Prams

I am not sure why this one bothers me so much.

But it does-in a big way.

I was so excited when I was pregnant to be looking at new prams for my two sweet girls. We weren't really buying much for Cordelia as we had all of Wren's stuff but something that was really important to me was a nice new pram for them both. Don't ask me me why, it just was.

I had bought second hand prams for Wren and always wished I had had a nice new shiny one for her. We knew Cordelia would have reflux problems as part of her recovery so I wanted her to have a nice little bassinet to be pushed around in. I think I put a lot of the stress of the pregnancy into looking for the perfect pram, there was a lot more going on in my head than just pram researching. If I found the perfect pram then everything would be perfect. Not the first or last time I will say something like that on this journey.

I finally found the perfect pram for my girls and on Saturday 31st March a friend drove me to Germany to buy it. I was so excited! The timing was perfect, it would arrive just before Cordelia was born even though I knew we still had extra time as she would be in the NICU for some time after her surgery but we would have it at home-ready and waiting for her. I had all the fluffy images in my head of pushing my two beautiful girls around, everybody happy. My perfect little family.

The strange thing is, that after I actually bought the pram something shifted. I didn't feel good about it for some reason. I had an uneasy feeling. I put it down to shoppers guilt. I had after all just spent what I consider to be a whack of cash.

Cordelia was born 4 days later.

Hmmm.

Do I think that the pram was a jinx? Sometimes. Ridiculous I know but there it is. I had always been a bit nervous of buying stuff during my pregnancies. Even with Wren we waited a very long time before we bought clothes, pram, crib etc.

Sometimes, I curse that f'ing pram. Seriously. I do.

After Cordelia passed away my friend cancelled the pram order for me. She didn't really want to bother me with this but the shop had said they would keep my deposit. I didn't care at that point although I thought it was disgusting. She said she would see what she could do. To this day I have no idea if they gave me my deposit back, I never checked my statement. I really don't care, it doesn't change anything real in my life.

When I chose my pram I hardly saw any of them around, in fact I think I had only seen 1-even though I was looking out for them. Now I see it all the bloody time. Damn pram. I see the happy mums pushing their 2 kids around. I deserve to push that pram just as much as those ladies do, so why aren't I?

About 2 months after Cordelia passed away, I did get a new pram. A small light weight city pram that holds only one child. A new pram-just not the one I had been dreaming of.

Out of place

So today I went to the zoo with W and some friends. I was apprehensive to go as I am still feeling quite low and I am fighting a cold on top of it.

I had told Mr M to stay at home as he took W swimming yesterday while I did some 'me' things so I thought I would return the favour, he also has a job interview tomorrow to prepare for. I got to the zoo and all my friends had their husbands with them which made me feel like I stood out even more than I feel I already do.

I felt really out of place today-even though I was with my friends. Partly because my other half wasn't there but mostly I just felt different. I am different. I realised how lonely I am even when I am surrounded by friends. Watching them joke and laugh easily with one another just made me feel even more distanced from them and my old life-more lonely. While they are happy, I am sad.

I felt like I didn't fit in anymore.

One of my friends suggested that I must be OK now, quite a few months have passed. I know she didn't mean for it to sound the way it did and I am not angry at her-more upset that she doesn't get it. I know she can't 'get it' but she could understand a little more. I reminded her that grief is not a straight line, it goes up, down, back and forth and that right now I was actually feeling pretty down.

source unknown

 Everywhere I looked there were seemingly happy little families enjoying a nice day out at the zoo. It was all a bit much for me. I made a hasty exit only saying goodbye to one of my friends asking her to say goodbye to rest for me. I just needed to get out of there-quickly. To come home. To feel safe and secure again. To the place where I can be me-whoever that is right now.

Not waving but drowning

So I had been feeling OK recently. As far as a recently bereaved mother can actually feel 'OK'. I was functioning reasonably well.

