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

Saturday 27 December 2014

Now we know what we have missed.

'Twas the night after Christmas, as all through the house, not a creature was stirring.....except for me. Once again I lay awake in tears while the family lay sleeping. Once again I can't even cry myself to sleep, I can't even manage that. I know that I need to write this blog now. I know that I won't sleep until these churning thoughts are out of my head.

This has been the hardest Boxing Day since that one, that first one, 2011. Bertie's first Chrstmas but not his first. Actually our first without him. This has been our fourth without him and I feel almost as bad as I did then. There have been tears, there have been attempts to escape, to find air, but nowhere to escape to for long enough, far enough. I've hidden it well, I think. I can at least be proud of that. Nobody but my husband knows how difficult I have found today. I have played with my nephew, I have held him. I have listened to relatives talk about their granddaughter, about their and her delight in leaving mince pies for Santa, her suggestion that they leave a brush for him to brush the crumbs from his beard. Their fun in leaving crumbs in the brush as evidence. They don't know how that ripped my heart in two at the realisation that at three, Bertie would now want to leave a plate for Santa. That he never will. That in four Christmases we have made no family traditions, no memories our our boy's childhood. Nor we will. There are no stories for us to share around the table.

My social media news feed has been full of my friends' children today. Of course it has. Of course, that hurts. Of course, I wish I were posting my own pictures of my son, of my son and his younger sibling if truth be told. That was the plan by now.   Each family just posting one charming and innocent picture. It results in a string of torment on my feed. I have not put a status on my main page over Christmas, I don't feel I have anything to say that anyone wants to see.  Of course the simple answer here is to not look over the holidays, a solution I know some people choose, but I don't want to slip back into avoidance. Hiding is not healing. But not hiding sure does hurt.

My nephew's first Christmas. So different from my son's. Yesterday I laid flowers at my son's grave. Today I gifted my nephew two lovingly knitted hats.   I'm watching one grow. The other, I watch the snowdrops begin to grow at his forever bed instead. My husband and I are now learning just what we have missed. But we are not learning it in the way most bereaved parents learn it, through their own rainbow children. Instead I watch from the bench as my younger inlaws raise their little boy.  I get my sort-of, not really, awkward and painful "baby fix" in holding him for a while, then feel my heart break all over again as I hand him back, knowing that tomorrow I will return to a silent house, an empty nursery.   So torn, between wanting to be a great aunty, to love him and play with him and relish it, whilst at the same time attempting to protect myself from the agony of my shattered heart.   I feel an irrational anger that they have bought tree ornaments for him. Bertie has those, they are all Bertie has, can't they leave that for him alone?

I know I did not manage to completely hide my struggle. My father in law knew. He said to me, just think about next year, your own little one will be here, and it will be amazing. I love his heart. But I have told myself that lullaby for four Christmases now.   I think I can be forgiven for a little cynicism, a slight lack of positive mental attitude.  The family mean well.  But I feel my son is the elephant in the room. Do they think-better not mention it, she'll get upset. Or, have I made such a good show of "being fine" that they actually believe that I am?   I know that they don't realise that the combined result of the not mentioning, but talking about all the other children in the family, and having the youngest here with me all day has been a javelin right through my armour today. I wonder what they would say if they did?

If they asked me, I would tell them what I have written here. But they won't, and I won't and we'll all just sweep it right along under the carpet where it belongs, and everyone will be happy and everything will be just fine. Because it's less painful that way, isn't it?

Monday 22 December 2014

How are you feeling about Christmas?

At church yesterday we were asked to turn to the person next to us and ask, "How are you feeling about Christmas?"  A lady I don't know asked me and all I could say was "mixed" before letting her wax lyrical about how she loved Christmas and how excited she was. I smiled and nodded as I remembered feeling that way. She asked me why I felt mixed and I told her that I would be spending it with family, which will be lovely, but there will be one missing. Then I was saved by the bell, so to speak.

At this time of year I find myself drifting back to SANDS. I am not entirely sure why. I don't feel the need to post anything myself, I am not looking for support or empathy, but I find myself thinking of all the newly bereaved parents. Those facing their first Christmas without their precious baby. I read a few of their posts and I desperately want to reach out and comfort them, to tell them that they won't feel this raw pain forever, that it does get easier.  But I also remember how empty "it gets better"
reassurances sounded to me that first year.  I also now know that it does not, infact get"better" as such, just easier to bear. I now know that the only way past the pain is through it. I know these new parents want to press fast forward, I also know that they can't.  So I find myself doing the completely useless action of saying nothing, but crying a little- for their baby or mine I am not even sure.

