Right Where I Am Writing Project 2017

Would anyone be interested in submitting a guest post to us on the theme of where you currently are in your loss journey?

We have been running the Right Where I Am project since 2012 and this is what gave us the initial impetus to set up the blog.

We are in the process of writing our posts for this year's project and will be publishing them over the coming weeks. As always, we would love to feature some more stories too.

Your post should be entitled 'Right Where I Am' followed by the time that has passed since your loss/es. Here is a link to our posts from previous years if that helps:

Right Where I Am

If anyone would like to contribute, please email us at lossthroughthelookingglass@gmail.com or please feel free to comment below with any questions.

Clara, Gemma & Nicole x

Right Where I Am Writing Project 2016

Would anyone be interested in submitting a guest post to us on the theme of where you currently are in your loss journey?

We have been running the Right Where I Am project since 2012 and this is what gave us the initial impetus to set up the blog.

We will soon be writing our posts for this year's project (usually publish them all through July and August). As always, we would love to feature some more stories too.

Your post should be entitled 'Right Where I Am' followed by the time that has passed since your loss/es. Here is a link to our posts from previous years if that helps:

Right Where I Am

If anyone would like to contribute, please email us at lossthroughthelookingglass@gmail.com or please feel free to comment below with any questions.

Clara, Gemma & Nicole x

Renira: Always Here

This beautiful poem was written by Renira to show how angel mummies are there for one another and is a testament to the support we all receive from others who know what it is like to walk in the shoes of a bereaved parent.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

How can you describe your pain, your loss,

The ache of your arms and the break in your heart?

The words that do not come, and the thoughts you can not start.

How can you explain the smell of her skin,

The touch of her hair and the beat of her heart?

The words that do not come and the thoughts you can not start.

How can they see the river you cry,

The ripple, the stream, The lake by your heart?

The words that do not come and the thoughts you can not start.

How can they mend the broken shards,

Fill the numb, the empty, the fear in your heart?

The words that do not come and the thoughts you can not start.

You say the words you tell yourself,

The sound, the echo, the scream of your heart;

The words that always come when the thoughts begin to start.

You knew her for that moment in time,

Worlds stand still, the beat of both hearts;

The words that always come when the thoughts begin to start.

You carry her to the Moon and back,

She is the rhythm, the music, the pound of your heart;

The words that always come when the thoughts begin to start.

You need not say these things to me,

I see your eyes, feel the pain of your heart;

Our words that always come and our thoughts that always start.

We will carry them for all of time,

They are locked forever entwined in our hearts;

Our words that always come and our thoughts that always start.

When ever no one hears your pain,

Remember That I listen and I hear it break your heart;

My words will always come when your thoughts begin to start.

John: Shield

Firstly, this is how my wife and all four kids make me feel:

This is how Wikipedia defines a shield:

“A shield is a type of personal armor, meant to intercept attacks, either by stopping projectiles such as arrows or redirecting a hit from a sword, mace, battle axe or similar weapon to the side of the shield-bearer.

Shields vary greatly in size, ranging from large panels that protect the user's entire body to small models (such as the buckler) that were intended for hand-to-hand-combat use. Shields also vary a great deal in thickness; whereas some shields were made of relatively deep, absorbent, wooden planking to protect soldiers from the impact of spears and crossbow bolts, others were thinner and lighter and designed mainly for deflecting blade strikes.”

For me, and for many like me, shields are what we show the world.

The smile that everyone thinks I’m alright.

The easygoing manner that covers up the incredible pain and suffering.

The hand that covers the yawn because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since Julie told me she was pregnant with Melody, the fear of losing another stopping me from ever truly sleeping fully.

Today two years ago we lost our little girl, Melody Caitlyn Scott.  She was born early, but she was born healthy; she was a fighter like her dad, like her mum.  She was a Scott through and through.

And yet, through a whole list of things, she didn’t survive beyond 35 days.

To walk in to the Neonatal unit and be told “I’m afraid she’s not expected to survive.”  To watch the nurses and staff helping her breathe, just so we could say goodbye.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to feel.  I didn’t cry, but my worst nightmare had come true for a second time, and once again I had to watch a daughter die in my arms.  The only time I really cried that day was when I phoned my mum and dad and told them what had happened, and I started welling up, because my brain was starting to catch up with losing Melody.

