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Miranda's Story: Bereaved Mother
to a Stillborn Child

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I’ve been in a mood this past half year. Partly out of necessity, partly as the only way I knew how to fight, to make my time stand still.

I miss my son. I miss him every day. I hold on to my grief because I can’t hold him.

I fight against happiness. I think that if I let myself smile, I will lose sight of my grief. I will lose him. Again.

I think of the moment at the hospital, the first time I said the words. “I’m having a miscarriage.” My son is dead. I think of the stranger who held my hand, who brought me a wheelchair, who said a prayer.

There is so much beauty in the world. There are so many people who want to help. There are genuine reasons to be happy, for a moment; an hour; a day.

I hold on to my grief, it is part of me. I will never not wish my son was here. I will ever and always feel incomplete, broken. My happiness lives in deeper layers.

My happiness exists.

I hold on to my grief. I hold on to love. I hold on to music and beauty and sadness and sometimes I smile. My happiness exists.

Pandora opened the box and everything but hope escaped. I carry it with me. I carry him with me. I carry all of you.

I love you.

Related Posts:

Miranda’s Story: The First Days
Miranda’s Story: Coming Alive Again

💙🐘💙 Miranda’s Story is an account of my pregnancy with Adrian and my life after his death. 💙🐘💙

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