This year will be a little different in my family's house. It is my nephew's first Christmas, so there will be much joy and excitement on my husband's side of the family. I'm already packing the armour around my heart. I love my nephew and will enjoy spending time with him. But I already know that watching his parents open his gifts will bring me pain on a few levels. Remembering how different Bertie's first Christmas was to my nephew's. Seeing what we missed out on. Jealousy over their joy whilst we still wait for our rainbow... But also love, joy for them and the pleasure of Christmas being about a child in the family again, even if that child is not mine. Just one more challenge. I am grateful it has come this year, when I am strong enough to face it with grace.

Today is Bertie's due date. It is a date I place no conscious importance on at all, and yet somehow every year it jumps out and taunts me. Pokes it's tongue out in a haha! you didn't see that coming did you? kind of way. It's all just part of the what could have been.  And instead of getting an excitable just-turned-three year old ready for the day. I am typing this blog over breakfast before heading off to work. Kinda sucks doesn't it?



Sunday 26 October 2014

A christian's thoughts on IVF




I've been wanting to write this blog for a while, but it's taken a long while to gather my thoughts on this into a coherent prose! I've been doing a lot of reading lately about this topic, as it's pertinent for us at the moment. Isn't it funny how you only really think about certain topics when you find yourself in the situation yourself. I mean, I've known several couples go through IVF and I've just prayed for success for them and that's about it. Now I am about to embark on the process myself and I've had a few months of battling with myself over whether it is the right thing to do. Is is the right thing for a Christian to do? To put it another way, is this what God wants me to do?

Google "IVF for Christians" and you get quite a disheartening response. Page after page of negative answers. IVF is ungodly.... If God wanted you to have a baby, you'd have conceived naturally.... Wait on God, for His perfect timing...There is nothing in the bible on IVF.....  The bible says God knits us together in the mothers' womb....  You shouldn't force God's hand or go against His ordained will... and so on and so forth.   Most of this comes from people who claim to be christians (yet are in my opinion zealots and are giving christianity a bad name) and have never been in this situation and so really, their opinion matters little to me.  But some of it comes from pastors, religious leaders, influential people.  Isn't that sad? Is that really how these leaders want to minister to couples who likely already feel very low self esteem, confusion about God's love for them and are trying to balance their desperate desire for a child against their religious beliefs? Don't people realise that to be asking these questions, christian couples have already put a lot of thought, and a lot more prayer into their decision?

I know that I have. And I want to put down my thoughts, which are where I am at right now, after a great deal of thought and a great deal more prayer.  Not everyone will come to the same conclusion as me, but I felt there was so much negativity and judgement out there that I hope to give an alternative view that may help someome else struggling with this decision.

Firstly. The desire to have children is God given. He places that desire in our hearts, indeed he tells us in the very first book of the bible to "go forth and be fruitful, multiply on the Earth."  Why then would God place this great desire to be a mother on my heart if He did not want me to persue all possible means to fulful it?  Yes, there is "always adoption" and I am open to that possible route to motherhood in the future. But, I also have the drive and desire to birth and feed and raise my own child, which is the most natural desire in the human heart, and has only been made stronger in me by the birth and death of my first son. I cannot turn that desire off and "just adopt" and to attempt to do so would be unfair to any potential adopted child.

The fact that IVF is not mentioned in the bible is a nonsense argument. Neither is chemotherapy. Neither are any modern medical interventions, because (drum roll please...) they didn't exist when the bible was written.   Telling an infertile woman to pray and wait on God for healing if He sees fit is no different to telling a cancer patient not to pursue chemotherapy, and to instead wait to see if God will miraculously heal them. I believe God could, and sometimes does bestow miraculous healings. But if He did that for every human on the planet they would no longer be miraculous, would they?  Instead, He gave us the intelligence and desire for knowledge that has lead to medical advances which allow us to heal each other.   How then is choosing not to use these skills in keeping with God's will?

Yes God knits us together in the mothers womb, and He will do so with IVF babies the same as naturally conceived babies. So what if He begins knitting them in a perti dish? Are IVF babies any less a miracle? Are they not more of a miracle?

One particularly disturbing and upsetting piece I read argued that IVF is on a par with abortion. Because, in this pastor's view, "multiple embryos are created so that the best may be transferred back to the woman and the rest killed"  This is not really truth. Yes, the aim is to fertilise multiple eggs in the hope that at least one will become a healthy embryo and ulitmately a baby.   The rest are not "killed" Any remaining healthy embryos are frozen for later attempts for siblings, whilst any not suitable for freezing are not suitable because they have naturally stopped developing and would also have done so if fertilised naturally.   This is real crux of the matter in my eyes. What happens if after your family is complete, you still have remaining frozen embyos?

