@mubarak86 Thank you so much for asking, and thank you all of you lovely people replying to this thread when I was so lost and scared about it all. I read your comments many times and they gave me some comfort, before and after.
It's been three weeks now and I didn't know whether a follow up was needed. But I realised that reading old threads of people talking about the same situations helped me a lot, and sometimes I would have liked to know how they did and if they ever found some comfort afterwards. So here I am, perhaps also helping others in the future.
In a nutshell, I went through the day almost numb. We got to the crematorium with a couple of friends who had been incredible supportive through it all. My brain disconnected from reality when the chaplain appeared with a little white box with the name of my baby girl on it, and one date only. My husband broke down immediately, while needing to be the one to carry the box to the little pillar in the middle.
Brahm's lullaby was playing as I had to see my husband having his hear broken once again as he carried her. We sat there and I kind of disconnected from what the chaplain was saying. I couldn't look at the box, I couldn't look at the chaplain, and I couldn't cry, while holding my husband's hand and feeling like a cold, heartless monster. It was my little girl out there, but I reckon that is exactly what my brain was protecting me from, that exact realisation.
In any case, it was a very short ceremony, as we weren't ready to make it super personal. When it was over, the chaplain left for a few minutes, and we were there listening to the music until it finished. I was up and walking towards the box, which had been covered behind curtains by then, before I realised. I stared at the name and put a kiss on the box. It was being out there and seeing my husband and my friends in tears that made me finally break. Oddly enough, walking around the children's area in the cemetery gave me some comfort. My little girl was not alone, I think it was the feeling, which surprised me a lot since I haven't been a proper catholic since a long time ago I'm afraid.
Fast forward three weeks - My baby's ashes are with us in the house, in a lovely little party bag that I have half hidden behind other bags to avoid panic attacks. I'm struggling to stay alone for long periods of time. I have bought a lovely teddy that can keep the ashes inside, but I haven't dare to do anything about it yet.
As my due date approaches, I'm seeing more babies around than ever, more pregnancies than ever. Obviously they were always there, but now they hurt me. It's getting worse in that respect, probably because these past months I still wasn't supposed to have my baby with me, but now I should. I should be one of those women pushing buggies, and all I'm carrying is my backpack with my laptop so I can go to cafes and try to be somewhat productive, or at least stay out of bed, which is what I really want to do. Sleep and not think of all that happened, and also so I don't dread the moment the consultant gets in touch to share their findings and tell me whether I can try again or not. I still believe it was my fault, or rather, I had the chance to save her and I did nothing. Anyway.
Finally, I want to thank you all again for your encouragement, for sharing your own experiences and the pain and the feelings. You were all right, as painful as it was, especially after the event more than during, I am glad we did have a service. To whoever is reading this looking for the same, I don't know, insight or comfort or just information, it's all true and even though you don't see it now, to have a little service was the right decision and I would have probably regretted not doing it the rest of my life, like I will not having kissed my baby's head at least once before we let her go those months ago in the hospital.
Sending lots of love,
Junie