A surprise and Pip's prayer flag

It's been a very long time since I've posted anything on this blog. I've been wanting to post over the past few months, but something always comes up and it doesn't happen. I'm so thankful that I've finally been able to carve out chunks of time to devote to a few posts.

So much to talk about, first of all I've been wanting to show you the lovely surprise I received after I mailed my prayer flag off for Carly Marie's October 15th beach prayer flag project. In my previous post, I talked about the prayer flag I made amidst the mad rush of packing and moving, how it didn't turn out as perfectly as I would have liked and as it might have, had I had more time to devote to it. But I found my peace with letting go of imperfection in the end. I worked on Pip's prayer flag on the anniversary of her passing last September. A few days later I mailed the flag to Carly in Western Australia. 

It's was 3 weeks after we'd arrived in our host country and after we'd moved into our new home that we were able to get internet access at home. I was slowly going through the backlog of emails and what a lovely surprise it was to find a message from Carly in my junk mail folder instead of the usual spam. Thankfully it hadn't been deleted in the automatically scheduled clean up. I suppose if anyone could understand how important the prayer flags are, it would be Carly. I was so grateful to hear that my flag had arrived safely and was being handled with the same compassion, care and respect I gave it. As a surprise, Carly added that she was sending one of her lovely butterflies as a thank you to every family who had participated. Here is the butterfly she sent us for Pip. Isn't it beautiful? I love the roses and the lilly in the body of the butterfly. If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the waves on Christian's beach and smell the salt in the air with the faint perfume of the lilly and the roses. What a special gift. It truly made my day and I was smiling for at least a week after receiving it. 

Carly, please forgive me for editing your beautiful photos. I removed our family name for privacy reasons.

I knew that Carly was planning to photograph the prayer flags that she had received from all over the world on October the 15th 2012. So I was waiting for her post to say that she had done this. However, very sadly the weather on the day was not what she had hoped for and in the end she staggered her photographs of the flags over a period of time.

Finally after weeks of checking back every now and then, I was so happy to see the photo of Pip's flag in her gallery. It looks so beautiful here in the candle light (and you can hardly see the iron burn mark! Not that I'm still obsessed with that or anything...)

It's amazing how this whole project was born out of the very simple idea of honouring our beloved children who are no longer with us. Yet the impact that it has had on my own healing journey has been tremendous. I don't know what it is exactly, or if it is any one thing in particular that makes me feel so at peace. I just love the thought of my flag, made with all the love and care I could muster on what will remain a sad day for me, flapping in the wind along with all the others. Each one a symbol of love and hopefully healing for one family out there in the world. Each one a message to the world and to our children that they are still loved, never forgotten. Thank you Carly, it meant so much to me to be a part of your special project. 

Fly free my beautiful girl

It's hard to believe that one year has already gone by since that awful night when what was left of my beloved child left my body. Sure I knew that she was no longer alive long before then, but the hope for a miracle never left my heart until I physically experienced my miscarriage. 

What a year it has been. Looking back now, there is a very clear "before" and "after". My life will never be the same again but that's not good or bad, it just is and I am perfectly okay with that. This past year has taught me so much about life and death, about love and compassion and about pain and healing. As a mental health professional I find behaviour endlessly fascinating and in many ways my experience of miscarriage and loss has given me an incredible insight into human behaviour surrounding the grieving process, especially in regards to how grief is viewed, accepted and processed and how the grieving person is treated. 

So many unexpected surprises and blessings have come out of Pip's death. Some of the very people I thought would have no patience with my grief have in fact turned out to be the most supportive in their own quiet and beautiful way. People I didn't even know from all over the world reached out to me in ways I will never be able to repay just to let me know that everything I was feeling and experiencing was and is normal. That in fact, there is no "normal". Each experience of grief is personal and individual. I have made so many new and wonderful friends through this loss that I would not have met any other way. Then there are the people who have had their own experiences of significant personal loss and they were the ones I thought would be most likely to offer understanding and support, but for some their own grief was the yardstick by which they judged me and my grief. I lost a lot of respect if not all respect, for a few people I had previously held in high esteem. 

I struggled with how at times it seemed like my husband and I were the only ones who really felt like our baby was a real person. People seem to dismiss miscarriages as "God's way or nature's way" of dealing with a defect. Natural selection, if you will. There is sometimes very little compassion for early pregnancy loss because "it" is not yet a real person. I still can't quite wrap my head around that. I am the kind of person who loves with my whole heart or not at all. From the moment we knew she was our child there was no question that she was truly and completely loved. It didn't matter to us whether she was a bundle of cells or a tiny human being with a rapidly developing body. To us she was and always will be our baby girl. That knowledge to me is so basic and fundamental that it surprised me when I found myself needing to explain it to others. 

I wondered if I would feel differently now that I am pregnant with our rainbow baby. But no, the same thing happened this time as well. As soon as I knew she (yes we are blessed with another beautiful girl) had started her life with us, I claimed her as my child. My love for her is absolute, just like my love for Pip was and always will be. I guess that is why I find it hard to understand how people can so cruelly and thoughtlessly dismiss any child no matter how young they may have been. 

This first year of grief has been a roller coaster I never wanted to ride on. But I'm choosing to see that perhaps life just is a collection of rides. Some more bumpy than others, but all collectively taking you somewhere. I know that my grief is not as raw and overwhelming now as it once was. I haven't "gotten over it" as many like to so delicately put it. Instead this grief and loss has become another facet of who I am. Integrated and painfully pounded into the very fibers of my being. People see my pregnant belly and innocently ask "Is this your first child?" My heart says no. My mouth says yes because I don't want to share the precious memory of my child with someone who will not understand or show her memory the respect it deserves. If there is a chance that I think they might understand I say, "Second pregnancy and if all goes well our firstborn". But even that doesn't quite capture it.

We still see signs of her everywhere. Yesterday hubby sent me an MMS of a picture of a double rainbow in the sky outside his office window. I see her name in car number plates at the most unexpected moments. I see children wearing clothes with halved apples and apple pips on the designs and it makes me smile whereas before it would have only made me hurt. Some may probably think we're reading too much into it, but to us these little signs are wonderful and comforting. 

