This time last year, we had just made it to the cemetery.
After getting out of the taxi and seeing family, it started to feel real.
My babies cold body lay in her tiny white casket and as I walked towards the hearse, I noticed the plaque on the casket.
Destiny Jayde Clarke, infant of Michelle Clarke.
Nobody informed me that my name would also be on the casket. It made me feel horrible and the tears started to flow.
It felt weird seeing my name on a casket and I just wanted the world to stop so I could get off. I’d had enough!
When I look back now, I suppose it was quite fitting because a piece of me definitely died with Destiny and is certainly buried with her.
I’ll never be the same again.
I repeatedly stroked the tiny casket as if I was stroking my daughter. I wasn’t strong enough to see her little lifeless face in the funeral home but I put my faith in my Mum & sister to pick out something amazing for her to wear.
I was later told that it was probably best that I didn’t see her. She had changed so much after her post-mortem and didn’t look like our Destiny anymore. I’m happy to remember her how she was in those three days we got to spend with her after the delivery.
The funeral was tiny. Tiny for a tiny baby. Destiny wasn’t known by many and she only weighed 320g. I wanted her funeral to represent her. We didn’t want a huge circus. That would make the process longer and I just wanted to bury my child and go home.
A week before her funeral, I didn’t even want to go so you can imagine my pain.
My long, thick mane was the last thing i wanted to be dealing with so I piled it on my head and wore a headscarf.
A year later, I don’t have that problem. Grief & Stress have taken care of that and I am slowly growing my hair back.
So today is the last of the firsts…
Sleep well Princess 💔