IT has been a strange week, this week.

The other half and myself were trying our best to get back into routines and trying not to ponder recent events too much - that is, at least until we are summoned back to the hospital for test results and we are forced to think about the future.

Then, however, I took a phonecall at work, a call which turned out to be from the funeral director who needed to speak to us about the forthcoming cremation of our baby.

Just half an hour or so later, I received an invite to the baby shower of a close friend, who was due just a few weeks before us.

Of course I am happy for her, but it was a swift reminder of life’s cruelty.

I appreciate that I am lucky enough never to have had to previously become involved in the actual planning of the funeral for a loved one. Plenty of my friends have experienced the loss of their parents, and now I know a tiny little something of what they had to go through.

Our funeral director, I must point out from the off, was absolutely lovely throughout the experience. She was completely empathetic and thoroughly professional as she told us what would happen and discussed decisions we needed to make.

But from the moment we walked through the door of her premises, I felt a huge lump well in my throat and I rarely dared to speak as we went through the necessaries.

These repressed tears became even more problematic when she ran through the procedure and I started imagining in my mind a tiny casket alone at the front of the memorial chapel, whilst a lullaby played in the background.

It may sound terrible, but at this point, I just do not know if I can cope with being in the actual room when the service takes place – I may wait in the memorial garden while my brave husband says his goodbyes on behalf of us both.

My nasty mind seems to throw up the worst moments of the two deaths to me at random times, and I am unsure is this moment will become yet another one which utterly haunts me.

Obviously I want to bid goodbye to our baby, but without the support of close family there, I think the pain and sadness would be unbearable. Possibly I would feel differently if this occasion were to be taking place at home in the cathedral I have attended my entire life, in front of a gathering of my parents and relatives, and our friends.

Here, it will be just my husband and I with the funeral director, and I will not feel able to emotionally collapse in this situation as I might have felt comfortable enough to do in the arms of my own parents.

I am trying so hard just to be strong, and to get on with things. I worry that the intensity of this day will set me back at square one again.