I think the answer lies in where you believe life begins. Where is a soul bestowed upon us? Or put another way, when do we stop being a ball of cells and instead become human?  I have come to the conclusion that that point is conception. I can't picture any precise point in human gestation where that transformation happens other than the point at which sperm meets egg. In which case, those embyos, whilst not human yet, have the potential to become so.  Now, not every fertilised egg becomes a baby as we know, but I do believe that we have a responsibility towards the embryos we create through IVF. That is, I could never allow any "extra" embryos of mine to be discarded.  Nor could I allow them to go for research.   So that leaves me with the choice of donating them, or keep having them transferred to me and potentially wind up with a bigger family than we planned! I guess we cross that bridge when it comes, if it comes. Most couples do not end up with lots of "spare" embryos anyway and I would consider myself very lucky if we had to make that decision.

As for waiting on God/not forcing His hand. Well, this point I can take. And this is where prayer comes in, and listening to the real answer, not convincing yourself of the one you want to hear.   Am I, by persuing IVF, potentially missing out on the outcome God had planned for me?  Possibly. But, that argument could be applied to any decision we make in life. Remember, God gave us free will. He wants us to make our own decisions and persue our own goals.  Do I believe Bertie died because it wasn't God's plan for me to be pregnant yet? Of course not!  But, I do believe that if I knew what God knows and saw what God sees, I would want what He wants for me.  Hence I pray for His guidance when making major life decisions.  For me, personally, I feel God is telling me to go for IVF. Ever since I started really seriously asking God if this was the right thing to do, doors have been opening for us with regards to IVF treatment, and so I feel at peace with the decision to do it.  Another couple may feel God telling them this isn't right, and that is OK too.

Each couple needs to make their own decision on this, after careful thought and prayer. But I do feel strongly that as christian friends, supports, family and leaders, it is very important to have an educated and balanced view, and not to add to a couple's burden of worry and stress by passing judgement on them for persuing fertility treatments.   It is up to the couple, ultimately, to decide how far is too far in following what science and medicine can do for us.  I know in my mind what I will and won't do with IVF and this isn't the place to share it as my opinion will differ from someone else's.  I am fortunate in that nobody has been judgemental or nagative about my decision so far (to my face anyway) but I have been careful about who I have told for fear of such judgement.   Feel free to comment below if you think it appropriate, but as ever I will remove any offensive comments.


Friday 12 September 2014

Three: It doesn't get better, it gets different.


This morning a colleague asked me how I am doing. I was suprised she asked and was honest with her. I was suprised again when by the end of our chat, she started to cry- and I didn't.
I told her that I am ok, but that it would be Bertie's third birthday next Thursday, so it's a difficult time for me. She said the expected stock answer "it takes time."  Usually at this point I just say yes and smile and carry on about my day. But something made me engage her a little further this morning. I said, "Well yes, it is in some ways easier than it has been the last two years, but in other ways it is harder. He would be three. He would understand now what a birthday was all about- he'd be getting excited and pestering me about his birthday. It's different".  And it is. The grief is not all-consuming as it was. It is "better" in that sense. I am coping well and getting on with living. But, the hurt is still as bad as it was. The hole in my soul and my life remains as wide and deep and empty as it ever was. My birthday yesterday was happier than the past two- but it still hurt aswell. It still represents another year gone by without Bertie and without a rainbow. 

She told me about her aunt who lost a child, and was still grieving well into her seventies. I told her about my grandmother's last words to my parents, asking where her lost baby Jacqueline was.  She told me she knew it would never go and I said no, it won't. I will never be over it. I'm coping, I'm living, but the hurt is still here (tapping my heart.) She walked off in tears and I stood there suprised, and  impassively wondered if she regretted asking me how I was doing in the first place.

Is this how it changes? Has it become just another part of my life, something to mention now and then in a matter of fact way like redundancy or moving house? Yes it hurts, enourmously. And yes I cry, at home, in the car, now as I type this, in bed when I can't sleep....but not when I talk to people. It's like I am telling a story- telling it how it is, but I rarely cry now when I talk. Have I become used to it? The telling I mean?

And why was I surprised that she got upset? Did my lack of visible emotion give her the space to express hers? Because she was not needed in the role of comforter, did that give her space to truly put herself in my shoes, or her aunt's?  She has no idea what a gift she has given me, through showing me that side. By demonstrating to me that empathy. It's so much more comforting than platitudes. Of course she cannot totally empathise with me. of course she does not know and can hardly imagine the depths of my pain- but for a few seconds, I think she allowed herself to try.