My heart can't deal with the math sometimes. If Pip had lived, we would not have our little jellybean now. Pip was due in March 2012. We fell pregnant with bean in April 2012. While technically it would have been possible for me to have given birth to Pip then fallen pregnant immediately afterwards - even after meeting many women for whom that scenario was indeed the case - I know in my heart that that possibility would not have been the outcome of our story. How do you live with knowing that had one survived the other probably would not be here? Maybe I'm just greedy. I love them both and want them both. 

Ordinary days are no longer a struggle to get through. There are still sad moments and I am sure there will always be. But now when I see a sign of Pip or have a memory of my pregnancy with her, I am thankful for the opportunity that I was given to be her mother no matter how brief the time, I say a little prayer and I can send love and peace to my baby without my heart falling to pieces. Some days it's harder than other days, but on the whole the sadness is not as heartwrenchingly bottomless as it once was. Special days are a bit harder, maybe because of the lead up to them and knowing what they symbolise, such as the 3 month anniversary, the 6 month anniversary when I would have been at certain points in my pregnancy, her due date when our lives would have changed forever and of course now the one year anniversary of the date she left. I don't know when she died exactly, so the 8th of September is the date I choose to remember her passing from this life because that was when she physically passed from my body. 

I like to mark special dates by doing special things and when the 8th of September rolled around this year, I had to do something. The timing couldn't have been worse, it was just days before the international removalists would be coming to relocate our lives to another continent and there were a million things to get done. But I knew I would be useless on that day and so I compensated before and after by giving myself permission to do whatever I needed to do to heal, love and remember my little girl on that day. It's amazing how I never really have anything planned for special dates, but then somehow some special project always makes itself known. 

This year when I heard about Carly Marie's October 15th beach prayer flag project, I knew that it was what I would be making on the 8th of September. At first I didn't know how I would do it when half of my sewing things were already packed away, but somehow the universe conspired to assist me in creating a simple and meaningful prayer flag for Pip. People from all over the world made prayer flags to remember their children and mailed it to Carly Marie in Western Australia so that she could include them in her special October 15th memorial project at Christian's beach.

I started with the dimensions suggested for each flag and no clear idea of what my prayer flag would look like. First I needed a strong backing fabric to be the backbone of the flag. Most of my fabric stash had already been carefully packed away, behind a mountain of other boxes that I had no hope of reaching without the help of two strong people to help me move. So when I found a piece of my husband's jujitsu gi (martial arts uniform) that he had assigned to the rags pile, I knew it would be perfect to have a piece of her father "carry" her prayer flag. Martial arts uniforms are made from very strong fabric and I was satisfied that it would stand up to the winds on the beach and hopefully the test of time as the flags are being kept by Carly for future ceremonies and not returned. 

Next I wanted to add a symbol of her. To me Pip's symbol is an apple with heart shaped pips. So I found some applique fabric and designed a simple apple with fabric marker pips drawn on. I loved the thought of her flag flapping along in the evening breeze and my message for her to fly free came with the next thought. I added the words with printer transfer fabric. Unfortunately I was a bit over zealous and the iron setting was too high when I ironed on the transfer. For the longest time I kicked myself for ruining the flag when an awful iron print appeared over the words at the top of the flag. But after a while it faded and left a graded heat mark on the transfer portion of the fabric. To my surprise and pleasure the few friends whom I shared it with kindly commented that they thought it was actually part of the design instead of something I'd almost ruined. That made me feel so much better!

Image modified to preserve privacy

It looked too plain so I went digging for more fabric and found some precut squares of red gingham and a red and gold spotted fabric that I had prepared and put aside for another Christmas project last year. They were just the perfect size for hearts and miraculously fit three in a row without any measurements or manipulation on my part. I like to think that it symbolises mummy, daddy and Pip. 

Normally I would have spent hours on creating a more elaborate design and something that I could detail a bit more, but that was not the point of this exercise. I was happy that in the middle of our moving madness I was able to carve out a chunk of solitude on Pip's day to make something that was purely devoted to her memory. It isn't going to win any prizes, but I'm going with elegant simplicity. Looking back now at the "before" version of who I was pre-Pip, I probably would have started the whole flag again from scratch. I may well have if I had the time and resources, but for today it was enough. 

Then I wrote Carly a letter to tell her about Pip and to explain some of the symbolism in my flag. I packed it away carefully into an envelope and ironically I put it aside with a bunch of other envelopes that were ready to be mailed containing presents for friends who had recently given birth to their babies or are about to. 

For the longest time after Pip died I couldn't walk into the baby section of a store and avoided the rows of tiny baby outfits as much as I could. To be truthful, I didn't allow myself to do the same this pregnancy for bean now either until I was well and truly past the 20 week mark when our congenital abnormality scan showed that absolutely nothing was wrong and all signs were pointing to a healthy alive baby. 

The thing is when you've lost a baby, you tend to go back to the basics. Every vital sign that appears is a cause for celebration. Waiting to hear the heartbeat on bean's first scan was such an anxious and terrifying experience for the both of us because it brought back the trauma of a different time, in another darkened room, staring at the ultrasound screen with great expectation only to face the most crushing of disappointments. We hung on to each others hands and my mantra was "Please be alive". Hearing that heartbeat was just such an incredible sound that I cannot describe the intense relief, love and joy that we both felt at that moment. 

In many ways this is a strange month. On this Saturday the 8th of September I am alone by choice working on this prayer flag for Pip. Next Saturday my home will be full of family and friends who will come to celebrate bean as I'm having an early baby shower before we leave the country. At this time last year I never would have imagined myself remembering one child and soon after preparing to celebrate another. Sometimes that's just the way life works out. Wherever you are, I hope that you're happy and flying free my beautiful girl. We love you, we remember you today and always will. 

Slowly slowly

A new country and eventually a new home. That's where things are at with our family at the moment. We've moved and while the settling in continues, it's important to me that Pip remains a part of our journey.

