In the end, it all comes down to the heart.
We had a scan at seven weeks. It was insane. This tiny shape had a heart. A heartbeat. I loved the idea that before there is anything, there is a heart. How romantic.
I sailed through my first ever first trimester. We had scans at ten and twelve weeks. A boy. A boy who moved around so much that the sonographer couldn't do her measurements! Already full of mischief it seemed to me. Our hearts were full of joy.
But at sixteen weeks I was admitted to hospital with fever, bleeding and cramping. After two days in hospital and two scans later his heart was still beating. Sadly the infection was in my uterus and this caused my water to break in the middle of the night.
The hours ticked by and as his heart slowed my heart broke.
The next day I give birth to our little boy. That night I cried for hours on end. Then I suddenly remembered a poem I love by ee cummings called 'I carry your heart'. In the past I'd always read it and thought of my husband. But reading it in the light of my grief gave it new meaning and an even deeper significance.
After reading it I decided that I would get a tattoo of a heart to honour our son. The thought of this calmed me down after hours of being inconsolable and I was able to sleep for the first time in days.
He may be gone, but I will carry his heart with me for the rest of my life. I am never without it.