I wonder how this grief will evolve in the future. Will I stay in this limbo forever? In this getting on with it- but not happy, not fulfilled, making the best of a bad situation -life? I wonder where in society my husband and I fit now. We gave up the life of a childless young married couple three and a half years ago when we saw those two pink lines. We made a mental shift to parenthood and all our hopes, dreams and plans revolved around that.   There's no going back from that. You can go through the motions of being a childless young couple again, and you can tell yourself isn't it great that we can be spontaneous and sleep in at weekends and go out when we choose and etc etc etc...but it's empty. We don't want those things any more. We don't fit in with our friends who do, but we can't find common ground with our parent friends either.   I don't know where we go from here, how to carve a new life for us.

My husband thinks he could be happy if we never have a living child. I don't. My every waking thought is consumed with the pursuit of motherhood. Either with striving towards brining a living baby home, or of finding new ways to be a mother to Bertie. As I said to my mother in law in response to her pleas for me to find something else to fill my life- What else is there?

Saturday 30 August 2014

What would I tell my pre-bereaved self?

I've just seen an interesting question on facebook: "If you could go back in time to visit yourself, before you became bereaved, what would you say to yourself?" It got me thinking, and when I think I usually blog, so here are my thoughts.  

I would tell her to enjoy every moment of pregnancy, but not to take a second for granted. To keep a diary and write down every thing you felt, the first kick, and every one after it.  Feeling sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. And then feeling wonderful! Every hiccup, the feeling of euphoria after each scan....everything. You'll wish you had later. You will want to remember it all.   Share everything with your husband- tell him about everything you feel, so he feels the same attachment to the baby you do.

To take more photos of yourself pregnant. Don't wait until you get bigger. Just do it now- all through. Dressed up, dressed down, on you own and as a family. Take them.

Don't leave your home full of baby magazines, leaflets and vouchers on every surface. Put them away so if the worst happens, you don't have to come home to it all everywhere.  Avoid signing up to emails from baby companies.

Don't work so hard. You will manage without the extra money. Listen to your body. When you get tired, STOP. 

When he is born, take more photos. And more again. Never mind they all look the same- you'll want them when they are all you have left.  Pose for photos with the three of you in them-smiling and happy- you will wish you had them.

Never mind if you are exhausted. Spend. Every. Second in NICU with him. Just watching, smelling, soaking in every inch of him.

At the end, ask them for his hat.

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This may read like a list of regrets. I suppose in some ways it is. It's a wish-I-had...list. I wonder if I will follow it if I ever manage to get pregnant again.

Tuesday 26 August 2014

The many perspectives of grief

I had a conversation with Bertie's grandma at the weekend. One which left me a little shocked as to how far apart our views on grief, and missing him, and how to deal with it really are.  She commented that he is "all over my house" and didn't I think it would be easier on me if I kept him to the nursery? That way I could go in and look whenever I wanted?

Err.....no. Actually I am trying very hard to keep him out of the nursery. It isn't his nursery, not any more. Since we moved, since we packed that room away and filled this new one, I drew a line in my mind. He is no longer a baby, that is no longer his room. That is the room we don't use right now, but it's waiting to be filled soon we hope. Wouldn't making it a shrine to Bertie be a little creepy? Or did she mean to suggest I should pack him away in a drawer? I don't know what she meant, I am not sure she did either. I told her that for me, I need to have him all around, that it brings me comfort. In fact, I explained that it was very hard for me now that a photo of my nephew is proudly displayed on her mantlepiece, but not one of Bertie (there never was).  She told me that she doesn't want to be reminded. I told her that I cannot ever forget. By never mentioning his name, by not displaying his photo, I am not going to feel better about his death.  I am not going to forget for a second. 

I have just finished making his third birthday gift, ready to take to his forever bed in a few weeks. She doesn't know I do this each year and would probably worry about me if she did know. She would see this as torturing myself, making it worse for myself.  I don't, I really don't.  It brings me comfort to do things for him. Sure, it crosses my mind that I could have been making a "3" birthday cake instead of a grave decoration, and yes, of course that's a painful thought...but, not doing anything at all for him is not going to make that thought disappear. Rather, having a little project to do fills the  painful days in the run up to his birthday.  Buying things for him does nothing for me. I know a lot of bereaved parents find comfort in buying toys etc to take to their baby's forever bed. Not me, I know he does not need toys and buying them just feels odd. But making something at least gives me a chance to be a mum in a small way.  A chance to show my love for my son.



Having his photos on display, well, I know that's a contentious issue. Most bereaved parents I know choose to display them, or would dearly love to but feel they can't for fear of judgement.   I am "lucky". I have photos of my son alive, and those are the ones I have on my wall. I don't see it as any different to my brother in law and his wife proudly displaying photos of their son all over their lounge. It's no different to any parent. Yet, my mother in law thinks it is strange to display photos of someone who had died. As do lots of people.   I told her you wouldn't take a photo down of a parent or sibling after they die and she said no, but....(but what, exactly? What is the difference??) 