Most of our things are in storage and in packing boxes for now. But the one thing I could bring with me of Pip's, which was really too precious to leave up to chance and moving companies, is the handwork I'm doing for the patches of her quilt.

So in a plain yellow A4 envelope went the patches, the embroidery template, the embroidery hoop, thread, needle and scissors. I wanted to bring it with me as part of my hand luggage, but because of the needle and scissors, had to put it through checked in luggage. Hoping and praying madly that it would arrive safely. Particularly as our bags were checked through to our final destination while we spent some time in transit elsewhere in between. 

The angels must have been watching over it because our bags were there on the conveyor belt when we got off. Thank goodness. Anything else could have been replaced, but not this. I suppose in the grand scheme of things I could have started again, but it wouldn't have been the same.

Yesterday I pulled out the patch I'd started on and finished a few more letters. I feel like it's taking me ages to get each letter done. That's probably because I'm being very careful that everything is finished properly. I need it to look good on the surface, but also be strong enough to last the distance as part of a quilt that will no doubt be loved to death and be washed many times as part of it's lifetime.

I feel a bit frustrated that it's taking me so long to get into the rhythm again, but I know that I will find my groove again once I get going. 

As I was working on it, I started to think about the space in our new home the finished quilt will eventually live in. I'm inspired by Carly Marie's post on creating a special space in your home for your child/ren and the warm and lovely cosy feeling the picture of the space she has created for her son, Christian in her home evokes. One of the things I was really looking forward to during my pregnancy with Pip was creating her nursery. While it's not the same, nothing will ever be the same as far as that is concerned - I want our home to have a space for ALL our children. That is something that is very important to me. 

It could just be a little corner or even a little picture or piece of artwork that symbolises something meaningful about Pip, but it will make a difference to me to know that she's in our home symbolically, if not in person. I like the idea of a place to curl up and read or listen to music while I sit and work on other projects. Hmm so many ideas, I would love to see what other people have come up with also. Sounds like another afternoon on Pinterest gathering ideas! :) 

I carried you all the days of your life

Hello my beloved princess,
Today was your estimated due date. I can't begin to describe the sense of loss I am feeling today. It is as deep as a canyon and as empty as nothingness. 

I knew that today would be hard. So very hard. So I made plans to keep myself busy. Not because I didn't want to think about you - is that even possible? I think about you all the time. I made plans because I didn't want today to be just another day.

So I've got candles lit for you and your other angel baby friends and the dinning table is covered in scrap booking paper and other bits and pieces as I work on decorating these journals in your memory. I'll write about the journals in another post, but in this letter to you I want to tell you that every journal was made with love. Each journal was also dedicated in your memory to help other families. 

Your life wasn't meaningless. Even though I still don't know why you couldn't stay with us and I ask often, there is no clear answer. Through our journey of loss with you, I have gained so many amazing new friends that I wouldn't have otherwise. I found a way to be creative and to help other families today in your memory. This whole journey has taught me how to relate to other mums and dads who are facing this situation also. Those things bring me some comfort that there were some positives to arise from this awful experience, but nothing will ever be the same as if you were here healthy, happy and well. 

Everyday daddy and I miss you. I found this saying a while ago, "I carried you all the days of your life". I loved it instantly because it is so true for me. I carried you with love, pride and joy every single day you were with me. If I was given the choice of never having been pregnant with you and not having any of this pain to deal with versus having you again, even if it was with the same outcome, I would choose the latter in a heartbeat. 

To have had you with us for however long you were able to stay was a blessing beyond measure, only I would wish that I could have had longer with you. Never ever have I regretted having you despite the agony and the grief that followed. I only grieve for how brief a moment in time I was given with you for it was far too short a time. 

I wish that you were here on earth not up there in heaven. I wish so much that I was at the hospital falling in love with you all over again. I wish that I was soaking in your newborn smell, your beautiful face and feeling your little body snuggled close. Those are the things I will never have with you, but the one thing I will always have for you is this heart full of overwhelming love.

Mummy's friend Nat, sent me this beautiful card and it says everything in my heart today. I wish today was so different than what it is. I wish that you were here. 

Fran's beautiful card range is available from Red Bubble

I've asked the angels to give you a special cuddle for me and daddy today. To tell you that you are loved and missed so very, very much. Rest in peace my precious little butterfly. You are in our hearts now and always.


Our love for you is eternal,
Mummy and Daddy xxx 

I heard your voice in the wind today

I read this poem today on Fran's blog and instantly fell in love with it. 


I heard your voice in the wind today 
and I turned to see your face; 
The warmth of the wind caressed me 
as I stood silently in place. 


I felt your touch in the sun today 
as its warmth filled the sky; 
I closed my eyes for your embrace 
and my spirit soared high. 


I saw your eyes in the window pane 
as I watched the falling rain; 
It seemed as each raindrop fell 
it quietly said your name. 


I held you close in my heart today 
it made me feel complete; 
You may have died…but you are not gone 
you will always be a part of me.


As long as the sun shines… 
the wind blows… 
the rain falls… 
You will live on inside of me forever 
for that is all my heart knows. 

(unknown) 

I love it on so many levels. I love the links to the elements. I love the simplicity of the words, yet the profound meaning behind the poem. But most of all I love the heart in it. 


Thank you Fran for sharing.

A blessed pair

One of the things I really struggled with in the lead up to Christmas last year was how I'd remember and include our angel baby in Christmas from here on out. I shopped for ornaments in the stores around me but couldn't find anything that really fit Pip. All the Christmas angel ornaments I found were beautiful, but they were all adult angels as opposed to baby angels. When I did find ornaments for babies, they were all "Baby's first Christmas" baubles in one form or another. 

Since we married, we've had a tradition of adding an ornament or three to our Christmas tree each year. Often it's something that represents the country or place we're living in. But this year I knew it had to be a special one for our special baby. And so once the search in the world around me proved fruitless, I turned to the internet. 

How do I love thee Etsy, let me count the ways! The little angel ornament on the right caught my eye from the moment I saw it on my search listings. I'm not sure what I loved exactly, perhaps it's the fact that the angel is clearly not an adult, or perhaps it was the way she was holding her teddy bear that seemed so innocent and childlike. But I felt a connection to her and the rest was history. 

