Reunited

Well, technically it's 18 days since Hallie was born. It's funny, because it feels like an absolute lifetime ago. Every day feels like a year, seconds feel like minutes - so much has been squeezed into such a short amount of time that it's hard to fathom. Also, being off work has made the days longer. There's a lot of sitting around, watching TV, eating crisps in our pyjamas. Grief isn't a pretty sight, as numerous Derriaghy-based Postmen, delivery drivers and window cleaners can probably attest to. The first bunch of flowers was delivered by a very posh man from a very posh company and Michael opened the door to him in toothpaste-covered pyjamas and messy bed hair. The deliveries and just-passing-by-and-thought-we'd-call-in visitors always seem to come on the days you've decided that you're not getting washed or dressed. Isn't it always the way? The days I've made an effort to put on some makeup and venture out into the world are the days I don't see another soul.

When you're sitting at home, barely moving about it's easy to trick yourself into thinking that you're physically recovered. I no longer need any Heparin injections and I've been officially discharged from midwifery care but I'm still quite sore and uncomfortable. Paracetamol is still my best friend. I recently ventured into town for a bit of shopping and within minutes I felt sore and exhausted. Mentally exhausted too. Walking through town I was suddenly terrified of who I was going to bump into - would they go out of their way to avoid me or would they make a whole scene and make me cry in the middle of Bow Street? Would it be a totally awkward exchange where no one knows what to say? Will they avoid mentioning Hallie at all? Will an old acquaintance not on my social media recognise me and notice what's left of my bump and the fact that I'm still wearing my maternity jeans and congratulate me? How would I even react to that? When will my scar be healed enough to let me wear normal jeans again? Will someone from Work see me and think that if I'm able to go shopping I should be able to go to work? How many prams and pregnant people am I going to run into? Will I run into any pregnant people that I know and have to make awkward conversation? Mental torture in other words.

Michael's had some very low days too - on a few occasions I've thought I've totally lost him to it all. But that's his story to tell if he ever wants to, not mine. However, the overwhelming feeling for the both of us has been complete numbness. It's the strangest thing. We both have days where we feel completely numb, like it was all a bad dream and didn't really happen. Sometimes we struggle to feel anything at all - we don't feel sad, we don't feel happy, we don't really feel anything - and those are the scariest days. We are forever doubting ourselves; why aren't we feeling sad? All the books tell us that we should be feeling tremendous grief, that we should have completely shut down by now, so how come we haven't felt that yet? Some days it's easy to just soldier on and act like we usually would. We are still able to laugh at a comedy show on Netflix, we still sing along to songs on Absolute Radio in the car, we still joke with friends - and then we're left wondering why on earth everything feels normal when we lost Hallie just 2 weeks ago. Then comes the guilt, followed by the fear that this all hasn't hit us yet and the worst is still to come. There's no way of knowing what's ahead and that's a scary thing. Grief really does come in waves. It's an endless back and forth. You never know when it's going to strike next, you never know what's going to trigger it.

We had to make an unexpected trip back to the Ulster Hospital to leave a form off at the Mortuary to authorise Hallie's cremation. We absolutely did not want to go back there. Just driving back to the building where our baby was being kept and knowing we couldn't see her was horrible and thankfully our Midwife Roz offered to collect the letter from us personally and leave it to the Mortuary on our behalf. How on earth did we get launched into a life that involved Mortuaries and Cremations? It seems so surreal. We were told that it could take up to a month to receive Hallie's ashes back so we hadn't put too much thought into that day so I was surprised, relieved and devastated all at once to get the phone call from Roselawn that her ashes were ready for collection less than 2 weeks after her death. Straight away, I felt the grief. We had no idea this could happen so quickly. What were we doing while our baby was being cremated? It felt wrong that we didn't know where and when it was happening. I'm sure we could have found out, but it didn't occur to us to ask and that made me feel incredibly sad.

Michael and I drove to Roselawn on Monday morning (30th July - exactly 2 weeks since her birth) to collect our baby girls ashes. I'd never been to a crematorium before so it was all very unknown and I wasn't sure what to expect. Of course, we landed in at the same time as a funeral procession so we awkwardly had to manoeuvre around a coffin and mourners in our jeans and trainers - it hadn't really dawned on us to dress smartly to pick up ashes. In hindsight we probably could have tidied ourselves up a little! Once we were in the building we were terrified of what we were going to see, we weren't sure where to go so were tentatively pushing open doors fearing what was going to be on the other side. We found the Public Office eventually and all it took was one ID check and signature from me and a tiny white box containing Hallie's ashes was handed over. I cradled the little box as we walked back to the car - it felt so surreal that she was in there. How can our beautiful baby girl be reduced to a pile of dust inside a box that fits in the palm of my hand? I'm still trying to wrap my head around it all. I sat in the car with the little box on my lap, resting against what is left of my bump and the tears started when it dawned on me that the contents of the box used to live and breathe inside of me. Michael stopped at a shop to pick up lunch and I just sobbed and sobbed behind my sunglasses until he returned.

At the same time, in the strangest way it felt right to have her back with us. I instantly felt an unexpected sense of peace at having her with me again. We have set up a place on our bookshelf at home where we would keep her next to a framed photograph, a candle and a glass vase with a pink rose that we clipped from Hallie's rose bush that was gifted to us by my Aunt Heather. We have been lighting the candle every evening and blowing it out every night when we're going to bed by way of saying goodnight to Hallie. I didn't expect to feel so at ease with having her ashes at home, but I do. I thought it would be weird and I'm sure some of you reading this might still find it a bit odd, but we weren't able to think of anything else that felt right. Knowing she is home and will always be around us at Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries and just every single day is soothing our grief just a little bit. She belongs here with us so it feels right. Not that she ever would, but she can never be forgotten as she's part of our family and therefore our home and always will be.

On her first night at home Michael opened the fancy bottle of red wine that I bought him from Hallie on Father's Day. It was a little thank you for all of his love and support throughout our journey with Hallie so it was a fitting time to open it. Having her home felt like the conclusion of Hallie's journey. All her fighting is over & she's resting peacefully at home with us at last. We sat with her little white box, lit her candle and toasted her life at 11.25pm, exactly two weeks from the moment she was born. What a crazy two weeks it has been. We miss her every single moment of every single day.

We have received some amazing gifts to help us remember Hallie and carry her with us everywhere we go. I have a beautiful necklace that bears both my name and Hallie's name together. I was gifted a bracelet with Hallie's birthstone and initial on it. I had a silver ring made with her name and birth date inscribed on it which I wear next to my wedding ring. Michael's sister bought us a beautiful poster of the night sky as it was the moment Hallie was born and we have it framed in our bedroom. We love the memorial Rose Bush from my Aunt, its pink roses are just perfect to represent Hallie and my cousin had a beautiful poem printed and framed and we have it displayed in our kitchen. We also had a photo book made with all our favourite photos and memories of Hallie and keep it on our coffee table. Hallie is everywhere, little subtle memories of her existence are with us always and they mean the world to us. She's never far away. The memories aren't just in our home either - Hallie's Great Aunt Sonya has arranged a memorial plaque on the beautiful old Clevedon Pier in Somerset where we spent the evening together when visiting Michael's family in England. We can't wait to visit again to see Hallie's plaque and it gives all her English family somewhere to visit to remember her. We love that.

Friends, family and people I haven't spoken to in years reach out every day to tell us how Hallie's story has touched them. That makes us proud of her, to know that she touched so many hearts in the few hours she was alive. I know that it's not just us that think about her all the time, she is missed by people who didn't even get to meet her and that's an amazing thing.