I wonder what you all think about this? Do you think it is strange, or right, or even acceptable, to have photos on the wall of a baby who has died? Do you think it is weird to try and create new images, by writing his name in the sand for instance? Do you think I make it worse for myself by making gifts for him? I'm asking purely because I am curious.  I won't be offended (but I will remove any comments I think are impolite) and I know that everyone has to grieve in their own way.  I am just interested to know how my own variety of grief looks through the eyes of people who aren't related to me, especially those who have not been through a loss like this. Please feel free to leave a comment, anonymously if you wish.

Wednesday 6 August 2014

The promise of new life

I have been feeling pretty glum today, and was fully intending to write about that.  How after almost three years, the only identities I see for myself are childless mother and now, barren wife. How Bertie's third birthday is fast approaching and I can feel myself slipping back into grief over another milestine he will never see. I still feel those things, but, they are no longer the things I want to write about.

I've just been for a run (amazing how much that helps-those endorphines they talk about really do exist apparently!) and decided to water the garden when I got back.  What I saw took my breath away for a moment.  New life, everywhere! Bertie's rose has five buds, and they are buldging, ready to burst out early, before the spring, before their time- a bit like him. My honeysuckle has a beautiful show of bright red berries, and also some tiny buds just forming. Even the basil has sprouted flowers! Its amazing, and beautiful, when  you really look. I mean, really. Stop, and look. Take it in, take a photo. God's work. I plant them, He makes them grow. And why should it be any different with my children? My rainbow will come. I just need to wait for His timing.

Friday 25 July 2014

A moment so small, and yet too huge for words.

I'm sat barefoot in my new preferred writing space-my garden. I have just got back from a run and my cat is sat on the table infront of me as the sun sets. I am not sure why that is relevant, but I suppose I just want to covey the peacefulness of my current scene. Bertie is here too, his rose is growing and doing well, and now he has his own garden sign. Blue wellies, naturally.


A worship song just came on the iPod......yes.

I want to share something with you. Something that many of you will dismiss, others will think I'm crazy, or deluded, or sweetly naive. But some of you just may be encouraged, and that makes it worth sharing.

Last week on holiday, I am certain I experienced God's healing. I was laying in bed, listening to one of my relaxation tracks, trying to still my mind and drop off. Not an unusual scene so far.  But as I lay there, after a few minutes, I felt a warmth, light spreading through me. Call me crazy if you like but I felt The Lord's hand on me. I felt lighter, happier and healthier than I have felt in months, years now.  It only lasted a few moments, but it happened. It was subtle, yet it was crystal clear. It was beyond my ability to describe properly.

I don't know if He healed my body, my heart or my mind, maybe all three.  I am grateful for either or all of them.  I don't know which. But, passing the school I hope my rainbow will one day attend whilst on my run tonight, I smiled as I pictured them in the playground- rather than crying in desperation because I've lost hope......so maybe I'm not so crazy afterall.






Monday 30 June 2014

I'm a Raggy Doll

The process of infertility treatment-that's what it is, a process- is exhausting. There is a lot of waiting, and that in itself is exhausting, when you are so desperate to move forwards. It's like a series of hoops to jump through, which you do, but the floor is a conveyor belt-and it's moving backwards. This means that every time you jump through a hoop, the floor moves back so that when you land, you are right back where you started. Exhausting, huh? You feel that despite doing so many things, making it through so many hoops, you aren't getting any further forwards on that conveyor.

You you daren't stop, oh no, if you stop, you'll move backwards with the conveyor belt and wind up falling into the reject bin. Or worse, The Pit. I'm perilously close to The Pit right now after yet another hoop cleared and I'm no better off. Almost three years since Bertie died and more than a year with the fertility clinic and I am honestly no closer to my goal of being a rainbow mummy.  It's devastating. I'm Sadsack.


Thursday 26 June 2014

Her faith is strong.

I believe that God has already answered my prayer. I AM going to be a mummy again. I just don't know when.

Monday 2 June 2014

From hopeful to tearful and back again-turning on a sixpence.

An up and down time. Again. More down than up, if I'm honest, but trying to tread water so to speak. Not down in The Pit, thank heavens, but pretty low none the less. Frustrated. Time spent researching the next step, because this one apparently didn't work, again. Time spent reading scripture, and making myself encouragement cards, pinning them up on the kitchen wall... reading them every day and feeling, "yeah, you say that, but..."

It's tough. I know it's not meant to be easy. He said "take up your cross and follow me" He didn't say- "this way to an easy life"....but really, this hard? This much hurt? For this long?

The trade off is growth. Spiritual development, closer relationship with Him. I know that, yep that has happened, but it has come with a price. A price of anger, dissatisfaction, questioning.  Why am I being tested so much? Why is it no to me but yes to everyone else?