The next day was a blur, I was in shock, could barely speak, could barely do anything except vomit all over our bathroom at 5 in the morning.  The registrar didn’t help matters, neither did the chaplain at the hospital, when we had to go back for the death certificate.

That was two years ago.

Now, I don’t cry, not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.

I don’t know why, maybe it’s a man thing.  Maybe it’s something worse, something darker like Batman.

Not sure.

Now, I’m off work for ten weeks, and people assume I’m fine, that I’m just doing it because I can.  I don’t really have any friends anymore besides my amazing wife Julz, because I’m tired of losing friends to the reaper, and have a hard time making new ones without that thought in the back of my mind, especially in the last two years.  Nobody asks me if I’m alright except Julz and the health visitor; no organisation is bothered with helping me through my pain except for a locum GP at my surgery.

Kelsi is not a replacement, she was planned only a couple of weeks after Melody was born.

All I’m saying is we miss her.

I’m not alright.

But the shield will always be there.

Andrew: Milly's Eulogy

We are so very honoured to share this touching and emotional eulogy with you, written by Milly's Daddy and read out at her funeral. Thank you to Milly's Mummy and Daddy for allowing us to share such a personal, brave and beautiful tribute to their little girl.

~~~~~

I’d first like to thank you all for coming today and honouring the memory of our baby girl. Today is a hard day, we all know that, but we hope to see more smiles than tears today as we try to celebrate a short life filled with love.

With all of that in mind I wanted to say a few words today about my beautiful baby girl Milly Josie Mills. I want to tell you about the things she liked and didn’t like. I don't want to give you the sad story of a most human tragedy because that is not how I want you to remember her. Moreover I want to make you smile and make you understand just how loved this baby girl was going to be.

We had plans to call Milly, Penny Anne. Instead she will always be Milly, simply because that is what we had always called her, Princess Milly Mills. Tyler and Harry sometimes called her Bubby 2, in reference to Harry being called Bubby before he arrived. Harry sometimes called her Princess Fat Pants, which I’m sure sometimes caused a disapproving wiggle. But she was always Milly. And she will always be our Milly.

It often seems that the tragedy of babies that are born sleeping is the perceived lack of a full relationship and that your mourning is based upon the absence of that relationship. Whilst I am sure that can often be the case, I can tell that is certainly not the case with ourselves and Milly.

We knew Milly very well and I’d like to spend some time illustrating to you just how much we knew her...

● Milly was, like many girls, a lover of chocolate. If Kelly indulged in just a small amount of chocolate. We saw loads of wiggles and jiggles. As if urging Mum to "GO GET MORE". A request which Kel was very happy for me to oblige, anytime day or night.

● Milly was not a fan of cold hands however. When I came home from work and had a little hold of Milly in Mummy’s tummy, if my hands were cold she would visibly move to the other side. I could then move my hands to Milly and she would move again. It was a little bit like our first game of tickles.

● Harry seemed to have a theory that Milly could hear better when he spoke through Mum’s belly button. From that we learnt that Milly always had a strong reaction to hearing her brothers voice. Wiggles and Jiggles a plenty. I think she knew that that voice was the sound of fun and laughter and playing all day.

● Milly, like her youngest brother before her, seemed to want to kick out at Tyler’s touch. In fact I remember a six year old Tyler placing an ear to Mum’s tummy only to have the then Bubby and now Harry kick him swiftly in the head. But Tyler still loved to have a hold of Milly and feel her wiggle and jiggle around Mum’s tummy. I think she knew that those hands were those of both her loving elder brother and soon to be “miniDad” and “Chief Protector”.

● Milly loved McFlurry’s. It may have had a lot to do with Kelly loving McFlurry’s. But love them she did and that’s why Kel’s work Friends had called her Milly McFlurry Mills.

● Milly and Mum had an excellent working relationship all day long, well until bedtime at least. Milly would happily be rocked to sleep all day by Mum as she nested and organised and made many lists (Kelly does love to make a few lists). But come bedtime she would be wide awake wiggling and jiggling in glee as she could no doubt hear us laughing as she moved. Was this Princess Milly adoring her limelight? Maybe. And we loved it.

● Milly was definitely going to be Daddy’s Girl. When she was having one of her many wriggles and causing Kel some discomfort Kel would always be amazed at how she would settle immediately when I placed my hands on her (unless they were cold obviously). Daddy’s girl and she always will be.

● When Harry was born he went to Water babies with mum and ever since has loved water. We could already tell Milly was going to be another water baby. When Mum had a bath I could pour a jug of water on to her belly and Milly would spring to life kicking and wiggling and jiggling.

