Friday, 4 July 2014

Stacey: Right Where I Am 2014: 1 year 13 weeks 6 days

This life is like a dream; you are merrily walking through your wonderful life with all its colour and small annoyances, that you make far too big a deal out of, when all of a sudden out of nowhere everything changes. There’s no more colour, your world goes black and grey, a hurricane that you never even noticed before rips through your life destroying everything in its path. It picks you up, violently throws you about, hurts you in every single way possible before it spits you out and disappears off to do the same to someone else.

You’re left dazed not understanding what just happened, you have no idea where you are, who you are or what is going on around you. You recognise nothing, you’re frightened and vulnerable. Bit by bit you realise you need to find your way back to your old life, you cannot stay here, so you start to look around at what your life is now. It resembles a desert wasteland, there’s no one else around and everything is lifeless and colourless. You slowly stand up physically your injured, you’re bleeding, you’re sick, you have a high temperature and you’re tired but you need to find your old life. You left something there you don’t know what it was but you know you need it back. You stumble around trying to stand properly only to realise you have no idea where you are going to go. There is nothing all around you for as far as you can see. You don’t know whether to go forwards, backwards or side to side, when you begin to move you’re not even sure which way is up or down. You have no concept of anything. You try to run, you’re running and running as fast as you can physically manage your feet are aching your heart is pounding in your chest but you need to keep going; you need to find what you left behind, but your too weak. The journey is too long and you don’t even know the way.

You give up, you fall down crying, screaming and begging this to be a nightmare that you can wake up from. Maybe you stay down for a few hours, days, weeks, months or years but eventually everyone gets back up again. You start to walk, a numbness takes over as long as you put one foot in front of the other; you keep going, you keep breathing. You fall back down again, not once, but many, many times. Sometimes you get up quickly other times it takes you longer. You physically begin to recover, you’ve stopped bleeding, your body resumes the shape you remember before this all happened but you are hurt far beyond the physical pain. There is something much deeper, you carry it in your eyes. It’s so raw and desperate that no one else can bare to look at you, they flinch at the pain they can see inside.

Eventually you begin to notice that you are not alone, there are others around you. Men, women and even children. They have all been caught in the hurricane, it hurt them in a different way to you, everyone has a different story to tell about the damage the hurricane did to their worlds. But you are all on the same path, you are all trying to find what you left behind, some have been on this journey for much longer than you. You all help each other to walk, when one person falls everyone else will help to carry them. These people want nothing from you but are willing to support you and give you all they have. Some people say that they have seen colour since the hurricane; they call it a rainbow. They tell you that maybe you will see this colour as well, maybe you won’t always see just black and grey. You don’t believe them, you can’t believe them because until you get back to your old world, full of colour, how could you possibly see any other colours? You believe that this will always be your life now stumbling through the empty, desert wasteland with no colours trying to find what the hurricane stole from you.

Last year I wrote about the raw anger, grief and emptiness I felt having given birth to my first and only child just 15 weeks before. In the short time I had been a bereaved parent I felt I had learnt so much about society and how simply many people just do not care. No one cares that your baby is dead. No one cares that your heart is broken and that your every waking moment is a nightmare that you wish would end. Since writing that blog I have sadly had this knowledge cemented in many ways. People have flinched when I talk about my daughter, they have ignored her, changed the subject and told me to move on. They are too busy to even remember the special days like her first birthday. But I have also learnt that some people do care, there is a wonderful side to some people that I have never noticed before and that life does not have to be the black, emptiness of nothing that I once felt it always would. I have discovered many beautiful, incredible things since Maisie died that I never thought would be possible. My life has changed in so many ways, mostly for the better, it is thanks to her and the gift she gave me of becoming a mother.

In just one year I have learnt that my priorities for my life were completely wrong: that money, career, status, holidays and everything financial and materialistic simply does not matter. It doesn’t matter if I am a manager or if I step down and become ‘just’ a sales person on 1/3 of my previous wage. It doesn’t matter if people that I thought were friends now want nothing to do with me, none of that matters anymore. All that matters is my family; my husband, Maisie’s memory and the future family we hope for. Last year I would have said that the worst had happened to me and nothing else could ever hurt me again, that I was not frightened of anything and that I would welcome death with open arms. But I have learnt that is not true, I have a lot to live for, to be grateful for and a lot to want to hold onto. I have learnt all of this because of Maisie, it is the legacy she has left behind. Never before have I truly understood what the saying ‘even the smallest footprints leave a mark on this world’ really means. Yes the worst thing in the world has happened to me, something really, really terrible that no one can ever put right. But, I have a wonderful life, I have so many things to be thankful for and my life is a good one. No one tells you when your baby dies about the gifts they will give you in their death, how they will forever change you not just for the bad but for the good. Maisie has made me a better person, she has opened my eyes, mind and heart to things I never would have considered before and she has made me appreciate things I once took for granted. I know that had she lived I would never have learnt these lessons or become the better person I am today.

Today I am 6 months pregnant with my rainbow, something that I never believed would happen for me. It has been and still is such a hard journey that I cannot believe will have a happy ending but I have to hope. Hope that colour will enter our world again is sometimes all we have left.

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You can read Stacey's post from 2013 here:

Thursday, 3 July 2014

Charlotte: Right Where I Am 2014: 5 weeks 2 days

It’s been 5 weeks and 2 days since I lost my twin baby girls, Scarlette & Issabelle, it feels like it’s been 5 months instead of weeks. I’m in a hard place right now, I don’t cry as much and I’m not as sad but it’s not because it doesn’t hurt, it's just because I can’t physically cry any more and the sadness leaves me exhausted.

