Miscarriage of Justice

The last of the summer butterflies dance in the garden, fragile and beautiful.

Like a butterfly, my little baby was not destined for a long life. It’s time was measured in weeks, like a butterfly. And like a butterfly, she caught my breath as she danced and dipped into my dreams, fluttering and fragile… on her way out as soon as she began.

The moment I saw the scan I knew it was over. I knew my dream had died.

And like all things parenting, so little was in my control. Several days later, my body went into labour. I cried out in pain, I bent myself double and with the same horrific ease that you came to me, you slipped from my body, and fluttered away.

I still don’t know how to grieve for you. I still don’t know how to recognise you and live my life without you.

But for some reason, every time I see a butterfly I think of you and smile. And so it seems, you have shown me yourself. We already have two beautiful flowergirls, Daisy and Poppy. And just as our house jingles to the jangle of their laughter, so our garden sways in the splendid colours of red and pink and white and purple as daisies and poppies dance in the breeze. And I see a beautiful butterfly dance among them and I know you will always be with them. And I with you. My flutter butterfly.

(c) AKG 2008

About Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Bouncing into middle age armed with courage, ambition and a pair of tweezers (chin hairs for anyone over the age of 45 reading this) I am a writer with a mission: to redefine this midway point in my life when the last thing I want to do is hang up my high heels and become invisible. This is the end of the beginning, not the beginning of the end. A single mum to 3 fabulous girls, an author, and a fundraising consultant, both ends of my candle are on fire. As I enter this new stage of my life, I want to explore what it means for 'mid-aged' women today, who were promised they could have it all, ended up doing it all, and just do not identify with the traditional image of middle age.
This entry was posted in baby, death, miscarriage, parenting. Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Miscarriage of Justice

  1. Pinay Jade says:

    I am so sorry to hear about your baby.My heart goes out to you and your family.I wish you strength to be able to go through this terrible times.

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  2. Miranda says:

    We share in your tears, Alana. Hugs, love, and prayers for you and your family.

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  3. I am so sorry for your loss. Having experienced a miscarriage of a much-wanted baby myself, all know is that no one understands what you’re going through. Take care of yourself and squeeze your girls tight!

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  4. cath c says:

    Alana, so sorry to hear of your loss. you spoke so beautifully about it. I have been there, and time does heal, though you will never forget. hug your flower girls lots! deeply sincerely, cathy at creativeconstruction.wordpress.com

    Like

  5. cath c says:

    Alana, so sorry to hear of your loss. you spoke so beautifully about it. I have been there, and time does heal, though you will never forget. hug your flower girls lots! deeply sincerely, cathy at creativeconstruction.wordpress.com

    Like

  6. I’m so sorry, Alana. My thoughts are with you.

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  7. Brittany says:

    I also lost a baby, Linden, who came to me in dreams when she was weeks old and told me hello and then goodbye. I am so sorry for your loss and will be keeping you in my thoughts.

    Like

  8. Kelly says:

    alana, i’m so very sorry to hear of your loss. sending big hugs and prayers your way.

    Like

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