Day 17 - A Piece of Art.

For the longest time, I had a chip on my shoulder about "Art". I wasn't well taught, I don't think. My art teachers had a lot of time for those with natural aptitude (I wasn't one of those) but there was very little encouragement for those of us who might have had a lot of enjoyment in the process, even if the result wasn't polished. Nor do I remember being given much encouragement to appreciate beautiful pieces created by others. I was just pretty ground down - both my teacher and I breathed a sigh of relief when I opted not to continue my art to exam level.

So, I had this idea that it was somehow inaccessible to me. My first experience of enjoying art was studying Impressionism for my A-level French. The course included a 4 day stay in Paris (and the resort formerly known as "Euro.Disney"), with a visit to the Musee d'Orsay. And, maybe it's a cliche, but that's when I became engaged with "Art". I had to do a fifteen minute presentation (in French) on this piece. I have a framed reproduction of it on our bedroom wall. Post loss, I still love the innocence I associate with it.

Day 16 - A song that makes you cry (or nearly)

I'm not going to fill in the gaps from the last few days, just pick up with today.

So, songs. I agree with Angie, all music has the capacity to dissolve me into a puddle of sadness. Sometimes, I deliberately play things I know will make me cry, just for the catharsis. All song lyrics are about dead babies, all babylost parents know that. I can't sing many of the songs in church any more. And lullabies and nursery rhymes? I'll be astonished if Toby ever learns the words, as pronounced by his wailing, snot-dribbling mummy as she hugs him so hard he gives his protest squeak.

But, in  particular, a piece of music played by Emma's daddy for her birthday chokes me. I've heard it a lot these past months, as Dave practised it before recording. It has become her music.

And this will always remind me of my beautiful little girl too:

Thank you.

I am listening to Jess reading our babies' names as I type and crying harder than I have cried in a very long time. So many babies loved and gone too, too soon. And, in the midst of so much pain, such love and compassion.

THANK YOU, THANK YOU for all the wonderful messages of support, the candles and the beautiful acts of kindness done in Emma's name. Her second birthday was very, very special. Thank you.

TWO.

 Presents:

 A cake:

and a lot of love and support and kindness.
I just wish the birthday girl was here.


Emma,
We love you more than you can know and miss you every single second of every single day.
Love from,
Mummy, Daddy, Ben, Lucy & Toby.

No meme today - just memories.

I attended my first SANDS meeting just 5 weeks after Emma died. Dave and I were desperate to know we weren't alone. I remember one mother there, who had just passed her baby's first birthday, talked about how the day before was somehow harder than the actual birthday. How the day before was all about remembering how *this* day x years ago was the last time I was completely happy, completely the person I was before I became this person.

This time two years ago, I was already in labour - pretty far on as it turned out. This time two years ago I was excited about the fact we were about to meet the last baby to join our family - our little boy, George Joseph (or maybe George Nathaniel, it wasn't decided). Or, if I was completely wrong about the gender, our little girl ... Felicity Hope / Felicity Joy, maybe? I was SO wrong on so many counts. I don't really remember the physical pain of this day 2 years ago but I remember those wonderful, innocent expectations that things would turn out just the way we planned them.

Thank you and Day 12

Thank you to everyone who responded to my last post. I'm tremendously touched that people are willing to reach out for my little girl and pleased that Thursday will be a day punctuated by small acts of kindness. Thank you.

So, my OCD. My family have often been wont to wonder whether I really, truly do have this illness. I don't think I do, certainly not enough to entail a formal diagnosis. But  I do have a very strong need for things to be "just so". If someone puts a can in the cupboard upside down (or back to front) then I HAVE to turn it around the right way. It is a long running source of humour/frustration for my husband that I cannot -absolutely cannot- go to sleep if he has his pillowcase turned wrong side up - even if it's dark and I can't see it. Just knowing that it is "wrong", is enough to leave me lying uncomfortably awake. When we changed the bookcase in our living area, I ended up demanding that Dave just let me put the books back - he wasn't putting all the books by the same author in the same place, you see. All this seems nothing more than harmlessly idiosyncratic to me ...

I'm always LATE for everything though ...

A request for Emma's birthday (and Day 11)

I feel as though Emma's birthday has hit me out of nowhere. Because Ben and Lucy have birthdays at the end of September, the build up to her special day is short, but intense. I just feel ... malaise ... I want her back, I can't have her back and I don't want to be trying to find ways to make a second birthday that is also a death-day into something meaningful. I mean I do, of course I do, but I don't. Oh ... if you're in this with me, you know. You understand the sentiment behind that befuddled stream of words. Last year, we planned lots of stuff to do. This year, not so much. I'll make a cake and we'll each have a gift (a tradition - if second time through can be said to make a tradition - I hope will continue through the years.) But, I wanted something more for her.

Her name means "All encompassing" or "universal". If that seems a random leap, it's not. I'd like to ask all my bloggy / FB friends if they would be prepared to try and do a small, random act of kindness on October 14th, in memory of Emma - making kindness "universal". It doesn't have to be big (and I know it's not an original idea - I have stolen it directly from lovely Angie!) but it would mean a lot to me to know she is remembered in some little ways around the world. Thank you.

And now ... Day 11. A photo of me now. My husband took the "now" literally and took a picture of me, sitting at the laptop (actually leaving a comment on Angie's blog, if you want to be precise about it) - tired, a bit low, scruffy after a quick tidy round now the kids are in bed. Literally, me NOW. Not the most flattering thing I've ever seen!