Somebody asked me the other day why I still think about my babies who died before birth. I was shocked that anyone would think this needed to be asked and reflected it back. The response I got was surely when Rachel was born that made it all ok.
I was dumb struck at the time and didn't manage an eloquent response, so I thought I'd try now.
Today is Rachel's sixth birthday; a day of celebration and joy. Yet in the small hours of the night of her birthday I'm always awake, as I was in the hospital the night she was born. I wonder at her life, the miracle of birth and I thank God for her.
I also spend time thinking of my boys who I never held. That might seem like a strange thing to do, but for me it's part of motherhood. I am a mum to five children; four are waiting in heaven.
Rachel is ONE of my children; not a replacement for anyone else. Rachel understands this; she talks about her brothers in heaven.
Sure Rachel's birth helped me heal from my grief; sure her life is the joy of my life. But that will never take away the memory and loss of my boys, her brothers.
Rachel is not a replacement; she's precious in her own right, as are all five of the children who grew within me.