Little Whisper

Well, I'm getting used to my emotions careering in all different directions. After crashing and burning yesterday, today is a whole different mood swing.

I'd like to introduce you to the person who is somewhat responsible for playing with my hormones - but who is also a precious source of hope for us. At 9 weeks and 2 days gestation, this tiny whisper is going by the somewhat odd bump name of "Jurgen" (D.s idea!!).


The scan was an emotional moment. Our sonographer found the heartbeat immediately and then lost it again because I was crying and making my belly wobble! I was completely expecting to be knocked down all over again (which might account for my huge grief dip yesterday) and the relief is immense (albeit temporary, I'm sure).

I know this will be hard news for some of you and for that I am truly sorry, but for those of you who are able to stay with me for this journey - whether it lasts seven more days or (please, please, please) seven more months and then beyond - please know how much I value the support and love I receive through the comments I get.

Black

I smile when I remember that I delayed starting this blog because I was frightened that if I started pouring it all out, I'd never stop; that I'd be sucked into a virtual world and fade away from the real world. It was like that to begin with. There would be so many threads I'd be trying to unravel in my brain. I post one thing and already be thinking about what I wanted to say next. But now, I look at the big gaps between my posts. It's not that the buzz in my head has quietened - I still find it hard to pin down any one feeling or emotion but I can't seem to find the words for here.

Perhaps it's because I feel wrapped in blackness right now. I never wanted this blog to be a place where I spewed bitterness. I've tried to look for the positives in this horrible and tragic situation. I believed (I think I still do) that whilst I will never "get over" my daughter's death, I will in time find joy and healing and hope. Sometimes that's just too hard.

Right now, I feel as though if I start to unpick the thoughts that rattle around in me, I'll fall apart. I feel so fragile. I miss my little girl so much. I ache for her every single day. It hasn't got easier - or rather it had. I definitely felt that I was making some progress. I was starting to rediscover a little of the life I had before. Maybe it's because I'm heading for Emma's nine months day. That just seems huge to me - in two weeks she'll have been gone from me longer than I ever carried her in my womb. I'm so frightened by that thought.

All I know is that today is a black day.

Eight Months

Tiniest Sweetheart,

I keep waiting for the point when this gets easier. I suppose, most days, it has. But today - and all your Forever Days - it's just not. If anything, I think these days get harder because the gaps between the truly sad days are longer now so when they come, I'm blindsided all over again.

I hate that I don't get to choose how I mourn you. I want an ineffable sadness to wrap around me - a blanket of memories. I want the grief to pull me closer to you again. But that's not what I've got today. Today, my grief is bitter as if the anger I've been carrying has cooled and hardened to a leaden lump at the pit of my stomach. I never invited bitterness to come on this journey with me. I want you to be proud of your mama, little one. I want you to be the star that I swing from. Not possible when I'm mired in hatred and self pity. It hurts to be so vulnerable to the side swipes of hormones and emotion. To feel unable to fight the urge to stamp my feet and scream, "It's not fair." But it isn't fair. Not fair at all. No amount of cool, calm logic will ever make it so.

You'd probably be crawling now - tormenting the life out of your big sister and brother. It's not fair.

I try to go back to those moments when I first held you, when I kissed you and tried to love you in mere minutes enough for a lifetime apart. The only image I can conjure today is the moment in the porch of the church when your granddad carried you in your tiny, tiny white box - so tenderly. I buckled, your daddy held me up as I sobbed. Nobody can tell me that's a memory a mother should have. Too many of us do.

I miss you, sweetheart. Eight months or eighty years - I always will.

love
mummy
xxx

Living in the Kaleidoscope...

... that's pretty much where I've been, these past couple of weeks. Just being one of the dancing, ever changing flecks that glow when you hold them up to the light. Some of them are dark, some of them are bright. Together the patterns are luscious. I love kaleidoscopes.

I'm learning, more deeply than before, that this grief is eternal. It changes and mutates and bursts into the foreground and fades into the background but it is - always. I've been rediscovering joy with the children I am privileged to parent. I was frightened it was gone for ever but it hasn't. Moments of perfect peace and contentment and licking of cake batter - they've come back. I'm glad. They are my light, my life and my reason for living. I've been rediscovering belly laughs and bear hugs with my husband too. I am proud of us - weathered and brow beaten and together and in love. I'm recognising my limits too - and learning to respect my own vulnerabilities. I have met my brand new nephew and my 8 month old niece, thought how gorgeous and adorable they both were and forgave myself for feeling not one iota of longing to hold them in my arms - and forgave them for not being Emma.

The pattern will change again - and I'm learning to let it.