No words. 
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No words. 
JamJar, that is so very sad
So many sad losses here. Over thirty years ago a friend, a fellow Mum at the school gates lost her DD, she was 6 and had a brain tumour. There were Mums who could not deal with this and would cross the road to avoid speaking to her. Reading here some will know exactly how hurtful that must feel, I could not begin to imagine. 
It's surprising how many people have suffered in silence with this very sad loss.
MiL had a daughter who died at 10days. I know she was called Jane but MiL never spoke of her I only know what DH has told me.
My younger daughter who has suffered several miscarriages plants flowers , after losing twins last year she planted two rose bushes , when living in Wiltshire she scattered poppy seeds on the plain
You are right, Luckygirl it will never go away. However I would hate to join the group mentioned, my grieving is done in my own private way.
Losing one child is bad enoigh, but losing a second... I cannot bear to think of those who have had to suffer all that yet again 
to all those of you who have lost children. It never does go away I know.
Mine would now be in their early forties, I think of them, wonder at times if life would have been kind to them, would they have been healthy. I have no one to speak of them to now, their father died three years after they did. But I remember them
each year I remember my first born her birthday and anniversary 7 weeks later, she would now be 37 ...I was told go away have another child ...I did she stayed with me for 23 years..she would be 35...I have only just been able to scream and sob,,triggered by my OH illness,it would have been easier if I could have cried,now the healing is starting..my son thee youngest grieves for the sister he grew up with and the one they never met.
My Mum talked incessantly, to us her children, not our Father, about the stillborn baby (whisked away, she never saw the baby) in the last few weeks of her life. I managed to find where the baby had been buried and we visited there. She had never mentioned the baby until I think she knew she was dying and sadly my parents could never talk to each other about their loss.
When you lose a child or grandchild you find out who your real friends are. It's surprising those who think it's contagious.
I agree with Alice 100% - ditch them and stick with those who stick by you. A friend in need is a friend indeed.
You are absolutely right Luckygirl. I will never get over the death of my much loved grandma. Last Friday afternoon I was busy in the kitchen and suddenly felt really tearful. I know it sounds crazy but I could faintly hear the theme tune from The Chase playing in the distance and the memories of my grandma and our Friday afternoon teas came flooding back.
It is never too late to grieve for anyone, baby, child or adult. As long as that loved one is in our hearts, then we will grieve.
What a lovely blog. It made me feel all shivery and quite sad.
My grandma gave birth to a stillborn daughter whom she named Elizabeth, when she was in her late 40's. The baby was full term and my grandma blamed herself for the babies death all of her life. She said that she was so ashamed to be pregnant at that age and despite her strong catholic faith she admitted to having times, particularly at the beginning of the pregnancy, when she wished it would all just go away. My grandma experienced a great deal of trauma during her pregnancy. One of her close friends took her own life and my grandad had a major heart attack. Both events no doubt played a part in the loss of her baby.
My grandma talked about this right up until she died this year. 
What a very moving piece. I am in tears. My Mum had a full term, stillborn son a year before I arrived. Whenever she spoke of him she became very emotional - something I did not understand as young girl, because she had me, didn't she? After she died I found a pile of letters and cards she received at the time which she kept bound together in a blue ribbon - her memories of my brother, who she named Martin.
We hear from author Alice Jolly on stillbirth and the processing of grief - no matter what age you are.
Alice Jolly on a parent's right to grieve the loss of a child - at whatever age.
Seven years ago I was raising money for Sands (The Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Charity) and persuaded our local supermarket to put a collection box near their door. A week later, I walked past that box. An elderly lady was standing near to it, absolutely motionless, tears running down her face.
As a bereaved mum myself, I understood. It doesn't matter how many years pass, you can still be ambushed by overwhelming grief.
Initially that crying woman didn't want to talk to me. But once she knew that I'd lost a baby as well, she agreed to a coffee.
Her name was Clare and she told me about her son, who died at birth forty years ago. He didn't have a name, she never saw him, she doesn't know what happened to his body. Since he had disabilities, she was meant to feel grateful. She went on to have three living children, two daughters and a son.
But still, occasionally, something apparently quite harmless sets it off. As a result of that coffee, Clare came along to our local Sands Support Group. That was hard for her, as she felt she had no right. Her husband and surviving children would think her morbid. She was sure everyone else at the group would be 30 years younger than her.
She was wrong. In fact, there were men and women of all ages. And it wasn't long before someone suggested to Clare that it was time for her baby to have a name and a funeral. After that, Clare disappeared for a bit. But then, with the support of that group, she talked to her local vicar.
As a bereaved mum myself, I understood. It doesn't matter how many years pass, you can still be ambushed by overwhelming grief.
He understood immediately and Clare decided to call her little boy Benjamin.
Within Clare's family, things were stormy. Her husband wasn't happy - but her children were. They had always wanted to talk about their brother but his death had seemed like forbidden territory. Initially Clare's husband refused to come to the funeral, but eventually he changed his mind. Clare said later that the whole family had lived with a wound they didn't even know was there – until it started to heal.
So the point is – it doesn't matter how long ago it was. It doesn't matter if it was a stillbirth, a cot death, a miscarriage, a baby given up for adoption, whatever. You have a right to grieve and you don't have to
suffer alone. The support is out there. And why is that? Because if, like me, you are a more recently bereaved mum, no matter how grim you feel, you know that actually you are lucky.
At least now there are support groups. You may find the wider world shutting you out (sadly that still does happen) but you'll find others who have lived through a similar situation will open their arms. We know how tough it was for our mothers and grandmothers. We want to help.
I hate the saying – laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone. It just isn't true. Often extremely close friendships are built on grief expressed. Right now I happen to be talking about the loss of a baby but there are many others kinds of loss, of course. And many different support groups, counsellors, books, courses.
You might decide to light a candle on an anniversary, create a memorial, make a memory box, put a letter in a bottle and drop it into the sea, tie a message on a helium balloon and let go, make a quilt, hold a service – it doesn't need to be formal or religious. You can make it up yourself.
If you've suffered a loss (who hasn't?) and you want to process the difficult feelings that brings, then you are not being morbid or self indulgent. If people don't understand what you need, ditch them, and find others that do. You may have a few false starts but, if there's one thing I've discovered, it's that the kindness of strangers can be endlessly surprising.
Alice's book Dead Babies and Seaside Towns, about a very personal battle through miscarriage, IVF and failed adoption attempts, is published by Unbound and available from Amazon.
By Alice Jolly
Twitter: @JollyAllice
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