The lovely artist who made it also gave me the option of customizing her hair and skin colour (a very significant detail which helps this ornament mean so much more to me personally). So our little angel ornament ended up with curly dark hair (curly like mummy's and dark for both mum and dad). I also loved being able to customize it with Pip's name. I would have loved to have given Pip her own special teddy bear and so who knows? Maybe this is my way of indirectly filling that void too. I prefer not to over analyse.

In the end, I was also blessed with the angel figurine on the left as a gift from the artist! Thank you so much! How lucky am I? I love her, she's so beautiful and I absolutely love how she doesn't have a face, because she could be anyone at all that way. 

I haven't decided if the bigger angel is Pip's guardian angel or mine? Either way, I know that this pair will be a very special part of our future Christmases, but for now like my other things for Pip, they follow me around the house and keep me company everyday. My girl is never far from me, in thoughts, materially through the things I have around to remind me of her and in my heart. I am indeed blessed to have the freedom to remember and grieve my child so openly. 

4 months have passed

Hello sweetness,


It's been 4 months today since we said goodbye. Slowly it's getting easier to breathe. I smile more often. Cry tears less often, but they are still there. The main difference is I can talk about you more often in face to face conversations and smile, whereas before I could barely choke out the words through tears.


One of the two special ornaments I had made especially for you arrived in the post today. It is actually an ornament meant for school teachers I think. The person who makes them usually puts teachers names on them, but when I sent a message explaining what and why I wanted it just so, the artist was more than happy to oblige. I feel so blessed to have found an artist who understood how special this is to my heart. 


I'd spent many hours in December looking for the perfect apple ornament for my special apple pip baby. So much time trolling through websites, not really sure what I was looking for exactly but trusting that I'd know it was the perfect one the moment I saw it. And so it was. 


A sweet little handmade apple, perfectly detailed and lovingly hand painted. With two little hearts as apple pips (this time you are the whole apple itself and daddy and I are the little apple pip hearts on it who love you). And all in a beautiful hand painted red apple. It arrived two days before your 4th anniversary. Perfect timing.


The love and care that went into the ornament is obvious. I'm so glad that I had it custom made for you. It will hang on our tree and follow me around the house as I hang it on various things throughout the year, just to have a piece of you near me. 

(It actually has our family name under "Pip" but I took it away here for privacy reasons)

I lit your candle tonight and said a prayer for you my little love. I hope you are happy and at peace. Daddy and I miss you and love you so much.

Love always,
Mummy and Daddy xxx

Back up

It's been far too long without any progress on the quilt front. For the past two months I've put aside Pip's quilt to focus on another quilt for my brother. 


It seemed like a good idea at the time to start this big (queen sized) quilt in October, to be ready for Christmas!  It was a simple pattern and I thought I'd get it done - which I did, funnily enough - but not without it's own fair share of panic and anxiety. It looked pretty good in the end and gave me a chance to dust the cobwebs off my piecing and quilting skills. 


But now I'm longing to get back to Pip's quilt. I haven't started yet because we will soon be moving abroad to our new home and I'm worried about misplacing or loosing bits of it in the move. Not to mention the madness that is cleaning, decluttering and packing for the move in itself, which leaves me with little time on a good day.


So that's where things were at when I happened to pop into Spotlight (a local fabric and craft supply store) at lunchtime one day while I was at work. It's funny how things find you when you're not looking. Have you ever had that happen? It usually happens to me with books. I find the right book I need to read at that time, or it finds me rather, just when I'm not looking.


Ok so maybe *I* didn't find it. My lovely Jeanette found it and called me over straight away. And there it was. Nothing outstandingly amazing. It probably wouldn't win any competitions, but nonetheless it was perfect for me and perfect for Pip's quilt. I bought what was left over on the roll. 

It also almost has all of Pip's colours in it too. I love the words because I will never forget how tiny she was. So tiny that my Obstetrician had to zoom in many, many  times on the screen before we could see her. Laying there so still. So sweet and so loved because she is. I just know it. 


The only words missing are "so sad". But perhaps the flood of tears that have already gone into the other pieces of this quilt have covered that sentiment better than printed words ever will be able to. 

A blessed year

As the end of 2011 approached, I truly could not wait for the year to end. Good riddance to a very bad year. I am so ready for 2012, bring it on! A fresh start. Goodbye old hurts. Hello new blessings. 

That was until I read my beautiful friend, Nat's thoughts on this time of year. You have to know what Nat's been through to understand why her words inspired me. When I read her reflections on 2011, I realised that I had been looking at the year solely through a lens of regret and sorrow. 

Yes, my baby is dead. 

No, I will never get to meet her (not on earth at least). 

No, I still haven't figured out how you grieve for someone you love with all your heart but haven't met.  

Slowly and surely as I sat here reading Nat's words and hearing her perspective, I felt like a veil had lifted and for a moment my heart and my spirit felt lighter. 

Yes all of those horrible, awful and painful things are still true. Nothing can and will ever be able to erase that part of this experience. Even so, no matter how godawful losing my baby was, I still had her. 

What an incredible blessing! I feel like such an idiot because for so long, I'd allowed myself to forget what a huge honour and privilege it was to be Pip's mummy. Being pregnant with her was truly one of the happiest times of my life. I felt like I was floating on a cloud. With every moment that passed, I loved her more and more. My words cannot do justice to just how happy, special and blessed I felt to be carrying her. 

If someone were to wave a magic wand and give me the opportunity to well and truly erase my pregnancy with Pip out of my life, I wouldn't do it. I would never, ever give those 11 weeks back. Even though she only really lived for 6.5 weeks which is little more than half of that time. The rest of the time I was willing her to live, praying for a miracle and hoping against hope that this was all a horrible nightmare. Still, I would do it all again in a heartbeat even if I were to know in advance that she wouldn't make it.

