"I will praise the one who's chosen me, to carry you"
-Selah: I will carry you

Tuesday 26 June 2012

Am I being tested, or just tormented?

I feel as though I've taken a few steps backwards this week, it's been really tough. I feel like it has been one test after another the last few days. In a world where everything is instant, in a life where I have always achieved my goal when I have tried hard enough, trying for a baby is frustrating. Add in grieving for the one you lost and it's heartbreaking. Add in the feeling that you shouldn't be having to do this again is embittering. Add in someone else telling you they are pregnant every couple of weeks and it just rubs salt in. Nine months have passed, and lots of the people who joined sands when I joined are now expecting their rainbow babies, I am not. I am delighted for each and every one of them, I am sad for me. I know that it shouldn't matter, it does.

lots of advice has come my way, the usual suspects, relax, it won't happen whilst you are stressed, you need to heal more, have faith you will get there......all true. But impossible to rectify. I know myself, I know my heart, I know what I need to heal. I know my heart won't mend any more now until I hold my next baby. I also know that that won't make it all ok, but it's the best I can hope for for the future. I am asking God for help, to be pregnant again, or for patience until it is my turn. I am not getting either yet. God's time clearly isn't aligned with my time. Not sure what more He wants me to learn whilst I wait and suffer, whilst all around me I have to watch other people who have what I have lost, and who are getting what I hope for.

Today I was feeling a bit better, I picked up again on the normal ebb and flow of my emotional tides. That was until I was faced with a baby girl, about the age Robert would have been were he born at the right time, with the buggy we had chosen for him. It cut me to the core. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Right there in front of me sat on the floor next to her buggy, a perfect little representation of exactly what I am missing. I put on the mask, I saw my patient, I let him go. I cried, hard. For a very long time. I tried to block it out, but I could see her still, imprinted in my mind, and then she morphed into a little boy.....my little boy. The one I miss so much. I could hear her laugh, and cry, both piercing my skull and my heart, with no escape. I will never hear my son laugh or cry.

You would think after nine months I'd be able to cope with it. No. It seems to be getting worse again. I feel as though I am being tested. Have I not been through enough yet? Sitting in my room a few hours later, reflecting on the last few days, feeling angry and frustrated at God, I thought. I know how Job felt. Am I being tested like he was? Or is this the other one's work, tormenting me. I guess if I wake up covered in boils tomorrow, I will know the answer.

Monday 18 June 2012

9 months

It's nine months since Bertie was born. We are three quarters of the way through our first year of grief. We have faced his due date, first Christmas, mothers' day, my husband's birthday, and now, fathers' day. The next thing will be my bithday, followed a week later, by Bertie's. Already it's looming on the horison, the next big thing we have to face. Already I am worried about it, what should we do to mark it? How will we be? What will we feel up to doing? Lots of people release balloons, or lanterns for their babies on special occasions, but somehow that just doesn't feel right for us. But I just don't know what to do instead. What do you do to mark what would have been your baby's first birthday? We can't have a party, yet we want to do something. I never envisaged a graveside vigil for my first born's first big day. Who would?

I am hoping, and relying on the fact that I will "just know" what feel right, when the time comes. He will let me know what he wants, won't he? I'm his mum, I should know. But I just don't, not yet.

These milestones are not getting any easier. This weekend, for fathers' day we had family gatherings with both sides of our family. Both were so hard because Robert was missing, I could just picture him in a high chair at one end of the table, but it's just a dream. He was missing, as he always is. We had to wish our dads a happy day, knowing that my husband should be celebrating his first fathers' day too, but he wasn't. We had to smile and carry on and hide the hurt we felt inside, like we always do. Masks on, good to go.

I am told that the first year is the hardest, all the firsts. But I cannot see right now how next year, or the year after that, or any of the years to come are going to be any less painful. no matter how big our future family turns out to be, there is always going to be one missing around our table, forever.

Friday 15 June 2012

Bad Days

I was asked the other day, "what triggers a bad day?" It's an impossible question to answer really, but I've been thinking about it.   Nothing "triggers" a bad day, more that on a bad day, grief triggers are harder to deal with.  Is there even such a thing as a "bad day"? Or is a good day just a bad day where the mask fits a bit better? Maybe a better term would be stronger days and less strong days.  On a less strong day I just wake up feeling down. I know it's not going to be a strong day, and on those days, little things will upset me more.  The things I could have coped with yesterday tip me over the edge today.  I can't tell you why.  Just like I don't know why some days I think of Robert and feel him close and I feel comforted, and other days I think of him and miss him so much my arms and my heart physically ache for him.