I am not sure if I have ever described my grief to anyone before. To me it feels like drowning. Like I can't breathe, gasping for air but my lungs are filling with water instead-suffocating me. My grief feels like I am in a whirlpool spinning round and round and I am being dragged along-getting dizzy and trying to stay afloat, my arms flailing around in a state of panic. I can see and feel the draw to the centre of whirlpool-the black oblivion. Right now the water is particularly fast and rough and I am being swept round and round, I can see the centre but I am not as close as I have been in the past. I will not fall in.

I started to feel the downwards turn last night, the heavy weight in my chest. We received Cordelia's name written in the sand by Carlymarie yesterday. I have been checking my email daily- eager for it to arrive, terrified for it to arrive at the same time. Would I be brave enough to open it? To look at it? What if it wasn't all I hoped it would look like. I knew it would make me feel emotional so my husband and I looked at it together last night after W had gone to bed. It is beautiful. Of course when I looked at her name there in the sand it all seemed so real again, so raw.

My baby's name is written in that sand because she died.

That makes me feel sick. I am finding it hard to express myself. Emotions can be so hard to describe. I think it just brought up a lot of feelings that maybe I had been suppressing in an effort to be normal. I swear I could actually feel Cordelia in my arms last night, her exact weight-right there. I still can't believe that she is not here sometimes.

When I went to bed I had another cry. Something that I used to do every night but haven't so much recently. When I woke this morning I still felt heavy. I took W for a walk with my friend but couldn't keep it together and ended up having another cry while pushing W on the swings. W is sick right now and is particularly hard work because of that which probably does not help my general state of mind either.

I was expecting this 'down' time to come, hoping it wouldn't but knowing it would, I have had cycles like this before. I just emailed a baby loss mum friend last night saying as much, I just didn't realise that a few short hours after I sent that message I would be feeling so low again.

Empty cradle, broken heart

This book by Deborah L Davis seems to be staple reading for bereaved parents and rightly so. It quite possibly saved my marriage. It wasn't until we read this book that we understood how and why we were grieving so differently, it allowed us to accept that and let each other do what we needed to do, not what the other person thought was 'right'. The parents in this book are open and honest, they tell it like it is. They have experienced a loss and have lived to tell their story.

They have lived-survived this nightmare.

Something I thought I was no longer going to be able to do.

As I held Cordelia in her last moments I actually thought my heart was going to stop beating the exact moment hers did. I mean, how could I, her mother still live when she had to die. It is not the way things work, we got the order wrong, me first then her. Only once she was a happy old lady surround by her own loving family of course.

But here I am, 7 months to the day that she passed away. I am surprised I am not feeling more sad or bitter today. I think I am trying to ignore today a bit, trying to make it a bit easier on myself. I am sad but I am trying hard not to be. I miss Cordelia so much but here I am still living, still breathing, still surviving.

It is hard work, exhausting actually but I am doing it. I am going to make it through this.

Is this something that I should be proud of? That I have made it this far? That I haven't fallen into a permanent black hole of depression and booze? I have had my share of times when I didn't think I was going to make it, those were very long dark days that thankfully don't seem to knock at my door anymore. I still have a long way to go but I feel I am making progress, either that or I am just in an 'up' time.

I am no different to any other bereaved mother out there but maybe we should be more proud of ourselves for making it (for those that have) or knowing we are going to make it even though we are not 'there' yet. What I mean by that is not that we will get over our babies or forget them. No-far from it. I mean when we get to the point where we can function somewhat normally on a daily basis, when we can think about our babies and smile instead of cry. When we can crack a smile and not feel guilty for it. When the good days out number the bad. When we feel less pain, anger, guilt, shame, sadness or what ever else torments us.

I think a time like this exists. I am not there yet but I have to believe in a future where there is light, happiness and some laughter. The parents in this book help me believe that life after loss is possible. I will be able to exist and live with this permanent Cordelia shaped whole in my heart. That somehow life does go on.

My job will be to make sure that Cordelia's memory goes on too, that she will not fade from memory when I am no longer around. That she mattered. She did, she does, she always will.

