This year, like every other, thousands of parents will go through an experience the whole impact of which is almost beyond description. Months of pregnancy, and long hours of nurturing and hope, will end with a still birth, or an agonising vigil amid the dim lights and monitors of a ward for premature babies.
For some, like me, there will be a particularly upsetting twist. They will find there is no birth or death certificate, and no funeral. There will be little recognition of any kind, only a note in the medical records to say that the hours of nurturing and hope have ended in the cold facts of a late miscarriage.
To lose a baby is a terrible sadness, as I have found from personal experience. To find your child disregarded, barely a statistic even, is particularly distressing.