In my hurt, I was only looking forward to new blessings. I'd turned my back on all the other good things that had happened in 2011. Family, travel, love, joy and peace. None of that mattered after Pip was gone. The hurt is so big sometimes that I can't look past it. And in that hurt, I'd lost sight of the the single biggest blessing of 2011. My beautiful baby girl.

I don't know what 2012 will bring. I know that my experience is nothing compared to the scope of what so many other people go through and have to live with every single day. Yes, this hurt feels so big right now. So big that some days I wonder if I will ever not feel broken anymore. 

Yes, 2012 could be worse, without a doubt. But I'm hoping that it won't be. I'm hoping for another wonderful year. Another year of amazing miracles, blessings, joy, laughter and most of all hope. 

I don't want to lose sight of the beauty of my dreams. I don't want to ever be so caught up in my hurt that I forget what a beautiful blessing my little Pip was. We wanted her so desperately. Then we found out she was here. She grew rapidly in the short time she was here, then she stopped. I didn't want to give her back. I fought, I willed her to live, I raged, I cried and I pleaded. I held on to her for as long as my body allowed me to. Then she was ripped out of me. The emptiness came and I never thought I'd get past that darkness. Most days I'm still empty and it is still pretty dark. But now I know in my heart that she is transformed and I know she lives on. Somewhere, somehow, I know she is okay.

And maybe feeling that in my heart is giving me the permission I need to continue living my life, one broken day at a time. At this moment, there is only the now. My life right now is a collection of moments. One moment after another, one day at a time, one foot in front of the other. Maybe someday those baby steps will grow into bigger steps. Who knows, one day when I'm not looking, it might even mean feeling as okay again as possible. 

I don't know when, how or what that day will be like. But there is a small part of me that is hoping that maybe that day will come in 2012.

Here's to the new year, may it bring us all peace, love and joy.

So this is Christmas

Hello my girl,

So today was Christmas day. Daddy and I spent it with the family at Nanna's place. I was expecting it to be a very difficult day and it was in parts, but on the whole I was surprised that it was relatively good. The blur of activity helped and the chaos and madness of children, Santa and presents helped it go faster too.

Both your Nannas remembered you in very special ways. Daddy's mummy gave us little crystal angel ornaments for our tree. Mine is a pink one and daddy's is a bright blue one. Almost aqua! I think you'd like them. She also gave me a lovely little angel candle and when she did, she sang a little song about angels looking down from heaven over us. That made me a bit sad because I thought about you and wondered if you were there with us in spirit. Nanna and I had a little cry and daddy gave me a big cuddle which helped me feel better.

Your other Nanna, my mummy, gave me two little angel pendants for you. One is silver with white crystal stones that I will wear with your other pendant and the other was a little gold one with a tiny golden angel. I love them both.

The Christmas tree was up today and there were special ornaments on it for everyone. My special friend sent me some beautiful ornaments for you and kept one of the same on her tree to remind her of you. I feel so blessed to have such beautiful and thoughtful friends. She sent me a silver apple and an angel ornament for you. An apple for my Pip and an angel for my angel. Even so, I couldn't bear to put up a real Christmas tree in our house. Putting one up this year was hard enough, so I simplified and stuck some branches of Christmas berries in a vase, which looked pretty enough to pass as our make-shift tree.

Nanna (my mummy) also rescued some red apple ornaments from a friend who wanted to find new homes for them and put them on our tree for me to discover. I've been looking everywhere for red apple ornaments like the ones I remember from when I was a little girl, but I haven't been able to find them anywhere. I had the biggest smile on my face when I saw them hanging on the tree. Two little red apples for my girl. They were old and one had lost it's stem, but they were still perfect and beautiful to me.

Mummy's friend Jeanette, whom I'm sure would have been like another Nanna to you, gave me a golden yellow shooting star ornament. It was perfect and I loved it from the moment I saw it. Daddy said he saw a shooting star on Christmas eve. Did you send him one? I didn't ask him what he wished for because his special wish may not come true if it was no longer a secret. How perfect that all your colours somehow found their way to us.

The strangest ornament for you this year is perhaps the tiny little angel figurine I found in a charity shop many years ago. Before you my lovely girl, I never really understood angels, I liked them of course, but I was never really drawn to angel things. Yet one day, many years before you were even here, I found this tiny little angel in a purple dress, with green wings, who's holding a red ball in her arms and knew that I had to bring her home. She wasn't worth much money, but I loved her from the moment I saw her. I found her the other day when I was trying to be brave about hanging up our christmas ornaments. Then it struck me that it looks like she's holding a red apple. It made me hope that you are with angels who are keeping you close and safe. I love her even more now and despite parts of her missing some paint, you guessed it, I love her all the same.

Were you watching when Santa arrived? Your cousins were so excited to see him walk through the door to deliver presents! I'm sure you knew that it was secretly Uncle Matty dressed up as Santa, but it was fun all the same. I hope someone will tell you someday about Santa. Maybe one day I will get to tell you myself? It made me sad to think that every year there would have been a photo with Santa and you would have been able to tell him what you wanted for Christmas if you'd been a good girl. Does heaven have a special Santa for the children without their families there? I really do hope so. 

I wonder if there would have been presents under the tree for you if you'd still been here. I'm sure there would have been. There still were, but they were presents of a different kind. Presents for me to remember you, not presents for a baby to play with. Although this wouldn't have been your first Christmas, it would have been our first Christmas with you. It seems so wrong that now it's our first Christmas without you.

Maybe if you'd still been here, I would have had an excuse not to have gone climbing on the rocks with Daddy, your cousins and Mika. I was so very careful when I was pregnant with you, doing everything I knew of to keep you safe. I don't think Daddy would have let me go with him if you were still here even if I wanted to, because he was very over protective of you and me. He called us "his girls" and always hovered over me (and you).

I would have stayed far away from the Christmas drinks. Also not safe for you, my love. But since you're not here, I had a little champagne and white wine. It was nice enough, but I would have rather had you here and not had any at all. 

The big hole in my heart was still there today. Having everyone here and being surrounded by love and family helped to make it a little bit better. I never stopped thinking of you, but somehow my heart found a little bit of peace.