There are many blessings. Many, many blessings, and I thank Him for them every day. I've listed them in this space, more than once, and the list gets longer. And yet it all feels so empty.  I stand and look out over my garden, that garden I love so much, and I see him, my boy- nearly three, running, playing, laughing.  And I break a little bit more inside. 

I picture siblings, aged about five, the best age there is. I see football with daddy and picnics and camping...hope, then poof! An empty garden and the tears come. They aren't there. Will they ever be?

I stand in the smallest room, complete yet empty. The room with no purpose but so much potential. So much love.  And I sigh. And I cry.  And I pick up my knitting for someone else's baby.

A question: What is the good of the strongest mother heart, in a broken body that can't do it's part?

Tuesday 13 May 2014

The gift that is a moment of peace.


It's been a tough few days. I've been really down. Doubtful. Will God ever grant my heart's desire? Thinking He isn't going to. After all I've been through, will it still be NO? Call me Thomas. Starting to think about adoption. I'm not ready.  I'm not ready to give up on my dream. Of birthing, holding, feeding my newborn. Of redemption.   Will there be a rainbow for me?  I just don't know anymore.
Adoption is a wonderful, wonderful thing. But it isn't redemption. It isn't, yes, I CAN do this. It isn't the rush of love in holding my own flesh and blood. But it IS love. A different love. A coming to love. It's a long journey of its own, after the long journey we have already walked. Nay, crawled.
Turmoil in my mind. A nephew due in four weeks. Wanting to be happy for them. Wanting to be excited at the prospect. Actually being numb.  Looking at photos of someone else's little blue babygrows drying after the first wash in readiness. Memories of doing that. The excitement, the readiness....will I ever need to "be ready" again?
Prayer. Thoughts on prayer, working on prayer. Prayers. For peace. For not doubting. For trust. HELP ME!!! please?
Then this afternoon, at 2.10pm. It hit me like a wave. Not grief, peace. I felt it wash over and through me. I physically relaxed. I thought- wow! This is peace. It is OK.  What a gift. A moment. A lifting, an embracing, an answer to prayer.
A mixture of two verses entered my head: 
John 14:27 Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

John 16:33 I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

 Take heart! I have overcome the world. 

Nothing is impossible for Him.

Sunday 4 May 2014

International Bereaved Mothers' day

That's today. Not Star Wars day, Bereaved Mothers' Day. Did you know that?
Probably not, afterall, Hallmark haven't caught on yet....

I'm sat in Starbucks, because we recently moved and don't have internet at home yet. I came here with the sole purpose of using their free wifi to write this blog...and yet here I am with the last dregs of my chocolate-cream overpriced glorified milkshake staring at the iPad and being sarcastic, evidently I have writers block. I've procrastinated all I can and it's time to write. So here goes.

Where am I?

The first thing that strikes me is that I'm in Starbucks. This is relevant, hugely. On my first bereaved Mother's Day there is no way I would have come to a Starbucks. In spring. On bank holiday Sunday. No way, no how.  The thought would have horrified me utterly. Too many families, too many babies. Buggies everywhere I looked and me thinking, screaming inside:  THAT SHOULD BE ME! This year, year three, is different.  Don't get me wrong, they still bother me, other people's babies that is. It still gives me a little stab in the heart, but at least it no longer rips my heart out altogether. I no longer think that should, be me becuase let's face it, it shouldn't- I should have a toddler now. No what I think now is, why isn't it me? Why am I still a childless mother, two and a half years on? And that is what gets to me more.

I recently felt comfortable enough with a new group of friends to tell them my story. They are Christians and I wanted their advice on the jealousy I feel about other pregnant women.  I ended up explaining the whole story, because I needed to for them to understand where I am coming from.  Telling them made me realise that there has been a shift in my grief. That I still grieve deeply for my son, but actually the thing that is really getting me down right now, in truth, is the inability to conceive again. That is what I am jealous of other women for.  I found myself telling Bertie's abridged story, and moving quickly on to how unfair it is that after all this time, there is no rainbow baby for me.  I guess it is all the harder because the grief of infertility comes hot on the tails of the grief of Bertie's loss. It simply is NOT fair to be going through both. It's inconceivable, if you'll excuse the pun.

My new house is filled with evidence of him. But, it isn't evidence of his existence, it is evidence that he existed. Past tense. Instead of crayons, toys and shoes scattered about my home, there are memory boxes, poems, and ornaments.  The smallest room in the house contains the nursery furniture. But it is not the nursery, it's just the smallest room in the house- the one that we have no reason to go into.

One relief. It isn't his room. It's the furniture we bought for him to use, it houses his memory box for now and my favourite Winnie the Pooh quote as a nod to him, but this is not his room. We said goodbye to that room a long time ago, and this is a new room, waiting for his rainbow sibling. It will be decorated in readiness when the time comes. Bertie has no need for a nursery, he is all through the house, king of whatever castle he chooses. I hope he chooses ours the most.

