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, 9 February 2014
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?
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?
Sunday, 29 December 2013
Gratitude.
Another Christmas over, another new year approaching, another chance to reflect on another year gone by. We are about to enter into our third year of trying again. We never imagined it would take this long, never imagined what we would have to go through to get our rainbow. It's been tough, really tough, on top of the indescribable grief of losing a child. And yet, I am reminding myself, once again, of all the things I have to be grateful for. I guess doing so prevents me from falling back in The Pit. Back into despair. It would be so easy to let go and fall back in, to wallow in the tar, but I won't let that happen. I will think, briefly, of my friends' rainbows growing up, of other friends, and family who didn't have to try, of all the people I know who, for one reason or another, had the most amazing 2012, 2013...whilst I, well, didn't. And then I will stop, take stock, and reflect on what I do have. What I am grateful for, and I surprise myself, that actually, there's quite a lot...
I am grateful for my husband. I have lost count of the times he has held my heaving body as I sob at yet another failure. Another dissappointment. How many times has he told me he doesn't want another woman, one who would have given him a baby by now? How many times has he told me I am not broken, that I am perfect as I am, that he loves me. How many times has he sat in silence. Out of words. Broken by grief and disappointment himself but unwilling to show it as he knows I will just blame myself all the more. I am so grateful.
I am grateful for my marriage. Same thing in a way, but not. How many couples have split over the stress of either child loss, or infertility? How many would survive both? I know we will never face anything worse than we already have. We buried our boy. If we can do that we can do anything. We are solid. How many people do I know who long for that? Trust me when I tell you that I do not take it for granted.
I am grateful for my family, especially my mum and my sister, who show their love for my son nearly as much as I do. They understand what I need and they do it. Others support in their own way too, and again, I know many people who do not have the support network that I have.
I have a roof over my head, and what's more, I own it. (well, a few bricks of it at least). Many of you know I've been complaining a lot over the past year about not being able to sell this place, and now, thank God, we have. And I am so grateful, to even have it, let alone to have sold it. We get to have a fresh start, in a new home, leaving behind the sadness these walls contain. I know how lucky I am in this respect.
I love my job. I do! How may people get to say that? Yes, since my world fell apart, there are aspects of it which I find hard...but on the whole, it is challenging, engaging, interesting, well respected and well paid. Plus I get a great pension deal! In a country where unemployment is high, and job satisfaction is low, I am one of the lucky ones.
I'm grateful that I live in a country where treatment is not only available, but free. I love the NHS. It frustrates the heck out of me at times, but we are so lucky to have it. When I get frustrated talking to american friends about their latest treatment and that they get it pretty much instantly whilst I have to wait weeks at a time, I remind myself just how much they are paying for that treatment. I wonder often, what we would have had to pay for our two days with Bertie? Would they even have given us two days, or would we have had to prove we could pay first? Could we have paid? It doesn't bear thinking about. Nor does the end of the line with help trying again. But I know that the end of the line would have come a lot sooner for us if we didn't have the NHS helping us on this journey.
I am grateful that I had him. Not that I lost him, never that, but I am grateful I got to experience pregnancy, and moreover that I got to meet him. I am grateful for the ways in which he has changed me, I believe for the better, you may not agree.
I am grateful for my faith. Although I question it daily, I am so grateful that I know he is in Heaven, he is watching me and waiting for me, and that I will see him again. Without that, I don't think I would have survived this.
So please don't think me maudlin, or grief-focused, or ungrateful. I am not. But. Despite all of this, my son is not here, and I would give up all the material stuff in a heartbeat to have him back. The one thing in the world I want is being denied to me, despite having all my ducks in a row, despite being oh so ready to be a mum. Yes, my husband and I have each other, and yes, I have a nice life in other ways. But had Bertie lived....I would still have all of those things and so much more. I'd be whole. Had I been blessed with a rainbow...I'd be broken but patched up. I would have a purpose.
I am grateful for my husband. I have lost count of the times he has held my heaving body as I sob at yet another failure. Another dissappointment. How many times has he told me he doesn't want another woman, one who would have given him a baby by now? How many times has he told me I am not broken, that I am perfect as I am, that he loves me. How many times has he sat in silence. Out of words. Broken by grief and disappointment himself but unwilling to show it as he knows I will just blame myself all the more. I am so grateful.
