Julz: A Brand New Year

As the new year approaches, leaving the old one a memory; the clock strikes midnight in the hope that at a turn of a date people change, for the new and improved better them.

Another date, that as a bereaved parent means that we’re leaving our baby even further into the past.

A distant memory.

Upon leaving 2011 our baby was safely holding on tight,

My heart used as part of a life support system.

Lovingly speaking of the excitement the New Year would bring,

Hope, happiness and joy,

The happily ever after.

Leaving 2012, clinging onto our baby’s memory ensuring that she will stay in my heart forever,

With hope for a bright and shiny New Year,

Knowing that it was “only last year” that we had held her, kissed her,

Even changing her nappy nothing more than fond memory.

“Only a Year ago”

Here we are leaving 2013, our first year where we can no longer say

“This time last year”

Time’s way of attempting to wipe her further from our memory.

Expectations to be had that now it has been two years, an expectation that this has indeed been long enough to grieve.

Time to get over everything; move on and return to normal.

But when you can’t remember “normal” life, it is hard to return to an exact point in time.

When everything has changed but the changes can’t be physically be seen.

Do we mention our baby, now as much as we did in 2013?

Because it was after all “only last year.”

Creeping into 2014 when part of you remains in 2012, does our “Bereaved Parent” title get stripped?

Hearts that were for a short while allowed to be ripped wide open for all to see, ensuring her memory be kept alive through grief; now need to be lightly held together by tape and glue.

Because the real world deems you fit to move on.

A widow doesn’t get stripped of her title,

Even 20 years down the line she can still be deemed a widow.

Children who lose a parent aren’t expected to replace them, to move on too quickly.

But a lot child, a lost future, even a lost past has a timescale.

Nothing set in stone but obvious cracks in questions.

The forgotten children.

Moving into 2014 away from our month old daughter leaves me to think

How much further can I bring her with me openly?

Or will she gradually become more and more my elephant in the room

Invisible to all apart from me.

Forever locked inside 2012.

Julz: A Waddling Bump to Wading in Treacle

Two years, seems a life time ago.

It shouldn’t be it’s only

Two years….

Two years ago this Christmas, I had a teeny, tiny bump

Not quite 20 weeks.

Excitement knowing that a year from then we would have a 7 month old.

Signing Christmas cards

Love from bump and us,

A year from then we’d have an extra name.

It is acceptable to add plus bump,

Of course it is, it is a happy magical time bump is part of the family,

We didn’t know the gender, we weren’t even 20 weeks

Yet we could put

“Love from bump”.

Then bump turns into a very early baby.

We now have a name to put in the card,

An extra kiss, an extra smile joining in with the festivities.

We just have to sit back and wait for the months to pass,

As Christmas would be the next “big thing”

Only for you it never came,

You died.

You never saw Christmas.

The Christmas cards arrive

“To us”

“We’re thinking of you”

Some thought a little remembrance.

The sender is unsure of what to write.

The second Christmas,

The second one without you another reminder that

This year we should have had a toddler,

Yet the cards are empty from your name.

You did exist,

I’m sure you did,

I know you do

But why are you left out.

You’re still in my heart

But not in a card,

It’s not fair.

Your little sister is here, and people assume

That now we’re ok.

Christmas is now complete.

But we will always have an empty space,

Wishes are all we have;

What if’s and broken dreams.

We miss you now if not more than ever.

I wish I wasn’t wading through treacle.

Stacey: Last Christmas

Last Christmas

I carried you near my heart

But the very next year you went away.

This year

Theres nothing but tears

We’re missing someone special.

Once bitten and twice shy

I think of another

But you still fill my mind.

Tell me why

I no longer recognise me?

Well,

what has happened this year,

It doesn't surprise me

(Merry Christmas)

I wrapped it up and sent it

For the angels to tell you "I love you,”

I meant it

Now I know what a mother is

I’d give anything to kiss you now

I know you'd heal me again.

Empty arms,

Consumed by my tired mind.

I'm hiding from the truth

And pain of the ice.

My god I thought you were coming home this year.

Me? I guess I have lost all innocence.

A face of pain with a fire of anger in my heart.

I try to keep it under cover but it tears me apart.

Now my heart has mothers love, you'll never be forgotten I promise.

Maybe next year I'll bring home someone

I'll bring home someone special.

Stacey: Trying Again

Now we are approaching 8 months since Maisie died I am frequently getting more and more questions and comments about trying again. "Any exciting news? When are you going to try again? Are you ready for another baby yet?" I hope that this blog enlightens you all as to how complex and challenging trying again really is.

Trying again. Another baby. The next pregnancy. Your rainbow.

Such short sentences but they hold so much emotion: fear, anxiety, desperation, excitement and hope are just some of these. It is nearly 8 months since my first and only child Maisie was born and died. 8 months of should we try, shouldn’t we try, am I ovulating, where’s my period. It is exhausting but trying this time, it is different to the first time. I want to share with you how I have found the last 8 months and my feelings on trying again.

After Maisie was born I was desperate for another baby. I asked my husband how soon we could try again, he wanted to wait a few months and I was devastated.  I needed one it was a primal thing a desire deep inside me. But what I now recognise I wanted, was to replace Maisie because I didn’t want to be 4, 8, 12 weeks pregnant I wanted to be 21 weeks and I wanted it now. It was like I had pressed pause on my pregnancy with her and I wanted to be able to catch back up and press the play button.

The last 8 months have been hard physically, mentally and emotionally. I have only had 4 cycles. I have lasting physical effects from giving birth prematurely including new intense ovulation pains, long cycles of up to 3 months and incredible, excruciating periods. These are just some of the physical things for me to consider when it comes to trying again. The physical is the easy part. The emotional side is the stumbling block.

Fear and Anxiety

When you lose a baby your next pregnancy's path is already laid down before you, the story is already written, it will go wrong. You cannot imagine or envision it possibly going right and being able to come home from the hospital with a live, healthy baby. For me, with Maisie being my first child, I don’t know any different. I get pregnant, my baby dies. So why would I want to go through that again? Why would I want to give birth to my baby for them to die again? Why would I want another grave?

Trying again is not always about being ready for another baby.

Desperation

This is something I only felt at the beginning. Over time I have had this replaced with a peace and acceptance that, when the time is right, we will try again and it will happen. It may take many years for us to both be ready and to fall pregnant but I know that one day it will happen again.

Excitement and Hope

These are the emotions I struggle with. I have not felt these at all. I often compare trying again to a set of scales. On one side you have fear and on the other you have hope. When hope outweighs the fear I know I will be ready.

These emotions are all very complex and deep. I feel that I can only give a slight glimpse into what I go through each day in trying to decide when the right time is to try again.

So next time you see me don’t ask me about trying again. Don’t tell me you're ready for me to have another baby because it’s not about you. I am not ready. Talk to me about the baby I already have. Don’t brush her under the carpet and ignore her. One day I will tell you that we are having another baby but it will be just that: another baby, a different baby, not the same one, not the same pregnancy and not the same experience. Next time I will be different for I am changed, maybe next time I won’t tell you for months, maybe I won’t tell you until (IF!) the baby arrives alive and healthy, maybe I will pull you closer and lean on you more. Who knows? Not me. All I know is you have to let me do this in my own time. 

Trying again is part of the grieving process and this cannot be rushed. Don’t push me, support me.