you were going to wear when we brought you home. Instead we were going home to tell your brothers you had gone.

I wonder if the look on Arthur’s face when I told him you were not coming home will ever leave me. I wonder if our hearts will ever mend.

I wondered “Why?” as I got induced into labour. I wondered why I felt the need to punish myself and suffer as much as possible. Was it because I felt I had failed you in some way?

As the final wave came I waited for your cry, but instead was greeted with silence. I watched and waited for a cry, for a thrash of legs. I watched the nurse wrap you and tell us you were beautiful. I wondered why the same love and excitement I felt when I saw and held your brothers for the first time rushed through every morsel of my soul.

As the midwife gently placed you in my arms, my heart burst.

Your skin felt like silk, your lips melted my heart. You were perfect in every way. I wondered why I couldn’t stop looking at you in utter amazement.

I squeezed you hard and stared at you for so long hoping you would wake up.

I wondered what your cry would have sounded like. I wondered what your eyes were like.

I held your feet tightly and squeezed them in my hands. I held your toes and hands and kissed your face and lips. I looked at your perfect little ears. I wondered if I just held you forever, would all be OK?

The time to accept I had to let you go was looming. Nine hours holding you became my reality. I wondered if Daddy would finally pluck up the courage to hold you in his arms.

He finally he did. I watched in pain as I could see his heartbreak knowing we weren’t going to take you home. I will forever admire Daddy’s strength and courage.

I wonder if you were the firework sent to light our lives in a special way.

I wonder if you knew you were made to come just to say goodbye.

I wonder if I will ever be able to make peace with your absence.

I wonder why I find you in my dreams and the prevailing wind of my thoughts. I wonder why I cling to you like others do the wonder of God.

As I envision you today, I see before my eyes a beautiful little girl with golden blonde hair, full of joy and fun, chubby little arms and legs with plenty to express and show us. I wonder what your first words would have been. I wonder how many teeth you would have, who would have seen your first smile and first steps?

You will continue to grow within our hearts and minds, and we will never stop seeking what gifts you bring. I am honoured to be your mummy each and every day.

I wonder if you can see my tears or hear my cries. I wonder if I can reach you in my thoughts, I can only wonder if you can.

Ginger, you came into our lives on November 5, 2014 and lit your glorious sparkles that will forever shine inside our hearts. You inscribed your name on my soul and there it will lay until my last breath. I am grateful for your wisdom. I, as your mother, will be your voice in this life until we finally meet again.

To our darling daughter.

Ginger Zara

November 5, 2014

Factfile

After losing Ginger, Zara received support from and became a member of Swindon stillbirth and neonatal death charity Sands. To find out more about the charity’s work or seek emotional support visit www.swindonsands.org, email admin@swindonsands.org or call 07519 832642.