I am grateful for my marriage. Same thing in a way, but not. How many couples have split over the stress of either child loss, or infertility? How many would survive both? I know we will never face anything worse than we already have. We buried our boy. If we can do that we can do anything. We are solid. How many people do I know who long for that? Trust me when I tell you that I do not take it for granted.
I am grateful for my family, especially my mum and my sister, who show their love for my son nearly as much as I do. They understand what I need and they do it. Others support in their own way too, and again, I know many people who do not have the support network that I have.
I have a roof over my head, and what's more, I own it. (well, a few bricks of it at least). Many of you know I've been complaining a lot over the past year about not being able to sell this place, and now, thank God, we have. And I am so grateful, to even have it, let alone to have sold it. We get to have a fresh start, in a new home, leaving behind the sadness these walls contain. I know how lucky I am in this respect.
I love my job. I do! How may people get to say that? Yes, since my world fell apart, there are aspects of it which I find hard...but on the whole, it is challenging, engaging, interesting, well respected and well paid. Plus I get a great pension deal! In a country where unemployment is high, and job satisfaction is low, I am one of the lucky ones.
I'm grateful that I live in a country where treatment is not only available, but free. I love the NHS. It frustrates the heck out of me at times, but we are so lucky to have it. When I get frustrated talking to american friends about their latest treatment and that they get it pretty much instantly whilst I have to wait weeks at a time, I remind myself just how much they are paying for that treatment. I wonder often, what we would have had to pay for our two days with Bertie? Would they even have given us two days, or would we have had to prove we could pay first? Could we have paid? It doesn't bear thinking about. Nor does the end of the line with help trying again. But I know that the end of the line would have come a lot sooner for us if we didn't have the NHS helping us on this journey.
I am grateful that I had him. Not that I lost him, never that, but I am grateful I got to experience pregnancy, and moreover that I got to meet him. I am grateful for the ways in which he has changed me, I believe for the better, you may not agree.
I am grateful for my faith. Although I question it daily, I am so grateful that I know he is in Heaven, he is watching me and waiting for me, and that I will see him again. Without that, I don't think I would have survived this.
So please don't think me maudlin, or grief-focused, or ungrateful. I am not. But. Despite all of this, my son is not here, and I would give up all the material stuff in a heartbeat to have him back. The one thing in the world I want is being denied to me, despite having all my ducks in a row, despite being oh so ready to be a mum. Yes, my husband and I have each other, and yes, I have a nice life in other ways. But had Bertie lived....I would still have all of those things and so much more. I'd be whole. Had I been blessed with a rainbow...I'd be broken but patched up. I would have a purpose.
Monday, 23 December 2013
Christmas pain
For so long now I have been so focused on the next baby. I must get pregnant again, then it will be ok....but it won't will it? The grief will still be there. Christmas will still be painful. One photo, one beautiful/painful memory and I'm in bits. Longing to hold him again, longing to smell his hair. To feel him wriggle free because he's a big boy now and he wants to run, not sit on my knee. My heart torn once again when I remember he will never run. That tomorrow I will take his Christmas gifts of red and white carnations and sparkly red robins to his grave. Christmas eve because I can't bear it on Christmas day. I can't bear the missing him and I can't bear the guilt.
I can't bear it.
Never. ending. torture.
I miss him.
Sunday, 22 December 2013
The third Christmas
I want to tell you, those of you who are not as far on their journey, it is easier this year. Or more truthfully, it isn't so painful. I haven't spent the last six weeks dreading Christmas, but nor am I looking forward to it. This year, I feel mostly apathy. Well that's progress, right? I've put up the tree, and enjoyed with happysad tears watching Bertie make his candle dance in his excitement. I have started a new tradition of buying a toy for a disadvantaged child his age- man was that tough, and I have managed successfully for third year to get everything done early enough to avoid all the hype in town. But I'm not excited. I am not looking forward to it, I just want it over.
I'm keeping it short and simple this year, family stuff 24th-27th then back to home turf, can do. Yep. Going to be totally fine.