The pregnancy was exhausting and I was constantly making trips to the hospital and I was constantly worried, I guess I was always prepared for the worst, as at 16 weeks Issabelle was diagnosed with a heart condition and they told me she wasn’t going to make it. Around 20 weeks Scarlette was diagnosed with the same heart condition. Issabelle was an amazing fighter and made it to 23 weeks and Scarlette made it to 24 weeks, although I think if I hadn’t gone into early labour Scarlette may have stayed in there longer and I might still have her now, she lived for 7 minutes and then she passed away in my arms. They were both perfect and when I went back to get the forms and paperwork to register them the midwife gave me a small piece of paper that was pink and had their names on and it said ‘too beautiful for earth’ which was lovely and so true they were perfect, I couldn’t even believe I made 2 people so beautiful.

Every Wednesday I light 2 tea lights for my girls and I will sit till the tea lights go out, and this gives me some comfort, I have the blankets they were wrapped in when they were born and sometimes I just can’t let go of them.

The last time I held them was on the day of their cremation, I didn’t want to let go, and I sat with them for 3 hours and I just cried and cuddled them, it was really sad to leave them all alone, and sometimes I regret the decision to have them cremated but there is a lot of things I regret, sometimes I think if I had noticed my pains earlier and gone to the hospital they could of stopped the early labour, or sometimes I regret telling them not to help Scarlette when she was born but her heartbeat was low and slow, and it was most likely she would pass away and she needed heart surgery which she couldn’t have 'til she was 35 weeks at least and she was only 24 so I didn’t want her poked and prodded with needles and on a machine that would keep her alive, just wanted her to go in peace in my arms.

Sometimes I can’t even go to a supermarket to the shop, because I notice that everyone has a baby, and there’s always that dreaded baby aisle. I can’t even look at my best friend and I just want to snap at her when she complains about her 27 week pregnancy being hard and her back hurting, she doesn’t know how good she has it. She drinks and smokes and has a perfect unborn baby. I didn’t drink or smoke and I lost 2 of mine, not that I would ever wish her baby to be lost at all.

It feels like I lost everything at once, don’t have much to get up for in the mornings, but I’m learning to just survive and get through the day, and hopefully eventually it might start to get a little bit better. So I guess where I am now is at a stage of sadness, regret and jealousy and just missing my perfect little angels. I would do anything to just have them here even if it was just one day.

Wednesday, 2 July 2014

Julz: A Mayflower's Rainbow

I began writing a journal not long after Melody was born, I wanted something for her and her brother and sisters to be able to read back, our journey as a family dealing with life in the NICU and life with a premature baby, a micro preemie.

I have always loved writing for fun and since Melody passed away I have focussed my new life in using my unclear head space for imagination.

I was confident that my journal was going to have a beautiful happy ending, the journal would come out at birthdays and special occasions, on meeting Melody’s first boyfriend, show him how tiny her little bottom was, to pooing every time daddy changed her nappy. A journal of happy, wonderful memories.

And it was for the beginning days.

“That sudden rush of love you’re supposed to get in the delivery room, suddenly hit and the realisation that I didn’t know just how long we would be able to keep her but I knew how much I loved her and I wanted to do everything I could to protect her.”

The days progressed into weeks, and I really enjoyed writing in my little book, even now looking back there are little things I can’t remember, but the book is there to help me remember, how old she was, how we felt.

Then out of nowhere, she left us.

The journal became my haven; I could write the pain the shock. Admittedly it took me a long time to go back to the day before and the day after, reading through it deems as painful as living it. Of course it is its Melody’s story.

I was going to stop after her funeral, then I came to realise the funeral was really only the beginning. So with encouragement, I carried on, discovering my rainbow pregnancy, the fears that come with a rainbow pregnancy, most certainly far away from a normal pregnancy, right to her birth.

Where I paused the journey.

The grief journey will never, ever end but I felt comfortable at ending it at this point.

I want to be able to share her story and to raise awareness on parts of pregnancy that is so rare, there just is not a lot of information on.

The title come from a birth board I was on when I was pregnant with Melody.

With thanks to blogs like Loss through the looking glass.

Thank you for reading.



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Julz book is available to buy on Amazon:

A Mayflower's Rainbow

Tuesday, 1 July 2014

Francesca: Right Where I Am 2014: 60 weeks 3 days

Exactly a year ago I submitted a blog post for 'Right Where I Am', 8 short weeks after the birth of our precious, sleeping bundle. Today I read back that post for the first time, and suddenly the present disappears and I am catapulted back. A time of such grief and loss, of feeling like I had fallen into a huge black hole, searching for some sort of link to 'normal’.

The most difficult year of our lives started at that point - dealing with such raw and gripping grief, coping with a difficult and stressful rainbow pregnancy, the loss of our home and DH's job.... Wondering if there would ever be a 'normal' again.

The loss of our Angel is no less real and present now, the tears are still forever close by, the 'what ifs?' always on our lips. We are just 6 days away from the first anniversary of her original due date. Our Rainbow daughter should be our second, a little sister for our eldest to love.

But for now, I sit in a darkened bedroom, with a 12 week old infant laying on my lap, lazily feeding. She suckles quietly as she drifts off to sleep, a tiny hand wrapped around my finger. I can feel her breath against my skin, see her eye lids flutter, hear her whimpers as she heads towards dreamland.

Here is my new normal.


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You can read Francesca's post from 2013 here:

Right Where I Am 2013: 8 weeks 2 days