Elisabeth Jean-Marie

This is for the baby who had already found a place in our hearts 👼🏽

This September, I am walking 100km to support Sands, a charity that supports anyone affected by pregnancy loss and the death of a baby. 

I am doing this in honour of my cousin, who I love like a sister. ❤️

For many years, she believed that motherhood might never be part of her future. Living with Crohn’s disease and thinking that conceiving could be difficult, she had quietly come to terms with the possibility that she might never have the privilege of carrying a child. Over time, she had gently let go of that dream, accepting that life might take a different path.

Then, just after turning 40, something wonderful and completely unexpected happened: she became pregnant.

It was not planned, but it was welcomed with so much love.

For the first time, a dream she had quietly let go of suddenly felt within reach. She could have a baby. She could become a mother.

And we were all so happy for her. That love and hope spread through the whole family.

We celebrated every little milestone. I gave her a pregnancy journal, and she had already started filling it in. We began talking about the future, imagining what life might look like with this little person who would soon be part of our lives, and dreaming about all the moments we would share with them.

This pregnancy felt like a new chapter for her, but also for all of us. With most of our family living abroad, this would have been our UK baby — another little person for everyone to love, spoil and watch grow up.

This baby was already loved. 💞

Even though the pregnancy was still very early, bonds had already formed. There was already excitement, hope and a place for this little person within our family.

Then, something changed.

She began spotting, and slowly, her pregnancy symptoms started to disappear. She knew her body, and although she hoped everything would be okay, she could feel that something was different.

We sought medical advice and went to A&E. She was initially reassured that everything could still be okay and encouraged to remain hopeful, but she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

A private scan later confirmed what she had feared.

She was miscarrying.

The news was heartbreaking.

There are no words that can really describe watching someone you love lose their child.

And I think that is one of the things people do not always understand about pregnancy loss. It is not just the loss of a pregnancy. It can take away hopes, plans, dreams... It is the loss of a future you had already started to imagine.

For my cousin, the loss was even more painful because of how long she had believed that becoming a mother might never happen for her. After years of thinking she might never have the chance to carry a child, she had finally allowed herself to hope, to make plans and to picture what life might be like with her baby.

And then, just as she had finally begun to see that this dream could become her reality, it was gone.

Our family lost someone we would never have the chance to meet, but who had already found a place in our hearts.

Watching someone you love go through that kind of grief is incredibly difficult. Watching my cousin go through it will forever stay with me.

It has also made me appreciate even more how important it is that people have somewhere to turn when they experience something so devastating. Nobody should have to feel alone in that grief or feel like they have to simply get on with it.

That is why I chose to support Sands.

They provide support, understanding, resources and lend an ear to people and families navigating one of the most painful experiences imaginable — an experience so excruciating that it can feel impossible to put into words.

So this September, I am challenging myself to walk 100km. 🚶🏽‍♀️

I will be walking for my cousin, for the baby we were so excited to welcome, for all the other babies who were loved and lost, for the parents and families carrying that grief, and for the organisations that help them through it.

If you are able to donate, no matter how small the amount, I would be incredibly grateful. Your donation will help Sands continue their vital work, supporting bereaved families when they need it most and helping to make sure that nobody has to navigate pregnancy loss and the death of a baby alone.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story, for supporting me in this challenge, and for helping me turn something incredibly painful into something that can help others. 🤍