Posted in My Planet, Poetry


The story behind the poem I posted this week ‘Grief’, refers to the worst type of grief – or one of the worst – the loss of a child. No human being is programmed to outlive a child and this kind of loss is against nature. When I got pregnant, it wasn’t planned and the timing was so wrong; the relationship I had with her father was wrong, everything was wrong and at first, I was terribly disappointed in myself, angry even. It was a dark period of my life. Besides, I had a daughter and a son that was enough for me, they were all I ever wanted and I felt complete in our little family.

However, as the pregnancy progressed I started to love the baby very much and I was really looking forward to meeting her. She was a girl and I called her Sara. Everyone was looking forward to meeting her. At week twenty-two I woke up in the morning covered in blood and when I went to the hospital, they took me in and put me on bed rest, I was losing risk and the baby was at risk of being born prematurely; which wasn’t good at that stage of the pregnancy.

But after two weeks the liquid was very little for the baby and she had to come out only at twenty-three weeks and a half. She was so tiny but so perfect and still so vulnerable. She only lived three days, she would have been sixteen years old now and I think of her every single day.


I can not decide if I am a teacher who writes or a writer who teaches, both activities give me equal satisfaction. Words are my secret place. I write about my experience as a mature student, mental health, living and raising a family in a foreign country, following my dreams and finding love later in life.

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