Isn't it?
There's another side to it for me. This is not only the third Christmas without our son, it is also the third without the hope of a rainbow. I am telling myself for the third time, next year will be my year.....It's getting old. It's getting hard to believe. Not only do I cry over missing seeing his excitement as I turn on the tree lights, I cry as I wonder if I will ever see the excited face of my child at Christmas. Will the only gift I will ever by for my child be decorations for a grave?
And I don't understand it. I just don't. I ask of God, wasn't taking my son enough? Why are You putting me through this torment, again and again? People tell me I don't deserve this, and it isn't a punishment...well it sure feels like it! If God is in control, and I am not being punished....then what the heck is going on here?
A year ago today I wrote about it being Bertie's due date, and I didn't know how much more my shattered heart could take. Today I sit here writing that I have only just realised what date it even is....but my heart? Still shattered. I'm still desparate, still bitter, still exhausted, and still angry. I feel broken, physically, emotionally, faithfully.
Christmas. "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given". Only not to us. Never to us.
I'm keeping it short and simple this year, family stuff 24th-27th then back to home turf, can do. Yep. Going to be totally fine.
Isn't it?
There's another side to it for me. This is not only the third Christmas without our son, it is also the third without the hope of a rainbow. I am telling myself for the third time, next year will be my year.....It's getting old. It's getting hard to believe. Not only do I cry over missing seeing his excitement as I turn on the tree lights, I cry as I wonder if I will ever see the excited face of my child at Christmas. Will the only gift I will ever by for my child be decorations for a grave?
And I don't understand it. I just don't. I ask of God, wasn't taking my son enough? Why are You putting me through this torment, again and again? People tell me I don't deserve this, and it isn't a punishment...well it sure feels like it! If God is in control, and I am not being punished....then what the heck is going on here?
A year ago today I wrote about it being Bertie's due date, and I didn't know how much more my shattered heart could take. Today I sit here writing that I have only just realised what date it even is....but my heart? Still shattered. I'm still desparate, still bitter, still exhausted, and still angry. I feel broken, physically, emotionally, faithfully.
Christmas. "Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given". Only not to us. Never to us.
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Holding baby
Today I faced a very big hurdle; for the first time since Bertie, I held a baby. A little boy, not quite eight weeks' old. I've been very anxious about this for a long time, all through my friend's pregnancy and since he has been born. How will I cope? Will I be able to visit? Will I cry if/when I do? How much will this hurt? Today, it felt like time. Maybe the therapy helped, maybe it was just a step I needed to take now. I knew I couldn't live in fear of this forever. I couldn't avoid all babies and all friends with babies until my rainbow arrives.
I wanted so badly for the next baby I held to be my own. Life wasn't to allow me that. I felt bitter about that for a long time, I don't mind admitting. Haven't I been through enough? I asked, over and over. In a way though, maybe it was better this way. Maybe I needed to hold anther baby, before I could have my own. Would I really want to face that fear right after giving birth? Would I want to remember Bertie's last breath and fear my rainbow was about to do the same? I don't want fear to spoil that moment when my dreams come true. And now, maybe it won't. The fear has been faced, conquered, put in it's place.
Visiting and chatting was fine, I was anxious but OK as my friend held and fed him. We both knew what was going to come and I guess we were both a little anxious about it. I honestly didn't know until she asked me whether I wanted to hold him or not. When the question came, I felt the anxiety rise, the familiar tingle in the heart and sharp stab of adrenaline running down my arms. I surprised myself when I said through stifled tears....yes...I do. And I did. I really did.
As she handed him to me and I settled him into my arms, I felt fine. Peaceful. The anxiety melted away. The tears came when I gave him my finger, and he squeezed. That was the moment I was back with another little boy, gripping my finger with all his strength. But I was able to seperate the two. I could remember my son, and talk to and enjoy holding this little boy at the same time. I could be present in the moment and remembering another moment all at once. This wasn't Bertie, nor was it my rainbow, but that was OK. It was still lovely to hold this tiny life and have him stare at the crazy lady talking gibberish to him. Then, tears from him....back to mum.
