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I thought that I would have the conviction or the confidence in the Ressurection of Christ, the way that I had all the years leading up to this- but not this year. This year, my faith was shaken so much more than I ever realized. I wasn't happy on Easter. I didn't even bother going to Church. I didn't sing songs, I didn't do dinner with family. My husband and I had breakfast, and then went on a 10 mile run.

Oh man.. this brought tears to my eyes. I struggle with my faith everyday, and I cry out to Him and I tell Him how I feel.. I'm just so glad to know there are others who feel/felt the same way I do now.. trusting but hurt... so very, very hurt.

Things are well enough here. I'm feeling tired and lonely, but have found a great deal of unexpected consolation in CS Lewis. I've been avoiding his work for some time, because I simply don't feel close to God anymore, I feel more angry than anything, but I picked up his book 'A Grief Observed' which is stuff from his journal after his wife died and is so raw and honest and there was so much I just nodded along with and held in my heart because oh, it is exactly what I've felt too, oh yes.

The things that tend to get me hot under the collar are the demands made on grieving parents - to grieve in a certain way, to behave in a certain way (whether that is more or less sad), to make it easier for others.

In the early days of shock and tears, my husband reached his last straw in trying to comfort me: she loves us—she would want us to be happy. I couldn’t believe him. It sounded so strange and wrong. She was dead, and a baby. How could she want anything for her parents? But he believed it. He felt her with him.

I read "Empty Cradle" about a fortnight after Emma died. I can't remember exactly but something in that book triggered the idea that after losing a child, I might end up losing my husband too. Like others here, it was a case of saying "No. I've lost too much already. I'm not giving up on my marriage without a fight." And my husband felt the same. In those early months, we were so close. We celebrated our tenth anniversary about five months out and I described us then as clinging to each other. We had bereavement counselling together. It wasn't marriage guidance but it still helped.

Emma was going to be a boy. We didn't find out at the 20 week scan but I was sure we were expecting a boy. His name was going to be George (after my grandfather) Nathaniel (Gift of God) or Joseph (My father's name). We barely talked about girl's name but we decided on Felicity, in the unlikely event we had a girl, which means "lucky" or "blessed". It was while I was in labour that Dave suggested Emma. He knew I loved Jane Austen and he liked "classic" names.

[We named our baby] Theodore - gift of god. Considering what has happened to my faith since his death this seems almost a misnomer, but I keep hoping that, in the long run, perhaps it's not. It's such a big name, I thought (and still think) for such a little guy. He made it his, somehow, but I wish I'd been able to watch him grow from our little Teddy into that big name. His middle name, Isaac, means laughter, and I chose it because I was so astounded and surprised to be pregnant, and surprised to be so happy about being pregnant, and because I wanted all kinds of laughter for him.

Jill -- same thoughts planted here; boy guess at 12 weeks now confirmed. I realized I had been bargaining with the universe: you took away my girl, give me another one and I'll consider you a little more just. No. I could have seventeen daughters after this guy and the anguish of losing my first would not go away.

That doesn't mean I don't want a daughter eventually though...and that I don't wistfully think about all her clothes ready to go. Just a way to cope with the adjustment!

But the darkness can still be so frightening, and make you feel so terribly alone.

Sometimes, in it, I lose the memory of light, except the feeling that I cannot bare to be without it anymore.

I am waiting, to "watch the hand of God put the stars back in the sky, one by one".

(I don't know where that quote is from)