Saturday, 26 February 2011

Point of demise

I guess this is what they call a bad patch. My last post was a little over dramatic maybe. I'm feeling a bit that way at the minute. I am grateful to this blog as it allows all my outpourings of grief, whilst on my social networking pages I can be more upbeat. I don't want to keep making my status updates all about my loss of Lucy. I am worried people will tire of it and think me self indulgent. So here is where I come to pour out my darker thoughts. I think I'd go mad if I couldn't. I am just dwelling on so many dark things right now. I feel like two people, the happy me on the outside with the dark me bubbling just under the surface.

I am consumed at the minute thinking about when Lucy died. It is haunting me in a bad way. I know exactly when she died. The doctors tried to tell me otherwise, but I am not stupid. I know. I didn't know at the time, because I was uneducated. I was still in that happy land where babies don't die before they are born. I thought she had hiccups, even though they felt different from her normal hiccups. I was grateful to feel her move to be honest. Now I know with hindsight that those fast, repetitive kicks were her dying inside me. That is why they started so frantically, and also why they got weaker and weaker. And why I didn't feel her move again after that. So although the doctors have tried to tell me that she wouldn't have suffered, in my heart I know differently. I do not know that she felt any pain, but I do know that she realised she was in trouble. I have been thinking over and over it lately, and I don't know why. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. I want to be oblivious to when she passed. To know that I felt it but dismissed it as something else makes me feel like the worst mother on earth. I generally think about this happy subject in the middle of the night, when I am feeding Georgia. I am terrified of waking up and finding Georgia dead too. I have morbidly imagined this scenario a few times now. I guess this is a new level of the grief process.

I am also consumed with grief for a new angel daddy. He lost his partner Sara in a terrible accident, and despite attempts to save his unborn daughter Miranda, she also passed. His incredibly moving blog can be found here. It's all I've been able to think about since I came across it. I want to jump on a plane and go and find him, and hold him, and cry with him. It's given me a new perspective on grief. It makes me want to do something to help people. I just don't know what I can do though. I am still thinking on that. I just want to reach out to him, to others, in some way. I feel grief so much more keenly since Lucy. I am definitely more empathetic than I ever was. I find it easier to put myself in peoples shoes, to try and glean a small snap shot of that place they are in, to enable me to connect with them.

Reading back it all sounds a bit twee and jumbled, I am not expressing myself well today.

I guess I just want people to know that I cry with them. My heart bleeds for hundreds of little babies that I have never been able to meet, but who I feel like I already know so well thanks to the loving words of their grieving parents.


  1. I am so sorry to hear about your little Lucy. I had read another post somewhere that the mom said she felt her baby kicking like crazy and her baby died not long after that and she felt it was her babies way of saying goodbye and now I read yours and you say your baby way kicking like crazy also right before she died. Now I feel maybe that is what was going on with my little Liam. Doctors say they don't know why his heart stopped but right before I had fetal surgery he was kicking the whole night before and right up to the minute of surgery and just as the surgery was finishing his heart stopped. Maybe that was Liam saying that he is dying or trying to say goodbye.

  2. Oh heart broke reading this post. I just came from jo's site and honestly..I cried and cried reading how you think you know when Lucy last kicked...I often find myself crying as I wonder if my Matthew was in pain...I also was assured that he wasn't, but mothers, we cant imagine the thought of our babies in pain...and the not knowing just kills me. I'm so, so sorry for your loss, but understand the many feelings you share. Thinking of you..

  3. I can only imagine how you must feel knowing the moment it happened. I know I hope my girl didn't suffer at all. It would hurt to know that she did.

    I read about Sara and Miranda and my heart was heavy for their family.