Love and miss you Cordelia.

Pinterest

Pinterest.

I have become addicted. I used it a little bit before we had Cordelia but it was a few months after we lost her (gosh that sounds like we left her at the park or something) that I started to use the Internet and sites like Pinterest again. I can spend hours in the evening on it now.

And I mean hours. Entire evenings can disappear into a 'pinning' frenzy.

I have had several obsessions in the wake of Cordelia's death; cleaning, organising, making home school supplies for W to name a few. Did I mention cleaning? All of these obsessions have been aided by my addiction to Pinterest.

There are just so many ideas out there. These perfect images that I idealise, the perfect linen cupboard where all your towels and bedding are there beautifully folded and stacked, the pantry where you can actually see all the food supplies without having to empty half of it to see the back row, the child looking so happy doing 'letter of the week' activities for hours on end. I have realised now (after many sweaty panic filled hours and sleepless nights) that these pictures are just pictures. To not punish myself for my house not looking that perfect, to not feel disappointed that the activity that I printed, laminated and lovingly cut and glued/velcro'd or stuck magnets to that took 2 hours to make only caught W's attention long enough to glance at it on her way to the computer to ask for more cartoons please. *Sigh*. The women who's house these perfect images and perfect kids belong to are not like me, they are not grieving for a lost baby.

They are normal.

I am not.

Not Anymore.

I know why I have these bouts of obsessive behaviour but it doesn't stop me from jumping right in. I don't have them as much as I used to in the beginning. They usually don't actually make me feel better anyway. While I am trying to make my linen cupboard look perfect I know it never will be that perfect or that it would look good but only for 5 minutes. I would still feel defeated, stressed that I would never achieve perfection in a world where perfection no longer exists. Doing these things however gave me something else to focus on when I needed to. A temporary diversion.

At least I wasn't hitting the wine bottles right?

Usually I  realise that things were getting a little out of control. Like when I can't sleep at night because I am worrying about not being able to get something that I think I desperately need but in reality I don't need at all. It won't fix anything. It won't change how I am feeling, it won't bring Cordelia back or take this pain away, but in those obsessive moments I think they will-somehow. If I can make everything perfect then everything will be perfect. Right? Crazy I know. I know that-now.

There is no magic cure for grief, no escape. No way to avoid it. It must be dealt with. It is hard work though. Confusing. I am never really sure if I am doing it 'right'.

Despite what I have written, I really feel Pinterest has been a good thing for me and my grief. There is even stuff on there relating to grief and baby loss too. I was surprised. It's not just fluffy stuff.

Using Pinterest gives me hope that one day I will feel up to creating some of the projects I have pinned, that I will travel to some of the destinations I have drooled over. Cook some of the recipes and make some of those delicious cocktails in my drinks board. Surely it must be a good thing that I feel that one day I will do these things. That I want to do these things, nice things. One day. That I do see some kind of future for me and my family.

I am not pressuring myself like I did before to do and make everything NOW. There is no rush. I know my house will never be picture perfect. I don't think I want that anyway. Life, I know is not perfect. I have learnt that lesson the hardest way possible.

For now, my pins are sitting there waiting for me when I am good and ready.

picture courtesy of jeffbullas.com

Facing fears

So last week I did something really hard.

I visited a friend who just had her baby.

I wasn't going to do it. I was going to risk losing another friendship. Be even lonelier than I already am. In fact, in my head I had already cut the ties when she had told me he was born. Another one bites the dust I thought. I didn't think I had any other option. But I did, I just was too scared to do it.

My therapist is the one who advised me to go. Thank you. She knew that if I didn't go now it would just get harder for me. I knew that if I didn't go now that I would avoid my friend forever. I just didn't know how to do it. I didn't think I would be able to do it. I needed someone to tell me I could, to tell me that I needed to. I needed direction from someone. I was feeling lost and confused. I didn't want to make another bad decision. So I promised my therapist I would go. To help me keep my promise I went and bought an outfit for the baby and a gift for his older sister so she wouldn't feel left out. I had to go now.

