It makes people uncomfortable if you say the word 'stillbirth'. I know why. I would probably have winced myself, before Bear.
This is what I would have thought: Victorian bedroom, beige linen, candle flickering, doctor and his intriguing leather bag, iron bedstead, nurse with her crisp white head covering, screaming mother.
It is horrible that the connotations are so archaic. Even worse, is the notion that one - that I - 'suffers' a stillbirth.
Yes, there is so much suffering.
But the birth - that was beautiful.
I know, it is hard to believe. But in that room at St Mary's, with Toby willing me on, is when I felt closest to my boy. It was when we worked together, when I saw his face and when I kissed his little, peachy toes.
I did not suffer a stillbirth, I delivered my son who was sleeping. His life was no less precious, just because it was short.
As someone wrote in one of our condolence cards, to lose a baby at any point during a pregnancy is truly terrible. To lose a baby at 39 weeks, is to lose a child.
Stark, but true. And so comforting. Her insight gave Bear validity and that is all we ask.