My son, Louis, would be 13 years old tomorrow. I have spent all these years silently counting the years - I know the year he would have started primary school, secondary school, I have wondered what kind of birthday parties he would have enjoyed. I look to place him in our world, picturing him on our holidays, at our dinner table, in our house.
Our friends went to our house and hid the pregnancy books, which I'd been reading just the night before we lost her. They took down the congratulations cards from the bookcase. My husband steeled himself to put the little pink dresses and frilly babygrows in the attic, so I wouldn't see them in the spare room.
Since appearing on GMB, people have asked me "If there's a training programme which saves babies, why isn't it made mandatory? I didn't think stillbirth was preventable". I didn't think stillbirth was preventable either but I also didn't realise how common it was or how the UK has one of the highest stillbirth rates in the developed world. Until it happened to me.