I thought of all the other angel mummies and their babies. Are you all friends in heaven because we are friends on earth? We think about you everyday and talk about you with each other. You will always be our children and today especially, you were missed so much. 

I hope you felt a little bit more loved today, because we were all thinking of you, my little love. Christmas will never be the same for me again, but just like my new normal, I seem to have found my new Christmas. So this is what it's like. This is Christmas without you.  


I miss you my beautiful girl.

I Love You, always and forever, all the way to heaven and back,

Mummy xxx

With Brave Wings She Flies

The longer I am on this road, the more I realise I don't know. Every single day I discover another thing I thought I knew, which really, I didn't really know until that moment. It's a bit hard to explain, but some of these things are smack-you-in-the-face obvious, some are a bit ridiculous and others are just plain strange. 

This week, I discovered that one of those things I didn't really know is how much I worry about my Pip and how she may be, even though she is no longer. Now this may sound strange for a woman who is grieving the baby who started to grow then died suddenly inside her. I guess that doesn’t really make sense, but perhaps the closest way to put it is I need to know that my child is alright, wherever she may be right now. Be that heaven, a parallel universe or just dead. I know that sounds awkward but it's just so hard to explain this feeling without sounding stupid. So I will leave it to be what it is.

I have been dreading this week just as I have been dreading the approach of Christmas. I'm that person you probably know who loves Christmas, Birthdays, Anniversaries...you name it, I probably love it! 

Until now. 

For the first time in forever, I'm not excited about Christmas. I'm not even really looking forward to it. Part of me is sad that I seem to have become the Grinch that doesn't really like Christmas or maybe I'm morphing into that Bah Humbug person. But the other part of me understands that it will never be the same again. And that is okay too.

I've been finding a lot of comfort in my fellow babyloss mamas blogs. There are so many amazing ideas out there on how to honour our babies. I read them all and file mental notes on what I can probably pick up on soon or in the future. So when I came across Fran’s 12 days of Christmas posts, I loved hearing from all her different guests on how they honoured their children. 

Which is how I stumbled upon her blog giveaway for day 8 (part 2). 

The moment I saw this necklace that was donated by Beth Quinn, I was in love. It wasn't in a coveting sort of "must have that" love, it was just that feeling that made my heart sing in a way I thought impossible in a time when everything hurts so much. 

If you read Fran's post, she explains Beth's concept behind the necklace: 

"...her piece “with brave wings she flies”  was created from knowing that everyone she has there own story .. life isn’t always easy … every she is going through or has been through a life experience that has challenged them in some way  .. and sometimes we just need a little reminder that we are brave and we can fly .. making it through our journey of life .."

I remember reading this at the time and the more I looked at the picture, the more I thought that if by some miracle I won this with my very ordinary entry post, I would take it as a sign from the universe that Pip is okay. And so I entered my name along with the 129 other hopefuls to have a chance at winning this beautiful piece of art.

I was so convinced I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of winning that I actually didn't even really pay attention to the time when the winners of her giveaways would be announced. I just vaguely remembered that it was sometime during that weekend. 

On the Monday morning, I logged on to see who the lucky person was and almost fell of my chair when I read this. I literally had to read it about five times to make sure that it wasn't a joke!

And even then, I still couldn't believe it. I emailed Fran in a blurry haze of tears and asked for confirmation and told her what winning this necklace, with those words, at this time of my life meant to me. Then cried some more.

It really seemed too good to be true. I was entering a giveaway for the first time on her blog and to be honest, I'm not really the kind of person who wins things!

Over the next few days, both Fran and Beth were in touch and I only said thank you about a hundred times to them both, I must have sounded like a broken record. But how else do you express a sense of gratitude like this?

I know there may be some out there who probably think I'm reading too much into this coincidence, but I still love the thought that perhaps this is my girl telling me that she is indeed okay and will wear it when it arrives to remind me that she is somewhere better now, pain free. Maybe someday when this heartache isn't quite so severe (will that time really come, I wonder?) I may be able to wear it for myself as a symbol of this experience and a reminder that I too, have flown before and maybe, just maybe, can fly again. Broken wings or not.

Thank you so much Fran and Beth Quinn, from the bottom of my heart.

Three months on

My darling girl,

Three months ago today I had no idea that it would be the day that you would leave us forever. I knew the day would come when it would happen and yet spent everyday hoping that it wouldn't. Nothing - absolutely nothing - could have prepared my heart for the agony of loosing you. 

I hate those words. Who comes up with them?

Miscarriage. I didn't mis-carry anything. I carried you with love, joy and pride for every moment I knew you were here with me and long after you were gone. 

Loss. I didn't loose you like a person looses their keys. I will always carry you with me in my heart. 

 

The lead up to this day has NOT been easy. I've always looked at milestones as markers of progress. Usually happy markers. But I can tell you that this marker has royally sucked.

If everything had gone well, I'd be five months pregnant now. You'd be swimming and dancing and kicking your little hands and feet. Instead I have a ginormous hole in my heart and an endless supply of tears. Let me tell you that your mama is not a woman who usually cries a lot, but after you died my girl, the tears just seem to keep coming.

I know you are always here with me and I hope you will always feel me close to you too. Today I cried and cried at the strangest of moments. It was just another day at work, but grief doesn't recognise professional boundaries. I cried when I drove to work, I cried when I drove home from work and I cried as I drove around in between appointments at work.

Just when I think I'm healing and that this crater in my heart isn't so big anymore, there comes the rain and along with it another mudslide of emotions. Just another day in the life of your mother who misses you more than I can even verbalise. 

I thought that the missing you feeling would grow smaller as time goes by, but today my heart is missing you terribly. This pain doesn't seem to be growing smaller. Some days I'm tricked into thinking that my heart is healing, just a little bit and that maybe, just maybe I'm having an okay kind of day. Then all of a sudden, just when I'm not looking another explosion of grief sneaks up on me and just like that the hurt is back.

I knew today would be hard. I even had a plan to help me get through the day! I wanted to do something a little bit special in your memory, so I dragged daddy along to the shops this evening and together we stood for ages in a florist shop while I tried to pick out just the right combination of flowers for you.