Later, I held him again, to give his mum a loo break! This time I kept hold a little longer. This time, I rocked him and walked with him to try and settle him. It worked, and I felt I was a natural! Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. So strange to see myself holding a baby. Beautiful and painful all at once. A stab in the heart but also elation. Thinking: This will be me. This will happen. I will be holding my own baby soon. Look how perfect it looks. How right. How it is meant to be. I do believe it is meant to be. It will be. It should have been. Bertie.
It was healing. And I am grateful for that.
I wanted so badly for the next baby I held to be my own. Life wasn't to allow me that. I felt bitter about that for a long time, I don't mind admitting. Haven't I been through enough? I asked, over and over. In a way though, maybe it was better this way. Maybe I needed to hold anther baby, before I could have my own. Would I really want to face that fear right after giving birth? Would I want to remember Bertie's last breath and fear my rainbow was about to do the same? I don't want fear to spoil that moment when my dreams come true. And now, maybe it won't. The fear has been faced, conquered, put in it's place.
Visiting and chatting was fine, I was anxious but OK as my friend held and fed him. We both knew what was going to come and I guess we were both a little anxious about it. I honestly didn't know until she asked me whether I wanted to hold him or not. When the question came, I felt the anxiety rise, the familiar tingle in the heart and sharp stab of adrenaline running down my arms. I surprised myself when I said through stifled tears....yes...I do. And I did. I really did.
As she handed him to me and I settled him into my arms, I felt fine. Peaceful. The anxiety melted away. The tears came when I gave him my finger, and he squeezed. That was the moment I was back with another little boy, gripping my finger with all his strength. But I was able to seperate the two. I could remember my son, and talk to and enjoy holding this little boy at the same time. I could be present in the moment and remembering another moment all at once. This wasn't Bertie, nor was it my rainbow, but that was OK. It was still lovely to hold this tiny life and have him stare at the crazy lady talking gibberish to him. Then, tears from him....back to mum.
Later, I held him again, to give his mum a loo break! This time I kept hold a little longer. This time, I rocked him and walked with him to try and settle him. It worked, and I felt I was a natural! Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. So strange to see myself holding a baby. Beautiful and painful all at once. A stab in the heart but also elation. Thinking: This will be me. This will happen. I will be holding my own baby soon. Look how perfect it looks. How right. How it is meant to be. I do believe it is meant to be. It will be. It should have been. Bertie.
It was healing. And I am grateful for that.
Thursday, 14 November 2013
I have a box of memories...
It's here, at last. The memory box we commissioned for Bertie has arrived. I love it. It is exactly how I pictured it. He whispered to me, helped me find the right man to make it. It is beautifully crafted, it really is stunning. The wood is so smooth, the marquetry looks like it could have been printed on. I am delighted with it. So why am I sobbing?
I must need the release. The memory box has triggered the memories. It has reminded me of his missingness. Of the memories we haven't made, won't make. Of the toys I wish I were buying him instead. Can we really be approaching our third Christmas without him? Can this really still be my life?
I haven't filled it yet. I can't bring myself to do it. That means going through his things, his little life, and putting them away into their new home. It needs time. It needs respect. It needs my full attention and love. It demands the raw hurt and tears that I can't face right now. Just having it is bittersweet enough for tonight.
My son. His life story in one box, his body in another. To others, a name, a memory, a whisper. To me, the world.
I just want to hold him again.
For Robert
So now I’m
an angel mummy
My future
dreams all gone
I have a box
of memories
Of my
perfect, precious son
Photographs
just aren’t enough
I want to
hold you near
I want to
see your toothless smile
And gaze at
eyes bright and clear
I wish that I
could see you grow
And comfort
all your hurts
But that was
never meant to be
What pain
could ever be worse?
We’re
grateful for the time you gave us
You really,
truly tried
You squeezed
my hand, you knew my voice,
Our little
soldier, you filled us with pride
You looked
at me with your daddy’s eyes
And stole my
heart away
I picture
your face, looking back at me
Each and
every day
To me you’ll
stay forever perfect
At peace
forever more
My heart
will yearn for you my son
Until I’m
with you once more
Robert we’ll
love you forever
In our
hearts you will live on
For you are
part of our story now
And you’ve
made it a magical one.
21st October 2011.
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