I though if I was leaving this blog then I should at least publish some of the posts that got left, waiting for when I could formulate better words to describe how I was feeling..but I'm not sure I ever will. How do you put into words a life missing? A void in your family that only you can see? Impossible to vocalise.
The temperature here has dropped several degrees, and the leaves have lost their grip on branches. Those that remain are taking on the hues of fire, so autumn is suddenly tangible again in England. The low sunlight is bringing back familiar memories, and suddenly I find my emotions are stirring.
It still hurts, even 3 years on.
I will never get used to the fact she isn't here.
I have taken on a begrudging acceptance of what happened 3 years ago. "It is what it is" is a sentence I hear myself saying these days. I have lost the desire to shock people with my tale, to force my tragedy down their throats then watch them as they uncomfortably shift from one foot to the other, wondering what to say.
These days I pity their discomfort, and so I often say nothing to refer to my dead daughter.
These days.
These busy days, full of toddler tantrums from my little diva who is now the most amazing personality, cheeky and mischevious but lovable and caring.
These days of being 28 weeks pregnant, carrying a new life - this time a boy - and being thankful that he is active and always making his presence known to me, unlike Georgia who seemed so quiet.
But no matter how busy my life is, more obvious to me is that these are the days three years ago when Lucy was still alive.
I miss her.
I'll always miss her.
I feel like I am moving on, and I don't like it.
I feel like Lucy is just a ghost on the edges of our family.
I imagine her Peter Pan-esque, returning to the window of her home only to see her parents that once lamented her daily, laughing and playing and shouting at their new children.
And she is forgotten.
It's a funny thing this grief business.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Sunday, 14 April 2013
Leaving this blog...
This blog has been sorely neglected of late, but I've decided to leave it kind of hanging in hyper space. I don't want to delete it as it contains so many memories, as painful as some are, so I'm just going to leave it.
Waiting.
I may need to write on these pages again someday.
My journey isn't over.
But nearly 4 years on my journey and my pain are so different.
I will be blogging sporadically over here.
Waiting.
I may need to write on these pages again someday.
My journey isn't over.
But nearly 4 years on my journey and my pain are so different.
I will be blogging sporadically over here.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
Number 5
Today I found out I am 5 weeks pregnant with baby number 5.
After 2 miscarriages, 1 stillbirth and 1 live birth you would think I would be ready, aware, prepared for another pregnancy.
This baby was not 'planned', if you like. We had talked of more children. But financially, emotionally, we had decided to wait until at least December 2012 to start actively 'trying'.
Best laid plans of mice and all that.
A drunken, laughing fumble in Blackpool appears to have given us a most unexpected surprise. Not a bad surprise, just a bolt from the blue. Ironic given how many months during 'trying' to get pregnant have resulted in negatives, there really is truth in 'not thinking about it'.
I am so grateful and scared at the same time. I feel I have betrayed Georgia, and yet I am excited to meet our new creation. It is early days and so much can change so very swiftly, which makes me anxious. But I really want to enjoy this new life inside me. Lets see what happens next.
After 2 miscarriages, 1 stillbirth and 1 live birth you would think I would be ready, aware, prepared for another pregnancy.
This baby was not 'planned', if you like. We had talked of more children. But financially, emotionally, we had decided to wait until at least December 2012 to start actively 'trying'.
Best laid plans of mice and all that.
A drunken, laughing fumble in Blackpool appears to have given us a most unexpected surprise. Not a bad surprise, just a bolt from the blue. Ironic given how many months during 'trying' to get pregnant have resulted in negatives, there really is truth in 'not thinking about it'.
I am so grateful and scared at the same time. I feel I have betrayed Georgia, and yet I am excited to meet our new creation. It is early days and so much can change so very swiftly, which makes me anxious. But I really want to enjoy this new life inside me. Lets see what happens next.
Sunday, 22 January 2012
Bubbling away under the surface
It has been a very long time since I have written here. I don't expect anyone reads here anymore, it is a waste ground of emotion.
