Bournemouth is somewhere that has always felt like home to me. I moved down here for university when I was 18 (2009). My first taste of independence, also my first taste of alcohol and night life! I didn’t finish my initial course due to family circumstances, but I did make some life long friends and some fantastic memories. I currently sitting in one of my favourite bars that I used to hit most nights, Aruba. I’m sitting here at the minute with a beer people watching.
Below me on the beach there are families playing, sand castle building and paddling.
It makes me think of you, baby.
Yesterday I watched my daughter walk up to other kids on the beach, confident as anything and it hit me, what a fantastic big sister she would have made. Caring, kind, funny…compassionate.
It hit me just how much I miss a child that I never even met, that probably sounds so silly, but it’s true.
Seven weeks and three days is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, is it. But to me it felt like it was. There are constant reminders that surround me and for a while even hearing my daughter call me Mummy sent me spiralling back down into upset, that’s a horrible, horrible thing to have to admit. I remember the day I said goodbye to baby, he held my stomach and poured out every thing he wanted to say, apologies, thoughts and feelings…that evening me and him wrote letters, he cried while writing his, I was silent, completely silent, almost unable to bring myself to cry. Pathetic, but it seemed like the right thing to do.
We stayed in a place alongside the River Thames and when it got dark we went and floated our letters, there was only on star out that night and it shone so, so brightly. I found it comforting to label that star as baby and every single night since then, I look for it without fail. If I have had a bad day then I speak to it, about anything and everything. In fact my favourite bit of the evening if I’ve been out late is the walk home on my own, that way I can have a chat with baby and there is no one there to judge.
When he was being decent towards me, before I put that crime report in against him, we would meet every month to just raise a glass and remember baby, you know, that meant the absolute world to me because whatever had happened between us, we were still united in that love and affection for the child we shared but never met.
Three monthly anniversaries have passed since and I have faced them alone, it’s been awful. Gut wrenchingly awful. I have spiralled in and out of the worst depression I have ever experienced, and I can never help but wonder if he thinks of baby, talks to the brightest star even, especially on those days. Before all this when I thought he was a decent person I would have said no doubt, but it hurts me to say that I am not so sure anymore.
My due date fell on 29th April 2017. That day is also my birthday. I went back to the same spot where we floated those letters with a personalised teddy bear to float, it was so important. He said that he would be there to float it as well, he never showed. I got there an hour before we were set to meet. I waited. Spending my birthday crying and clutching this teddy, he never showed.
That destroyed me.
To know that it wasn’t important to him? Something I had spent the months leading up to it in absolute despair and anxiety. You know, maybe he did go and I hope to god that he did, but yet again, now he has revealed himself, the true him, yet again I am not sure.
That really messed me up.
I think that act alone is what made my love completely evaporate, that is what made me turn to hate and to finally be able to confront what he had done, head on.
This whole saga has made me hate myself, absolutely 100% hate myself.