As you can see we already knew Milly so well. She was already a huge part of our family and she always will be. We will miss her, but we will be glad for how much we knew her and how much she lit up our lives.

James: Good Grief?

When a child dies, you will always be in grief. This grief will follow you to your own grave.

This society measures grief by negative emotions associated with loss and by the volume of tears shed, but this is not the only measurement of grief; sometimes grief is good, providing a constructive outlet for its relentless energy.

Personal walls make it difficult to gauge whether or not someone is grieving. Only those who know what loss is can measure grief; only those who have lost can see through the cracks of the thin veneer of normality that grievers put up in public.

It is easy to label the bereaved, to think that one person suffers more than another. Assumptions that one person's loss is more painful than another's are always flawed; each instance of grief is unique to the individual bond between parent and child. Simply because a griever isn't demonstrating classic signs of grief, such as crying or lethargy, doesn't mean they are not in grief.

Apparently, grief is never uniform, preferring instead to constantly fluctuate. While most days are unbearable, particularly immediately after a loss, some days offer respite. We might even feel happy, imagining our child singing in the clouds around heaven. Alternatively, we might fleetingly forget them, while embroiled in the here and now of our day to day existence. Even on days like this, Grief is energy is always there, thrumming in the background.

Grief can be masked through denial or personal coping mechanisms. It is no surprise that, on average,  parents of the dead tend to endure shorter lives than those who die before their children. Such coping mechanisms could easily take their toll on the living cells that trap our yearning souls; this is destructive grief. In many ways, such denial is a waste of grief.

The energy of grief can be harnessed and channelled into something worthwhile. When this happens, society often doesn't recognise this as being grief, perhaps incorrectly construing it as a signal of the griever's recovery; but there is no recovery to be found in grief, only change.

There are many examples of courageous individuals who have used their grief to make a difference to the world around them, often helping others come to terms with the same tragedy that they endure.

I suggest that an individual's grief remains constant after their child dies; whether this grief is negative or constructive is the variable. You will always be in grief when your child dies, but it does not have to be destructive. There is good grief and bad grief.

You can read more about James and his journey following the stillbirth of his son Ethan on his blog www.fathersgrief.com

James: Celebrating Father's Day Again

Father’s Day 2013 passed only a few days ago. The commercial side of this day exclusively portrays it as a time of happiness. Cards and gifts retailing at overinflated prices are peddled to children for presentation to their fathers as they spend time together.

An often overlooked side of Father’s Day is the sorrow it brings: not just for those fathers who stand at the graves of their children, but also for anyone whose own father is no longer with them. As many celebrate, there are others who quietly visit the silent, sleeping cities where love and grief unite.

Last year I was new to grief; less than 6 months had passed since Ethan died. Despite having visited countless times before, the visit to his grave on Father’s Day 2012 was surreal. As I knelt in the sun, I accepted that I could never be a father to Ethan in the normal sense. This realisation provided the spark that ignited my writing on the subjects of grief and stillbirth; that Father’s Day, Ethan gifted a sense of purpose from his death.

This year, on my second Father's Day post-Ethan, I was able to celebrate once again. Time cannot heal the wounds of child loss, but it allows acceptance to take root. Personally, time spent seeking sanctuary in the grief of others has allowed me to put my own grief into perspective.

There is an immense network of writers who share their own stories of grief; together we are all united by an unwanted bond. Together we are the parents of the stillborn, the miscarried and the children taken too soon after birth.

In a society where discussing child loss borders on the taboo, these blogs and support networks are priceless. Time spent reading these accounts has put my own grief into perspective. My own story is a personal tragedy, but in comparison to other people’s experiences, I consider myself lucky.

Despite the crown of sorrow that Death fashioned for me, I only have to look around to realise that, for now, I have been let off relatively lightly. There are many others from whom Death has plundered a greater bounty.

I consider myself lucky to have 2 of my boys with me and experience Father’s Day surrounded by the joys of my children; I am lucky enough to be able to visit my own father as I please. For these reasons, I was able to celebrate Father’s Day again.

You can read more about James and his journey following the stillbirth of his son Ethan on his blog www.fathersgrief.com