A moment in my arms, forever in my heart.

Although this blog is about my life in general and my son Bob is mentioned and always a part of it. I would like to share with you now in more detail my little prince, my shining star in heavens sky, Bob.

On the 17th of December 2006, our beautiful little boy Bob was born. Tears rolled down my face and those of my husband, as we held our precious son. Sadly they where not tears of joy, but the cries of the broken hearted, as Bob never opened his eyes to see the absolute love that was wrapped around him. Robert Vesma, our Baby Bob, was born sleeping (stillborn).

My pregnancy had been “normal” and trouble free. The previous months around that time had been a bit stressful as I had been living separately from my husband due to the fact that my father has been diagnosed with cancer and wanted to be close to help and be a support. That had all passed and we were all together again. As a family we where looking forward to moving into our new home in the New Year. At the time we where living in a rented cottage, not ideal but after being apart for so long, it was just lovely to be together. My dad was recovering well and soon our family would have a new addition soon. Dan, Corbu (our son, 2 years and a bit at the time) and I were happy; life seemed to be going well.

Then late one afternoon something in me knew something wasn’t right. I knew Bob had less space now to move, but movement had seemed unusually still over the last few hours. I decided to go and have a bath. Bob always loved bath time and would always wake up and kick like mad while I soaked in the tub. Corbu was with me, playing over the side in the water as he usually did, but this time he was the only one. Bob remained quite. My husband came home, to find me in floods of tears, something is wrong with Bob I told him, he’s not kicking.

In a matter of moments we were on the way to the small local hospital. We were seen by the on call doctor, after 15 minutes of being unable to find a heartbeat, she called in a colleague, who was also unable to find it. The doctor referred us to another hospital, so we could have a scan. I remember her saying not to worry, that sometimes a Doppler can make mistakes. On the way to Gloucestershire Royal I managed to phone my sister and tell her what was happening. I hoped, I prayed for the best but deep down I knew our little one was gone.

Within the hour, the consultant confirmed what we already knew. Our precious little Bob has passed away.

The next few days are a blur. I remember lying in bed while I waited for the pill they gave me to work and to go into hospital to give birth. I just lay there curled up, numb. While we were in hospital, we had one midwife; she looked after us from the beginning to the end. I will forever be grateful to her, she treated us with such kindness and when Bob was born, dealt with our son with such dignity and respect.

I held my son. I cried. I treasured up every moment. A lifetime of memories in the few hours we were together. My husband took photos and together we bathed and dressed Bob. It was the most heartbreaking and touching time of my life.

I don’t know how I managed to get through it all but I know that when I looked at my husband. His eyes where filled with such love and raw honesty, that it gave me courage.
We said good-bye and then the long journey of learning to live life without Bob began.
Bob is always with us, he might not be here to hold and kiss, but his mark is stamped in every step I take in life. A little life not a little loss and I am a better person for having known my son.

I will always love you, my precious little Bob. X

When I grow up, I want to be.......

Think back to when you where a child, even a teenager. Do you remember what you wanted to be/do when you grew up??

I am not talking about the silly things you wanted to do and changed your mind by the end of the day when you saw something better. I mean your first real ambition, that first dream, when you felt you could be anything and it was all still possible.

When I was little I remember how when most little girls played tea part with there stuffed toys, I had mine lines up ready to go to court. Trials and tales of trickery and misdeeds that only I could solve.I was the worlds best lawyer/detective, the Perry Mason of my world. To be honest I don't think I ever truly wanted to study law but I think it was where my true dream revealed itself. I could spin a good tale. I had imagination and by the time I was nine years old I had my heart set on being a writer.

My mind and heart never wavered from that ambition. While in most classes I made little or no effort, in English I excelled. Although grammer was (still is) the thorn in my side. I read and read and read. I would delve into books from all genres, authors and time periods. How would one know what type of writer one hoped to be or what clicked with you if you did not have a good background into all the different types of books out there. My friends would be reading Sweet Valley High and I would too but along with Mark Twain, Dickens etc.

Then when I was in my teens I had the fortune or misfortune depending on how you look at it on meeting a young man who shared my passion. We swapped books and discussed our likes and dislikes, shared our poetry and short stories. Till this moment in time I always thought I had talent, our styles where poles a part but I had my own special spark. It was stamped out.

Sadly being constantly that your friend is brilliant and not so much as a word about you can get very discouraging. This although at times hard to bare I could deal with. It was when my own family told me that my work was sort of good (sort of, hurt more than if they just told me that it stunk) but your not as good as......now he has talent.....

My heart broke. My pen fell to the floor never to be picked up again.

I have tried, the blank page just stares at me and any ideas that do pop in my head I squelch as not being any good. I still feel after all these years that the pen doesn't belong in my hand and I am too scared to find out if it is true.

Perhaps the memory of a dream lost is better than actually finding out it was never going to come true anyway.

When I grow up, I want to be........

Well I am only 30. I still have time to find out.

Cake Sale

During the May bank holiday weekend I had a stall at our local village street fair. It was filled with yummy cakes and I had spent most of the previous day chained to the kitchen sink and stove making them all but it was worth it.


I was raising money for Sands. The stillbirth and neo-natal death charity, a cause very close to my heart. Since I lost my little boy Bob they have been my life line and I am just glad to give a little back as they truly gave me hope and light in a very dark time. Through them I have met and made many wonderful friends, who continue to be a source of great support, love, friendship and who know how you feel without having to explain it all. I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to just be able to cry and say your having a bad day, and a warm hug wraps round you with no more words need to be said.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Cathy, the lovely lady in the pic with me, a friend, Chair of our local group Swindon Sands,for coming and helping me on the stall that day. Also to all the ladies who donated cakes for sale, a huge heartfelt thanks.


We raised over £140 that day. Which will help our local group to keep going, so that they can continue to provide support services to bereaved parents and work with the local hospital.


























Only crumbs left, a succesful day. Thank you all. xx

I wish I had a time machine.....

I wish I had a time machine, not to go and visit some historic event, make a bet and win a fortune or meet a famous person.


I wish I had a time machine so I could go and visit my son. My beautiful boy, born sleeping on the 17th of December 2006. I would tell myself not to cry,” I want to go home’ as I gave birth to my precious little Bob. I would take my time bathing him. I would take more photo’s and not have most of my pics of him on a disposable birth pad. I would not send my son to the morgue after spending barley a few hours with him. I would keep him with me all night, hold him and remind myself to take it all in. This wil be it, these moment are all I will have for a lifetime. I would remember to allow family waiting at home, to come to hospital and meet my son. I would take prints of his hands and feet. I would snuggle him into a blanket, make sure he is warm and safe. I would remember to add more personal touches to his little white coffin. I would try to say more, as I stood up and did his little eulogy. I would stop and take my time as I said good bye. I would not pretend I was fine after the funeral. I would cry more. I would ask people, why they thought my precious little boy, only deserved three sympathy cards. I would…… I would do so many things.
I have no time machine. I can not change what has been done. I have to live with decisions that have been made.


No one speaks of him, this saddens me and at times I feel so alone.
I remember Bob everyday. I still miss my son very much. I love him everyday, forever and always.
I have no time machine but I remember…..
That is all I can do.