We decided to keep Monday 21st May, all about Ariya. It’s also the date of our Indian Wedding Anniversary and so her special day will be forever entwined with ours. It was a packed day of back and forth from the SCBU – to express milk for Adhiya, and spending every other minute with Ariya.
In the morning, the local Hindu priest came and said a blessing for Ariya and to perform a small naming ceremony for her. We aren’t religious, nor are we Hindu. We are technically Jain. Jainism is a religion very similar to Buddhism. Its main beliefs are to treat living souls with equal respect, non-violence, reincarnation and achieving liberation by eliminating karma. Culturally however I have grown up putting into practice some Hindu traditions as well. The baby naming ceremony normally takes place on the 6th day after birth and is called a ‘Chatthi’. But Ariya wouldn’t be coming home, nor would she be with us on her 6th day after birth. We put tradition aside and did what was right for us as a family.
We had a whole host of potential names that we liked, and had them ready in different combinations, depending on if we had boys or girls. We had spent the first couple of days after their birth trying to decide who would get which name. But when it came down to it, the decision was simple. Ariya means noble one or close to God. Adhiya means Goddess of strength. We believe that Ariya was given a noble role of ensuring that Adhiya, a Goddess, was brought into this world safely. And so, they were Adhiya and Ariya.
We didn’t name our third baby for quite some time. It almost felt like we didn’t have the right to name her – we (begrudgingly) chose to end her life, and we never met her. I often feel that other people must think she was less valued, less loved … ‘just a bunch of cells’. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. She would have had Ariya’s beautiful face, her rosy cheeks, blonde matted hair and caused so much mischief with her two sisters. Adhira – merging Adhiya and Ariya – suited her perfectly. Her name means lightning and strength – quite fitting really.
To this day, I feel quite protective of her name and her soul. I don’t share her with everyone … she’s like a precious jewel that lives deep in my soul, surrounded by lots of love, but also a lot of guilt.
Later that morning, we managed to get Adhiya off her monitoring for an hour or so, and took her down to spend some time with her sister. The Remember My Baby (RMB) photographer, Sally Masson, came and took some photos of us a family. Sally made us feel so at ease, we felt ‘normal’ and it actually felt nice to forget the ‘abnormality’ of the whole situation. We laid Adhiya and Ariya on the bed together, and it was magical. Adhiya – who had been so sleepy pretty much since birth – was alert and awake. Not only this, but she was looking directly at her beautiful sister and almost pawing at her with affection.
The RMB photos mean the world to us, and we enjoy showing them to anyone that gives us the chance to. Yes, they make us sad, but more than that, they make us proud. These photos let us show the whole world that even in death, Ariya was just like any other baby – innocent, beautiful and serene.
That evening we introduced Ariya to our nearest and dearest. I put on my brave face and smiled, whilst showing off our baby. If I’d have had the strength I would have called the whole world to see her; to see our miracle. When I look back now, I think my family must have thought I’d lost my mind – why was she smiling? Why wasn’t she a sobbing mess? I was numb, running on adrenaline and in automatic pilot, but also I was desperate for no-one else to be upset.
Ricky and I had decided that the night we said ‘Goodbye’ to Ariya, would be the night we went home. Till this point, she had slept next to us in our room, in her CuddleCot.
But when it came to it, I didn’t know how to say ‘Goodbye’. My parents sang to her, Ricky said a beautiful Goodbye, and I said nothing. I couldn’t find the words that meant or said enough. At the time, this made me so angry. I was so angry that everyone else had something to say, but I, Ariya’s mother – who had carried them for so long – had nothing.
Ariya, I hope you can forgive me for not being able to put my feelings into words. Adhira, I hope you can forgive us too. Please know that I, we, and many more love you both.