We almost had all your colours. Red for love, yellow for hope and baby pink for our baby girl but it's hard to find an aqua flower. Aqua for your March birthstone, of course. After a very long time of picking different flowers up and putting them down again, walking around, picking some more up and putting some down, picking the ones I'd put down up again etc. Probably also much to the annoyance of the florist in the store when we declined her help politely. (I mean what else does one say?)

Florist: Can I help you there?
Me: I'm trying to pick out the perfect bouquet for my baby who died 3 months ago. Can you suggest anything? 

Finally, I felt I had it mostly right. No aqua this time sweetheart, but I promise I'll have something aqua for you next time. Red gumnuts (it felt like an Australian version of baby's breath. The florist didn't have any baby's breath so this seemed like a good alternative) and pink and yellow gerberas. I wonder if I'll be able to find some apple blossoms one day for you, those would be perfect for my Pip.

I had to wait a few days for the gumnuts to burst open and I didn't think that the gerberas would last very long because they usually fade fairly quickly and their fragile petals bruise easily too, but your flowers still look as beautiful as the day we bought them. I love looking at your flowers and can't help but wonder if you like them too. 

Are there flowers in heaven, little one? What are your favourites?

I wish so much that you could have stayed my darling girl. I miss you so, so much every single day and night. I've said so many little prayers and sent up lots of love just for you. I hope you felt that little bit more loved today for it.

P/s: I love you even more today than I did 3 months ago,I didn't think that was possible! 

Rest in peace my beloved angel.

Love Always,
Mummy xxx

Angry yet grateful

Today I am a mixed bag of emotions. I've spent most of today quietly working on a quilt which is to be someone's Christmas present and I am trying to decide what the hell I'm feeling. 

I feel a bit guilty that I've put Pip's quilt aside this time of year to work on other Christmas presents. I've finished making most of the stuff I've wanted to make for the crafty secret santa exchange. But then I was suddenly inspired to start making this (double bed sized) quilt in October and now I'm on a race against time to finish it before Christmas! Am I crazy? Yes I probably am. 

I have been feeling a bit out of sorts, so when I feel a bit out of sorts, I withdraw, find some personal space and see where I end up. Usually I find myself in the company of my other baby loss mama's at their blogs. I read their words and cry with them. It's not fair that a child should die so soon.

Then I get angry when I read about these beautiful mothers struggling through milestones like thanksgivings, christmas' and birthdays. I am really not looking forward to the 23rd of March 2012, the day I should have been anticipating with great delight and anticipation because it was Pip's estimated due date. Would she have been an early baby or would she have been late like her mummy? 

My heart aches when I hear about other pregnant couples we are friends with preparing for the arrival of their little ones. Nurseries being decorated, shopping for baby things, pregnancy cravings, aches and pains and the most difficult of all to cope with - pictures of scans with happy healthy babies. I have happy sad moments when I see those scans. So happy and grateful that this little person is growing healthy and strong, but so very sad that my little person did not reach that milestone.

I get angry when I see these beautiful cakes, works of art that my beautiful grieving mothers have made in the memory of their children. There should be parties, off-key Happy-birthday- to-you's and presents. Instead there is only emptiness, tears and heartbreak. I don't think I'd be strong enough to bake Pip a cake on the 23rd of March. I'd probably end up throwing it at a wall if I didn't ruin it by crying a river into it first during the baking process. 

I love seeing how my angel mummy friends remember their children everyday and especially at Christmas. I love the photos of all the intricate and beautiful ornaments they have chosen so carefully, special colours, special inscriptions, special designs, some especially ordered and handcrafted to hang on the tree. Friends from near and far reaching out to each other offering special words of comfort, letters, cards and extra shoulders to lean on. 

Then I am so angry that I used to love going Christmas shopping. Now I walk into store after store drawn to the ornaments like an obsessed woman and instead of finding one for my baby with excitement, I'm looking for one with great sadness. An angel to sit on my tree. An angel for my baby who should be here with me. 

I have my angry at the world moments, of course. I see beautiful families and adorable children wanting their parents' attention. For God's sake, pick your child up and give them a cuddle, tell them they are precious, beautiful and loved. Instead I see tired parents yell at their equally tired children for wasting their time. One mother I saw swooped down on her son and smacked him like I've never seen a parent smack a child before. 

Ah christmas...a time for joy and cheer.

I sit at my desk and make things for my friends to show them that their children are never forgotten, always in the hearts of those who remember. And there are tears, always more tears. But also great joy at having found another heart out there that understands, other mothers, women and friends who have been where I am and somehow have found the strength to continue on. 

And then I am flooded with gratitude for the amazing friends the child I never met has brought me in touch with. My wish is that no one, no mother, no father, no family should ever, ever have to live with the pain of their baby dying. Whether this be by pregnancy loss, stillbirth, miscarriage, or whatever other heartbreaking option there is available out there. I really wish it didn't exist at all. But while that may happen someday, in my world today there are too many people who have felt this pain. And so there are the baby loss groups, secret groups on facebook and the internet with those who have walked this path before. 

Then the pain becomes a little easier to bear and my heart is filled with gratitude. It would have been wonderful to have been friends with each and every one of these people in another "normal" way. But I am grateful to be going through this journey alongside them.

Today is a happy-sad day. It's an angry at the world, yet grateful for what I have day. A very mixed up day indeed.

An angel for my angel

This week must be my lucky week! I feel so blessed to be surrounded by wonderful people who show me in very special ways that they are thinking of me all the time. Jeanette surprised me today with a little angel figurine. 

I was never really much of a figurine person before all of this. To be honest, I also didn't really "get" angels. I mean I thought it was a nice concept to have a celestial being watching over you, but post-Pip angels have a whole other meaning. Do babies who die become angels? I don't know, but it's a comforting thought that even if they don't, they live on in heaven and are being cared for by angels. 

Every year we have a tradition of adding a special ornament to our christmas collection. Having been lucky enough to have lived in some interesting places, we have managed to collect some pretty special things over the years. And so this year, like every other year I'm on the lookout for lovely ornaments to add to the collection, but this year unlike every other year, I'm searching for a very special ornament to symbolise a very special person. 