All I can say is my grief is still there, bubbling away. Sometimes I suppress it successfully, and speak of Lucy in light and matter of fact tones. Mainly to save the feelings of the person I am talking to. Why? I don't know. I guess I just don't want to lose the people that still listen because I am the lady that talks about her dead baby over 2 years down the line. The important people will ALWAYS listen. But I am encountering these days the Fools Gold friends. The ones who seemingly let me grieve, and speak, and weep endlessly during the first year. But now seem to think that I have moved on, and have relegated her into my 'one of life's sad experiences' drawer in my mind. I find them hard to deal with. People I trusted who now suddenly say if I touch on her in conversation, "Oh - do you still feel sad about her?" in a surprised tone. Often they have children themselves and I want to scream at them. I mean, if their living 8 year old had died 2 years ago, would they think it would be acceptable for me to ask the same question? As if 2 years suddenly was a magical turning point and they were like a bad memory, or a bad relationship break up? Her short life does not make her any less of a person. I find myself wanting to tell people about her. But I am torn between being seen as honest and open, and being seen as the insane harbinger of doom. I lead a double life, more often now I am the 'me' that was before baby death. The me that people want to see. But I am also the mother of a baby that died inside me, I felt her dying, although I did not know at the time. When I talk about labour I feel I have to say, "despite knowing the sad outcome, blah blah blah" rather than just relaying my experiences. I cry when I read about other losses. I cry when I read about a baby stillborn, I cry when I read about a 3 year old that has drowned. And I don't mean I just shed a tear, I sob, wail, the pain bubbles up from my inner soul and I can't control it. In some ways I feel it has made me a better person, in the sense that I truly can empathise with parents going through a loss. No one will ever understand, appreciate, or vocalise the raw, dark, physical pain that engulfs your entire being after losing a baby. Unless you are a member of this dark club.
All I can say is my grief is still there, bubbling away. Sometimes I suppress it successfully, and speak of Lucy in light and matter of fact tones. Mainly to save the feelings of the person I am talking to. Why? I don't know. I guess I just don't want to lose the people that still listen because I am the lady that talks about her dead baby over 2 years down the line. The important people will ALWAYS listen. But I am encountering these days the Fools Gold friends. The ones who seemingly let me grieve, and speak, and weep endlessly during the first year. But now seem to think that I have moved on, and have relegated her into my 'one of life's sad experiences' drawer in my mind. I find them hard to deal with. People I trusted who now suddenly say if I touch on her in conversation, "Oh - do you still feel sad about her?" in a surprised tone. Often they have children themselves and I want to scream at them. I mean, if their living 8 year old had died 2 years ago, would they think it would be acceptable for me to ask the same question? As if 2 years suddenly was a magical turning point and they were like a bad memory, or a bad relationship break up? Her short life does not make her any less of a person. I find myself wanting to tell people about her. But I am torn between being seen as honest and open, and being seen as the insane harbinger of doom. I lead a double life, more often now I am the 'me' that was before baby death. The me that people want to see. But I am also the mother of a baby that died inside me, I felt her dying, although I did not know at the time. When I talk about labour I feel I have to say, "despite knowing the sad outcome, blah blah blah" rather than just relaying my experiences. I cry when I read about other losses. I cry when I read about a baby stillborn, I cry when I read about a 3 year old that has drowned. And I don't mean I just shed a tear, I sob, wail, the pain bubbles up from my inner soul and I can't control it. In some ways I feel it has made me a better person, in the sense that I truly can empathise with parents going through a loss. No one will ever understand, appreciate, or vocalise the raw, dark, physical pain that engulfs your entire being after losing a baby. Unless you are a member of this dark club.
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Autumn
It has been a long, long time since I last blogged. I think if I am honest I have completely exhausted all my sadness. Or maybe it is that I am completely exhausted these days? By the time I have finished at work, prepared for the next day, done bedtime, made tea, washed up and sat down it is normally about 9 and then my eyelids are drooping and I can't really think rationally other than to flit about on Facebook and write perhaps a frothy status update to keep everyone happy.
