7ada13fee2eb4f4da2c9c532d1535954-1.jpgDear Aaron,

My baby, I miss you. This day is tough for me. I stay awake until midnight every year and whisper a tear stained happy birthday to you.

Its been 3 years. 3 years since we had to say goodbye, before I had the chance to kiss you hello. I held you in my body for 18 weeks, but I have loved you for so much longer.

I didn’t know they would give me that dreadful pill. They told me your heart had stopped but I honestly thought you would be with me until you decided to leave me yourself. I created an alternate fantasy where a DNC would involve gently guiding you into this world and I would at least get to say goodbye.

I remember the feeling of  unmentionable fear and helplessness when I felt the labour pains. I remember begging the figures in medical uniforms to leave me alone, to let me birth you into this world as I intended. Luckily I was the only mother to leave that day without my baby. The grief is overwhelming and no one really understands how you can love someone without a record of life.

I remember talking to you, apologising that my body had turned on you. But my heart never has Aaron.

You remain in my heart, on my mind and embedded in my soul.


So happy 3rd birthday my love. I have never seen your face or held you in my arms but I know every part of you as if I had.

I miss you, I love you, I cry into my pillow thinking about you and I know you feel every emotion. Rejoice my baby, fly free – until we meet again.



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