Nikki Clift

My name is Nikki and I am sharing my story of losing our first and our journey on this complex path of child loss.

At only 24 weeks and 2 days into our first pregnancy my body went into preterm labour. I had no signs or symptoms and no idea that this was possible. I was the healthiest I have ever been, doing everything right and my pregnancy was perfect. Our baby girl, who we named Roni Mira, was delivered by emergency classical cesarean to save both our lives and after being gifted nine precious days with her we had to endure what no parent should ever have to experience. We said goodbye to our baby.

We left hospital without our baby, our arms empty. The pain so unbearable that it felt like my heart had been severed from my chest. In the following days and weeks the grief of losing our daughter consumed every cell of me. The “why us” haunted me. The guilt I felt for my body failing our daughter was tormenting me and what was left of my heart was so destroyed it was shutting down. I was drowning in a pain so excruciating that continuing life without her seem incophrehendable. I felt so alone.

I didnt know anyone who had lost a baby like we just had. It was isolating, dark and so incredibly lonely. So I started to journey online, at first to help me process my emotions and release some of the pain and then, as my mental health started to decline, it was a way for me to connect to something, to have Ronis life mean something. I shared day to day emotions and the rawness of child loss in real time and by doing this, I started to find and connect with other mothers, just like me. All grieving at different stages, all sharing, supporting and holding each other through the heartbreak and utter devastation.

When your heart is so broken and the pain so intense, closing it off and shutting yourself away from the world may seem like the only way to survive. For me, a closed heart doesn’t heal. To begin healing, to let love lead, I had to find a way to reopen it. My shattered heart needed to open to feel the ferociousness of each agonizing emotion as it came crashing down on me. By letting our emotions flow, the crippling ones will pass, they may return and they may never vanish, but slowly they will pass and in their place, maybe only for brief moments, light will filter in and remind us there is good, there is light and there is love.

It was during these brief moments of light that we were able to entertain the idea of a future. It was these brief moments of light that allowed me to reconnect with the world. By sharing our story, we learnt that we are not alone. We endured what no parent should ever have to suffer. And we learnt, sadly, there are many others like us. These parents, finding the courage to live with their wounds, yet so gentle they live on with love gave us the hope we needed so desperately. That there is life after loss.

From the moment our baby surprised us with her existence, she has been teaching us compassion, kindness and unconditional love. In losing her, we could close off our hearts and harden our spirits or we could choose to live on with love. The love that she taught us.We chose love.

Life after loss is filled with a complex maze of emotions to navigate. There is no end for the pain I feel for the loss of our daughter, just as there is also no end for the love I feel for her. Love is eternal and unchanging. The pain that comes with a loss of a child is unimaginable, but the love that comes with having had a child - that trumps all.

It has been eight years since Roni passed and during that time we have welcomed three more babies. Three babies that we have the honour of raising here with us. Each pregnancy was very emotional, my mind full of fear, my body holding onto trauma and my heart far from healed. I felt excitement,happiness and gratitude - I just felt their opposites every step of the way.

I look at their precious little faces now and feel peace. The ache in my heart of not having all our babies in my arms is always there and although we have suffered and will live with grief that will last a lifetime,, we also have so much to be grateful for.

Grateful that we were blessed with our Roni, even if only for a brief moment, grateful for the opportunity to have been able to bring babies home, not to replace Roni, but to fill our empty armsand grateful for the human connection that sharing brings.

Navigating life after loss is a devastatingly unique path that has been made bearable by remembering everything we are grateful for and less lonely by the kindness of others.

The love and support we received and the willingness of others to be uncomfortable and sit in our pain with us rather than shy away from it gave us the strength to survive. In the depths of our darkness, this kindness and sense of community gave us something to be grateful for.

The pain from living without our daughter has softened from my face but remains deeply etched in my heart. Waves of painfully intense emotions still crash into me with so much force that I am left gasping for air in their wake, but the duration between the waves is lengthening. There is now room for other emotions to filter in. The fierce love that I feel for her propels me forward, not to get past the grief and pain, but instead to be able to function with it. To be able to let grief and gratitude co-exist, side by side.

I have learnt to be kind, where you can and when you can, to all you can, as although you may not see obvious signs of trauma and pain on peoples faces, you never know what part of their path they are on.

We rise by lifting others and due to the support, kindness and love we received, we are gently rebuilding and slowly stepping out of our darkness. We know we are not alone.

Never underestimate the power of a kind word, an honest hug or the willingness to listen. These acts of kindness may just help someone rise enough from their despair to see there is still light.Day by day, moment by moment, breath by breath, I will continue on with love.

Roni passed in Feburary 2018, just a few short months before mothers day. What would have been my first mother’s day pregnant with my first child. This time of year, along with many other dates, can be extremely challenging for a multitude of reasons and layers of complex emotions arise that can be difficult to process and understand. Sharing our stories, I have found, helps to process emotions we cannot make sense of and helps connect families together that are feeling alone and unseen on this path of child loss they now find themselves.