In England the Summer is bowing out and the low sun beamed days of Autumn are slipping in. It will be two years this month since I bore my little Lucy so silently into the world. More and more these days she is becoming a distant memory, a dusty photo on the mantle piece. Less and less I look at her pictures. This isn't to say I am forgetting her, I think of her every day. In fact her presence in my mind makes me so more emotional and I feel more empathy towards others. Where before I could not picture or imagine a tangible grief other than "That's sad", I now find stories on the news, or read, or told by friends move me to tears. And not just a silent trickle but more often a heavy sobbing as I feel the heaviness inside their heart.
I feel I keep a tight lid on my emotions relating to her these days but then I will hear such awful stories, as the ones I am hearing at the minute on the anniversary of 9/11, and it opens Pandoras box - a torrent of grief pours out for me, for Lucy, for all of you who have experienced loss, grief, pain, death. I continue to miss what she would have been, what her personality would have been like. If I am honest I am constantly tormented about her death, she was so helpless, how can she have faced the enormity of death on her own without me to protect her? If I let these thoughts take hold like they threaten to then I would be a dysfunctional mess. Georgia keeps me sane, the gorgeous monotony of every day living keeps me sane, and keeping that lid tightly shut keeps me sane. I seem 'over it'. But my God I am so far from that. I feel like this is the only place I can be honest these days as people get 'worried' if I ever dare to show these continuing feelings in public. I think I may write more as the anniversary approaches as for some reason I feel more sad about this second one. I don't know why. And to finish my brief post, a song by one of my fave artists just currently making his rise to fame. The lyrics are beautiful and are about his friend that lost her baby at five months. I think we can all relate to the promises and unspoken sadness in the music.
Small Bump - Ed Sheeran
You were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then brought to life.
You might be left with my hair, but you'll have your Mother's eyes,
Oh I'll hold your body in my hands, be as gentle as I can,
But for now you're a scan of my unmade plans,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...
And I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only, you can wrap your fingers round my thumb,
And hold me tight, and you'll be alright.
Oh you're just a small bump, unknown, you’ll grow into your skin,
With a smile like hers, and a dimple beneath your chin,
Finger nails the size of a half grain of rice,
And eyelids closed to be soon opened wide,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...
I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight,
And you'll be alright.
And you can lie with me - with your tiny feet - when you're half asleep, I'll leave you be,
Right in front of me, for a couple weeks,
So I can keep you safe....
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight.
And you'll be alright...
'Cause you were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then torn from Life.And maybe you were needed up there, but we're still unaware as why...
In England the Summer is bowing out and the low sun beamed days of Autumn are slipping in. It will be two years this month since I bore my little Lucy so silently into the world. More and more these days she is becoming a distant memory, a dusty photo on the mantle piece. Less and less I look at her pictures. This isn't to say I am forgetting her, I think of her every day. In fact her presence in my mind makes me so more emotional and I feel more empathy towards others. Where before I could not picture or imagine a tangible grief other than "That's sad", I now find stories on the news, or read, or told by friends move me to tears. And not just a silent trickle but more often a heavy sobbing as I feel the heaviness inside their heart.
I feel I keep a tight lid on my emotions relating to her these days but then I will hear such awful stories, as the ones I am hearing at the minute on the anniversary of 9/11, and it opens Pandoras box - a torrent of grief pours out for me, for Lucy, for all of you who have experienced loss, grief, pain, death. I continue to miss what she would have been, what her personality would have been like. If I am honest I am constantly tormented about her death, she was so helpless, how can she have faced the enormity of death on her own without me to protect her? If I let these thoughts take hold like they threaten to then I would be a dysfunctional mess. Georgia keeps me sane, the gorgeous monotony of every day living keeps me sane, and keeping that lid tightly shut keeps me sane. I seem 'over it'. But my God I am so far from that. I feel like this is the only place I can be honest these days as people get 'worried' if I ever dare to show these continuing feelings in public. I think I may write more as the anniversary approaches as for some reason I feel more sad about this second one. I don't know why. And to finish my brief post, a song by one of my fave artists just currently making his rise to fame. The lyrics are beautiful and are about his friend that lost her baby at five months. I think we can all relate to the promises and unspoken sadness in the music.