And now I'm crying in Starbucks. Time to go.








Sunday 2 March 2014

Lenten joys and thankful things

This year, for lent, I am giving up Facebook. Many of my nearest and dearest are fairly skeptical (read:cynical) about my ability to do this...and I have to admit, I am inclined to feel the same! But, I am determined, I am on a mission of sheer will power, I will do this. (or, I will have {easter} egg on my face).

Why? Several reasons:

-Because I use it too much
-Because I have realised I check it more out of habit than enjoyment
-Because more often than not something I see there upsets me
-Because I put so much on my facebook page I have nothing to say whan I actually SEE people
-Because it's lent, and I want to give up something. And chocolate was not an option.

Instead I want to use this space to speak happiness, to focus on the good things in life, things I am grateful for and things that I am mindful that I have and others' do not. Or, if I'm honest, it's a way to update my status every day, without actually updating my status!

So stand by for the gradual unfurling of 46 days of lenten joy!

1. Today I am grateful to live in a democratic country, not under threat of war. Praying for peaceful resolution in Ukraine.
2. For answered prayers in the form of our buyers agreeing to wait until the end of the month to complete-so we don't have to find temporary accommodation!
3. I'm very glad for randomly booked days off, that turn out to be perfect timing for loads of things
that suddenly need to be done!
4. I am grateful for the kindness and help of very good friends today, and for the opportunity to share a meal with them as thanks.
5. Delighted to come across this blog post. Lovely to read your own feelings put into words so well by somebody else.  A good reminder not to be so hard on myself for my "jealous" feelings, which in
reality are something much more complex.  Also loving her comments on "infertility and stress" and the far more helpful things people could say instead.
6. Needing to wear my sunglasses for the drive to AND from work today! :)
7. Last night when I was using a second pair of glasses to try and magnify the tiny, poor contrast print I was trying to read (and getting extremely frustrated about it) I was reminded of the many patients I see every day for whom reading and seeing is like this all the time. So today I am grateful for my good eyesight, and will see my low vision patients with a fresh understanding and sympathy.
8. So grateful today for the HUGE weight that has been lifted from my shoulders.
9. We are seeing the first signs of spring, my favourite time of year :)
10. HURRAH for onesies!
11. Huge gratitude for family friends, hospital staff, careers and strangers all caring for and about my health and well being.
12. Pleased to be healing well and back on my feet quickly :)
13. Life is finally turning a huge corner and I feel HAPPY and HOPEFUL! HURRAH!
14. Glad to have made it through two weeks of no facebook, not missing it, and people are still keeping in touch :)
15. The book group I started is proving to be a success! Love books :)
16. Last night as I lay awake worrying about our impending flat sale and the fact we haven't
exchanged yet, I was reminded of how lucky I am to have a roof over my head at all. So today I will be thinking of and praying for all those people in the world who are not so lucky.
17. Parents.
18. Huge gratitude for all the people who have offered to help us today!
19. Waking up in our new (temporary) home having successfully moved in
20. The bravery of Amanda Holden and all the bereaved parents on tonights dispatches and renewed gratitude for the care we received after Bertie died.
21. Finally, nearly two years to the day since we put it on the market, we have completed on the sale of our flat!
22. For the hug and "you've changed my life" from a patient yesterday that makes my job worthwhile :)
23. There have been so many answers to prayer for myself and people in my life this week, it's very encouraging.
24. The repairs to our new house are complete and we are on track to move in at Easter!
25. The couple selling us their house have told us they are leaving the curtains and wardrobes, really helping us out financially.
26. Waking up on this third Mothers' day without my son with more hope in my heart than in pprevious years. Despite the pain I feel hope that maybe this will be my last with only a child in heaven to love.
27. My lovely cat Pippa. Because she has to feature in here somewhere!
28. It's April! This month we finally get to
move into the home we hope to fill with tiny feet. New beginnings :)
29. Grateful for my thicker skin and it not hurting *quite* so much when people ask me if I have any children, or tell me they are pregnant with their second baby since mine died, both of which happened today.
30. My mothers' day daffodils are so bittersweet, but remind me of the beauty of spring. So today I am thankful for Spring, my favourite season.
31. Feeling glad I started this project and realising again how I have so much to be thankful for
32. Lovely walks appreciating tbe beauty of the world around me.
33. Today I saw my first clutch of ducklings for the year! For some reason ducklings make me happy. I adore them! So they are my thankful thing for today.
34. Ten days and counting eep!
35. Today I saw a rainbow. They make me smile almost as much as ducklings :)
36. The hope and encouragement found in John chaptets 14-17. Particularly ch16 v33 "in this world you will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world"
37. My heart is opening to the possability of adoption. I will be a mummy, somehow, someday.
37. We have exchanged contracts on our new house!! Moce in next week :) what a joy, what a blessing! woohooooo!
38. Given all the expenses we have right now, today's joy was going to buy our white goods and finding they were all in the Easter sale so we came in under budget hurrah!
39. I woke up this morning with it on my heart to make a blanket for my nephew, due in June. Choosing a gift for him is something I've been alternately worrying about and refusing to think about, so to feel with clarity and certainty that I can, and actually want to make it is wonderful, a huge step forwards for me.
40. Less than a week to go and despite daily emails from Facebook telling me I have notifications pending, I have resisted the urge to cheat! Proud of my willpower! Now if only I could do the same with sweets....!
41. Packing to move again- and this time it's permanent!! :D
42. What a beautiful day! Also, one more sleep! :)
43. Joy is found in the first cup of tea in our new home!
44. I believe and trust in a God who knows what it is to suffer. Christ died. Horrifically. For me.
45. We have lovely new neighbours! 1st day here and we have two welcome cards and a bottle of wine!
46. HE IS RISEN!!

