On the Anniversary of our eldest daughter’s stillbirth, I wrote up the following thoughts, trigger warning that the below includes reference to death and baby loss.

Your baby will teach you how to live

You are approaching your due date, so excited to give birth, with no understanding that anything is possible, that a baby can die in utero for no known reason

And you’ve just suffered eight months of hyperemesis gravidarum hell, a pregnancy illness only those who have gone through it can understand 

And you are pregnant at the same time as so many of your friends and you cannot wait to watch your kid’s grow up together 

And you pop into the hospital one night just to check in on the baby’s movements, and you see no heartbeat on the monitor and you scream in anguish, a cry so harrowing, you shock yourself

And your friends rush to hospital, filling the Labour room with such love, and you know these are your friends forever

And your friends say Tehillim (Psalms) as you labour through the night, whilst your family go through your home clearing any remnants of what was “meant” to be

And shocking things happen and you wonder if you will ever trust leadership again

And you are surrounded by kindness, by love, by wonder, surrounded by the generosity of the community

And you find out that some people are just mean, whilst others didn’t mean to say what they did, they just didn’t know any better 

And you are lifted up by incredible Rabbonim, Rebetzins and teachers who help you try to comprehend this tragedy

And pregnant people cross the street so that they don’t catch anything from you

And the canvas beckons you, drawing you in to a magical place where you can let go from the world for a while, as you flow with the colours of the universe and their mesmerising dance

And then your husband’s Jewish company fires him

And it seems as if nothing could get worse

And so you throw yourself into painting to handle the pain, to stop the mind racing and because you have plenty of time with no baby to look after 

And time passes and you start to find your way back to Hashem (G-d), figure out your new place in society and heal your relationship with the world. And you’re trying to remember that Judaism is beautiful 

And you regret not holding her more, not cutting a lock of her hair, and for buying into the idea that you should forget and move on from this chapter of your life as quickly as possible

And you start to understand that you were incredibly blessed to be a part of this child’s short life, that this baby’s soul needed 37 weeks in this world to fulfil whatever Tikun (life mission) they needed to accomplish, that your baby’s soul was too pure for this world

And you sit at countless Shabbos tables where kids and school applications are top discussions, and you learn that the Jewish Community doesn’t hold a space for Childless couples

And the brush strokes get stronger and people ask if they can have prints of your work for their own walls

And you become resentful of the others who’s baby died similar time to you who then miraculously deliver their “rainbow baby” and they refuse to talk about their dead baby any longer, leaving you with no support network

And your artwork is suddenly on walls in London and Manchester and Florida and New York and Houston and California and Toronto and Yerushalayim and Ramat Beit Shemesh and Johannesburg and Paris and even Madrid 

And then one day, the stories that people tell you of “holy” women who delivered stillborn babies and who didn’t hold them or look at them and never mentioned them again, don’t impress you any longer

And as you embrace her short life as part of the rich tapestry of your own life, you continue to paint this journey, these jumbled thoughts, these broken dreams, these prayers of your own

And by finding out that anything is possible, you find out that everything is possible

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