Small Bump - Ed Sheeran
You were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then brought to life.
You might be left with my hair, but you'll have your Mother's eyes,
Oh I'll hold your body in my hands, be as gentle as I can,
But for now you're a scan of my unmade plans,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...
And I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only, you can wrap your fingers round my thumb,
And hold me tight, and you'll be alright.
Oh you're just a small bump, unknown, you’ll grow into your skin,
With a smile like hers, and a dimple beneath your chin,
Finger nails the size of a half grain of rice,
And eyelids closed to be soon opened wide,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...
I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight,
And you'll be alright.
And you can lie with me - with your tiny feet - when you're half asleep, I'll leave you be,
Right in front of me, for a couple weeks,
So I can keep you safe....
'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight.
And you'll be alright...
'Cause you were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then torn from Life.And maybe you were needed up there, but we're still unaware as why...
Sunday, 1 May 2011
Lost myself
So I started to write another post, but it actually became so self centred that I was ashamed to post it. This blog has always been about my dead and my living daughters. And that's the way I like it. I may post the other entry one fine day, but until then it can rest in the computer generated crypts.
I love being a Mum. I never thought I would get here, and here I am. I am doing things I never knew were possible. I hold my sweet baby close to me and kiss her head and smell the milky, sweet, talcum powdered stench and it makes my soul glad. I have finally slipped into that feeling of complete, unconditional love. She is amazing, and her little soul is beautiful and makes my heart leap and sing and I cannot be thankful enough.
And then at the same time I have this incredible guilt. I am guilty for not thinking about Lucy enough. I feel I am forgetting her. Some days - most days in fact - I forget the terrible traumatic thing that preceded Georgia's birth. And other days it is all I can think about. I miss my dead daughter so much, and that is strange because I never even knew her. But I miss the personality she would have been, and I can't help but be saddened at the waste of life. I am thankful for having a beautiful daughter in my arms, that I can hold and kiss. And I am sad, but thankful that I had the chance to hold and meet my sleeping daughter Lucy. She has taught me so much, and I hope that one sweet day we will hold each other again.
I love being a Mum. I never thought I would get here, and here I am. I am doing things I never knew were possible. I hold my sweet baby close to me and kiss her head and smell the milky, sweet, talcum powdered stench and it makes my soul glad. I have finally slipped into that feeling of complete, unconditional love. She is amazing, and her little soul is beautiful and makes my heart leap and sing and I cannot be thankful enough.
And then at the same time I have this incredible guilt. I am guilty for not thinking about Lucy enough. I feel I am forgetting her. Some days - most days in fact - I forget the terrible traumatic thing that preceded Georgia's birth. And other days it is all I can think about. I miss my dead daughter so much, and that is strange because I never even knew her. But I miss the personality she would have been, and I can't help but be saddened at the waste of life. I am thankful for having a beautiful daughter in my arms, that I can hold and kiss. And I am sad, but thankful that I had the chance to hold and meet my sleeping daughter Lucy. She has taught me so much, and I hope that one sweet day we will hold each other again.
Friday, 25 March 2011
Please say a prayer
A fellow Babyloss Mama has been hit by another tragedy. She lost her son at 40 weeks in July 2009. She married her sweetheart, her Sons Daddy, in September 2009. And her sweetheart has just been killed in Afghanistan, 6 days before he was due to come home to her. I have spent the last 2 days trying to make sense of this loss, and I can't.
So please, hug your loved ones a little tighter tonight and say a prayer for Leanne, Mark and Archie. I pray she finds the strength to carry on without her two boys and that her future holds nothing but happiness, as her present is too dark to even contemplate.
So please, hug your loved ones a little tighter tonight and say a prayer for Leanne, Mark and Archie. I pray she finds the strength to carry on without her two boys and that her future holds nothing but happiness, as her present is too dark to even contemplate.
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