Sunday 9 February 2014

The lines I shouldn't write

Some people, when they read this, may feel offended or upset. I hope that they understand that is not my intention. That I have agonised for weeks over whether to write this blog, but in the end it comes down to a simple fact. The only way to effectively prevent my emotions from pulling me back into The Pit, is to express them. And since people, for the most part, are not comfortable talking to me about this stuff, the only effective way I have of expressing them, is through my blog.

And so I will begin.

I am feeling left behind.  My friends' rainbows are reaching a year old now, one by one that milestone is passing for those new little families, and I am still here, still trying so desperately for my own rainbow.  When I wrote two years ago about them all conceiving one by one and how I struggled with it not being me, when I wrote about those babies being born one by one, and I was still trying...did I imagine I would still be in the same place, as those babies became toddlers? Yes, in my nightmares I did, I feared it...but I hoped, prayed, and begged that it wouldn't happen this way. It has.  Whilst I am still trudging up and down the snakes and ladders board, they are no longer standing on the finish square, cheering me on. They have moved on to a new game of mums and tots. I can't blame them, but it hurts to feel so left behind, forgotten, given up on.

People have stopped telling me it will be my turn soon. They seem to have accepted that it won't be. Now I am asked, "will you adopt?" I am told, "well, it's going to keep happening isn't it" when I mention feeling sad and jealous that someone I know has fallen pregnant without even trying, again.  Yes, the unspoken thought they appear to have- it is going to keep happening.... so just get over it

People tell me "you need to let go now" Let go of what, exactly? The anger? the hurt? My son? How do I break an unbreakable bond? I miss him, it's agony. I'm desperate to be a mummy again, it's agony. I'm going to be an aunty...it's agony. 

I'm sorry, but it is. I wish so much it could be different. It's a knife wound in my broken heart. Its a mockery of my broken body. It's a boy. It's agony.  I have to watch them live my dream. They've been granted the life I was cheated of, handed it on a plate. The life I've been praying for.  I feel cheated of the relationship I should have with my nephew.  I should be so excited.  I should be handing down the things Bertie has finished with...instead I will have to hold back tears as he does all the things Bertie will never do.   I begged it would be me first. No. I begged it would take a few months at least. No. I begged it would be a girl.....NO!

Now I am begging for it to be my turn before he is born.  Guess what I think the answer will be?

A week on Friday I go for my operation. I am excited and terrified in equal measure.  I am excited that maybe this will be the golden ticket I have been waiting for. Maybe this will work! Maybe I will be able to conceive soon after!  On the other hand, maybe there will be another problem, maybe they will find something else wrong...maybe it won't work.  I am trying to stay positive, but after so many "no" answers....could you?


Sunday 12 January 2014

There's pain in the offering

Tears in church again today. We sang one of my favourite worship songs which really speaks to me. I sang with open arms and tears on my face and surrendered. Below are the abridged lyrics,  I encourage you to listen to the full track here


Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name

Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord, blessed be Your name

Matt Redman.

There is indeed pain in the offering. I do not understand it. I really don't. I suppose I am not meant to. It is so easy to love and praise God when "the world's all as it should be", but so much harder when everything is wrong.  If I believe in eternal life, what have I to fear? I don't fear death. I fear life. A lifetime feeling like this. I am so afraid it is never going to get better.  I am trying my hardest to trust, to believe the God is working things out for me, but it is not easy.

Not easy at all.

How am I meant to trust a God that allowed my son to die?









No, I don't know the answer either. But that's the point of faith, isn't it?