This is not the first baby born since we lost Cordelia by far but a significant one. 10 other babies have been born in the last 7 months to friends all over the world. Number 11 will be here soon. Ouch.

Most of these babies live overseas. Thankfully. I don't have to see them if I don't want to. I don't. The difference with this baby is that his mumma has been one of the few people who I feel has been there for me. Strangely it didn't bother me that she was pregnant. She never rubbed it in my face (unlike the mother of baby number 11). She didn't wince when I mentioned Cordelia's name, she listened with full attention. Gave good advice, let me cry. It must have been hard for her too. To be around someone who's baby had died while being pregnant herself. I was worried that she would think I was bad luck to be around, she didn't. I think that is what makes me like her even more. She of all people should have been the one to shy away but she is the one who stepped forward.


So my friend and I arranged a time. I took the tram there. Tried not to think about what I was about to face. As I was nearing her house I realised that the last time I was there was when we picked W up right after Cordelia had died. Shit. I felt a little queasy to say the least.

He was perfect-beautiful. I was nervous. Scared. I didn't freak out, didn't try to steal her baby, didn't run away. We had a cuppa tea together. I even held him. That was scary. I wasn't sure how I would react. I was a little sweaty. I cried. Cried for my loss. Cried for how perfect he was. How perfect my Cordelia had been too. It was weird to hold him but I did it. Just for a few minutes. It did help that he is a boy. I don't think I could have done it if the baby was a girl.

I was worried about crying over her baby, I didn't really want to do that, this baby was not Cordelia. So I tried to be a strong as I could. We talked about how hard it was for me to be there, how I facing a really big fear by being there. My friend was very touched that I came, she acknowledged how hard it must be for me and that she really valued our friendship. I think she thought like I had that our friendship would be over or horribly changed. It so could have easily been like that, if I had done what I was going to do originally. It is hard work  to be a baby loss mumma in soo many ways, but I don't want to lose another friend so I did it. I was brave.

My friend's husband gave me a lift home-just like the last time I was there. This time it was different though. I thought about the last time I was in their car. How I was feeling. Mostly complete shock. I don't think I spoke a word. This time we did talk. We talked about Cordelia, how we are getting on, how life is for us now. He was interested, he cared. It was nice that he asked. Thank you.

Roller coaster

The Herbstmesse is on right now, one of the best times of the year in this city. It truly comes alive. There are fair rides all over town , amazing food stalls, markets and a huge Ferris wheel. I didn't go on any rides last year as I was pregnant. Wren did though. Seeing all these rides around town got me thinking about the ups and downs of my grief.

Grief is often described as being on a roller coaster and and I can really attest to that. It has more ups and downs and loop the loops than I care for, there are unexpected dark tunnels that seem to have no light, then out of nowhere you are spat back out into the harsh lights only to be dumped back into darkness a short time later. There are also the occasional long stretches where the ride makes you feel nothing-nothing at all , then whoosh-another loop the loop out of nowhere. Sometimes I do not know which way is up. I can always tell which way is down though.

It is the speed of the roller coaster with its ups and downs that can be especially difficult and confusing I find. I have often felt like I have been going crazy these last few months, like genuinely crazy. Like who am I crazy. My emotions can change within seconds and without me even realising it. It can be hard to keep up with erratic emotions, just when you understand how you are feeling bam, another change, wait-slow down, I need to breathe!

It can be hard for those around us, how can they gauge how to behave and what to say when our emotions are so erratic. I often don't know what I want to hear so how can I expect them to know? But I do. I want so desperately for people to know what to say. To make it better. Impossible I know. There is no magic cure to this, no words or actions to make the pain go away.

I used to like roller coasters but not anymore, not just since we lost Cordelia, I think the older I get the more I realise that I like the quiet life, no thrills or spills, just a nice smooth, mellow happy pace, more like a carousel where I can slowly watch life go by at a relaxed normal pace.