Today, Thea Mae – my little warrior child – is three years old. I can barely believe how much time has passed since I first held in her my arms. Yet, it also feels like she’s been with us forever. These past three years have been eventful, to say the least. In addition to the […]
I started this article trying to write about the day I found out Space Baby had died, only to realise that I did not have a landmark moment to articulate. There was no definitive scan, no blood and no kindly professional sitting me down to tell me of our loss. I do not know when our baby died, only that I accepted their death in small increments with each consecutive appointment. The day hope left, more than a week before the physical miscarriage itself, I remember leaving Joel at the train station and heading up to Manchester to speak at a mental health conference as if everything was OK. That night I sat in isolation amongst friends and allies, drinking my first beer in months.