In December 2019, myself and my partner, Ryan, were ecstatic when we found out we were expecting a baby, due 18th August 2020. I had the most blissful pregnancy and felt so blessed and lucky to be pregnant. I was 17 weeks pregnant when Covid hit - although it was a scary time for all - we were able to shield and really enjoyed being at home, safe in our little bubble, full of anticipation for our future together as a family. 

On the morning of the 15th August, just three days before my due date, I started to experience early labour pains and within a few hours we were in the assessment unit being told that our much-loved and longed for baby was dead. In that moment, our lives changed forever. 

After a long and agonising labour, our beautiful daughter Saorlaith was born the following day at 11.17pm on Sunday 16th August. Holding her close in my arms, with her skin against mine, I felt a surge of love unlike anything I had ever felt before. She was 8lb 2oz of pure perfection. She had hair like her Daddy, a mouth just like her Mummy, the chunkiest little legs and the cutest button nose. 

Our families visited us in the bereavement suite, where they got the chance to meet Saorlaith, hold her, take photos and make their own memories. 

On the morning of the 18th August - our due date - myself and Ryan walked through the hospital corridors carrying Saorlaith in her little moses basket to the mortuary and we had to leave without her. As we left, we carried with us a little box filled with mementos of the memories that we had been able to make in the short time we’d had together. This was instead of leaving as a family of three; ready to get started on creating a lifetime of memories we had so hoped for. The magnitude of what we had lost was so clear in that moment that the pain of it was indescribable - a trauma you never recover from and is only understood by those who have felt it too.

We were in the process of moving house at the time of Saorlaith's death and so, on the night before her funeral, we spent our very first night in our new home as a family of three. We stayed up all night, staring at her little face, kissing her nose and holding her hands as we read her stories, fairytales and poems and told her about all the things that we had planned to do and see with her throughout her life.

In the months following her death, my world felt empty, hopeless and filled with darkness. Nothing made sense to me anymore. It felt as though life around me was moving on whilst my world had completely stopped. I didn't want to hear about silver linings and platitudes - I just needed to feel heard. 

I think so many people around you at times of loss feel that they shouldn't talk to you about the person who has died because it may make you sad and more upset. I found the opposite to be true. I love hearing people speak her name, I love talking about her and there is not a day that goes by where she is not spoken of by us and by our families. We feel her energy around us always. Each time my eye falls on a feather or a butterfly or upon the beauty of a starry sky at night, I believe Saorlaith's energy could be there and that gives me some comfort. 

Around eight months after Saorlaith’s death, a family friend (and very talented illustrator!) Amanda suggested we work together on a project dedicated to Saorlaith's memory. This project became a children's book titled The Energy of You. Writing this book has given me such an amazing connection to Saorlaith and I hope that anyone reading it feels the love, light and energy that all of our much-loved babies who have gone too soon can bring in to our lives each and everyday.