As late summer waves goodbye towards the middle of August with the odd leaf begging to change on the trees, I’m quickly reminded the end of the month is approaching and with it the anniversary of the loss of our first baby.
I love the seasons here in Scotland. There is nothing quite like the beauty of autumnal colours driving north. However for me the seasons are also tainted and bring unwarranted pain.
I distinctly remember being driven home on a Friday afternoon, the last day of August, after discovering at 21 weeks our first baby was dead in utero – and seeing a single leaf floating to the ground from a tree. Alongside, thinking that I had turned a corner to a totally different world now and nothing would ever be the same. The bottom fell out of my world that day.
I have been surprised over the years how much this phenomenon is not voluntary, and the playing out of nature is a visual cue for remembering my pain and loss that first day of a new journey with infant loss. I remember a friend telling me “the body remembers”.
And so the sight of those first autumnal leaves sparks my memory of that dark day.
As I approach the sixteenth year of this memory and am becoming increasingly surrounded by autumnal colours, in the midst of sorrow I know the joy of life. To love and be loved and have the same hands of my everlasting father lovingly carrying me.