On a strong day, the sadness and hurt are still there. I am not "ok", I'm just dealing with it better. I've become a good actress. I can feel happy, I am able to enjoy myself and have a nice time, but deep inside I am unhappy. Discontent.  This photo was taken at a recent get together with my babylost friends, a wonderful group of women who all lost lost their babies around the same time as me.  They get it. Totally and utterly. They are where I am right now, they are camping on the ledge with me, and that is why this picture is the only one of me in the last nine months where the smile reaches my eyes. This was probably the happiest day I have had since Robert died.  One day.  One happy day.  And even that day saw tears.

I wonder if this is as good as it's going to get? Will I ever feel content? Or will I hurt like this forever? I don't want to be strong, or brave, or incredible, or an inspiration, or any of the other lovely things people say about me now. I just want to be happy again.  People say "you will be." How do they know? I sure don't.  I don't know how I can be when there's a hole in my heart, my soul, my world, that's impossible to fill.

 
A Hole In My Soul:

Things have not turned out how I planned
My life has changed forever, but not the way I imagined
Some days are dark
Some even black
But others I get just a glimpse of the light
Some days I’ll smile
Others I can’t
Sometimes I’ll take two steps backwards
And just sometimes I can laugh.
But no matter what I do, no matter how I feel each day,
There’s one thing that will never change
There’s a Robert shaped hole in my heart, my soul, my life
A future unfulfilled, that can never be replaced.

I have had a taste of being a mum.  And nothing compares to it. My life is as busy as it always was, I am back to doing all the things I used to do, and enjoy.  But it isn't the same.  Life is just empty without him.

Saturday 9 June 2012

Fathers' Day

This week I had to buy my fathers' day card, and I got the expected pang that I wasn't buying one for my husband too.  It wasn't as bad as buying mothers' day cards, but it still hurt.  I had to avoid looking towards the "to my daddy" and "on your first fathers' day" ones, and stick with the grumpy old men and chimpanzee ones! Did it, phew!  But, how sad that even buying my dad a fathers' day card has now become a hurdle I have to get past.  I wonder why it isn't as bad as Mothers' day was? A combination of things I guess, Mothers' day was also six months, so it was a double milestone, and another three months have passed since then, so I am emotionally stronger I guess, and also, fathers' day is less of a commercial big event than mothers' day is.  In March, and for most of Feb actually, it seemed like every shop was displaying mothers' day banners, I couldn't escape from it.  With fathers' day it all seems a lot less in my face.  Again, maybe I am just in a better place to deal with it now, who knows?

I wonder how my husband is though? He's a lot less vocal about these things than me, but I know he feels the pain of loss the same as me.  It's his first fathers' day, another milestone to pass.  People concentrate so much on the mother after a baby dies, people forget that the father is grieving too.  I remember in the early weeks, he would come home from work and tell me how everyone was asking after me, but nobody asked how he was coping.  It's a common theme I think, chatting to other mums, they all say the same happened to their husband.  This piece is for all bereaved fathers' this fathers' day, feel free to pass it on if you feel it would bring comfort to your partner, but if you do publish it elsewhere, please credit me, thankyou.

He's a father too

He's a father too
although he has nothing to show
If he chose not to tell you all about it,
you would never know

He's a father too
though he and his child are apart
he holds his father's love, with his baby
locked away deep in his heart

He's a father too
and he dreams of holding his child
of watching him grow and play
of seeing his first toothless smile

He's a father too
and he grieves just as much as me
though he may not show it quite so much
he doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve

He's a father too
please remember, it's true
on the outside he may be silent and strong
but inside, he's hurting too.

Sarah Townend 2012.




Holidays


We spent the last week in the lake district for our holiday.  This year we didn't feel up to going abroad, it wouldn't have felt right.  If Robert were here, we wouldn't have gone abroad, and we felt like it would have been a really rubbish consolation prize and we wouldn't have enjoyed it.  So, cheap and cheerful it was! We had a nice time, a lovely escape, but it was happysad- it's just what we would have done if Robert were with us.  We sat in our lovely log cabin, imagining him crawling about on the floor, amazed at his first sighting of red squirrels, the cabin filled with the sounds of his gurgling.  But instead there was silence, one missing, as always. 

We spent the jubilee at Hadrian's wall, they were lighting beacons there so we went along to have a look.  The sunset was just spectacular! We spent some time just walking and sitting and remembering Bertie.  It was so peaceful, nobody else there (the beacons weren't on til a couple of hours later) so it was lovely.  I did get that lovely peaceful feeling that he was with us, and I do feel so grateful that I have that, but at the same time so sad that this is the closest we can get to a family photo! I never wanted an angel, I wanted my son in my arms to stay.  It just isn't fair.