This year I've been on the lookout for an angel to add to the collection. It's been so hard to keep walking into shop after shop and looking at ornament after ornament that should symbolise a happy beautiful event, but in my heart symbolises the beautiful girl who couldn't stay. So many shops and yet not one ornament seems "right" as yet. 

The search for the 2011 Christmas angel ornament continues. But in the meantime, I am grateful for beautiful people in my life who think of me when they see something special. I do love the upturned wings and the wavy hair on this little cherub, thank you Jeanette.

Our first Post-Pip Christmas

Every story has a beginning and an ending. Most stories usually have one significant event that changes the course of the lives of all affected by it, or many little events that make up the story itself. Whatever the story, I think that most stories also have a "pre" and a "post" and so it is that our story of Pip has a pre and a post to it also.

I've always loved Christmas. There really is no two ways about that, Christmas has always been an event in our household ever since we were married. It's a time when our family comes together, or while we were living overseas, it was a time we spent with close friends usually alongside a Christmas feast which takes almost ten times as long to cook and prepare as it takes to eat it all. We love our presents, not for what is contained in the gifts themselves, but mainly for the fun of going out and picking or making something that will give the other person joy, a laugh or two and something they may even treasure for a while.

All of the above is of course Pre-Pip.

I remember hoping last year when we'd first started trying for a baby that I would have some lovely news to share at Christmas time. What could be a better gift than knowing that a beautiful little person is growing inside you and will soon join your family? December 2010 came and went without that news I was hoping for, but despite the disappointment we had a great time together as a family and I took it in stride. 

So when I found out that we were pregnant in July this year, I was so excited about what this Christmas would be like with our little one this time. If everything has gone well, I'd be around about 5 months pregnant at Christmas time. It would also have been around the time when our baby would have started to move, dance and kick in the womb. I couldn't wait to feel that for myself and I know my family would have fawned over every little thing with this baby. 

In a Post-Pip world, Christmas will come and go as usual. There will be the usual Christmas feast with the usual suspects. But there will be one little person missing from the picture. I don't think Christmas will ever be the same again for me. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not looking forward to Christmas. At all. Where before there was a feeling of excitement and anticipation, now there only seems to be an empty bleakness.

Loosing Pip was like being hit by the grief and loss freight train. Most days I'm surprised that I have barely survived. At first there is nothing but numbness. Then comes the incredible pain which is all consuming. Then slowly by slowly I've started to learn how to take that pain and live with it. Now I feel like I'm getting ready to start doing all the things I've done normally before, only knowing that life will never be the same again. This is my new normal.

And so as Christmas rolls around this year, somehow quite by accident I've just realised that I'm part of 4 different Secret Santa's. One for work, one with a bunch of my special girlfriends and the other two are for two separate baby loss networks I'm a part of. The handmade holiday gift exchange with the girls at Grieve out Loud (GOL) and the other is a baby loss mama's group on facebook.

The handmade holiday gift exchange appeals to me because it's handmade. These past few months have had the recurring theme of handmade. Pre-Pip I'd lost my connection with handmade, but Post-Pip I've slowly started to rediscover that connection and how much I truly love making things with my hands. 

Now I'm both excited and scared about what I will be making to exchange which I joined at the last minute by the grace of my lovely penpal at GOL. But therein lies the miracle. Where before I wasn't looking forward to any part of Christmas, now there is a little glimmer of hope and something different. Maybe Christmas will never be the same again, but maybe like my new normal, it may just take a little bit of getting used to.

Learning to live with the pain

Hi baby girl,

These past few weeks have been different. I'm starting to find that these days I have more good days than bad days.

When I say "good days", that doesn't mean a day when I don't think about you, because I can't see that happening anytime soon. I think I will always find you in the little things - a pretty flower, the flutter of a butterfly's wings, a rainbow... There isn't a day that has gone by when I haven't thought about you. The difference is now I can think of you and begin to smile, knowing that you are transformed, living a life that is pain free, I hope you are living it up in Heaven and rocking with the angel baby family you have up there.

At first, not feeling the same deep, deep sadness that I felt at the start made me feel guilty and sad. But I know that everyone grieves differently. Just because I'm not a sobbing mess anymore doesn't mean that I love you and miss you any less. It's not like any of this makes any more sense. Not at all, I still don't get why things had to happen this way. I still wish with all my heart that you were here and growing bigger and stronger every day inside me. I don't think that wish will ever change.

How do you grieve for someone you've never met, yet love with all your heart? I don't know, so I had to find my own way. My way has been to honour your memory by talking about you to anyone and everyone who will listen. By finding other mummies who live everyday without their precious babies, just like daddy and I live everyday without you.

My way is to pour all the love I have for you into creating something special and beautiful just for you. My way is to dream about you while I sew another little stitch into your very own quilt. Do you like the colours I've chosen for you? Do you like the patterns and the shapes? I hope so. Maybe one day you can tell me exactly what you think of it.

I know that you wouldn't want me to be sad forever. Daddy said that to me the other day and so did some of the other angel mummies I speak to often. Most days are good, but some days are still bad.

The other day I drove past the hospital where I went to see the doctor for you. The thought that if everything had gone well, I'd still be going there for you brought tears to my eyes. Then another day, a lady I work with brought her newborn granddaughter in to work. It broke my heart to hold that tiny, beautiful little girl and know that I will never get to hold you like that. Nor will your grandmother, who was so very excited about being a grandmother, get the chance to introduce you to her friends like that. 

Yes, some days are still bad. But most days are good. I still love you and miss you every single day. I still wear the necklace I had made for you and it helps to know you are symbolically near, even though I know you will always be in my heart.

Another angel mummy said that this means I'm learning to live with the pain. I want you to know that while that learning process is still hard, painful and awkward, I'm getting better everyday. I don't like the thought that you may be worrying over me or daddy, because you're a beautiful child of heaven and should be happy and free without worries. So know this my love, I will never stop loving you but very, very, very slowly I think that great big gaping hole in my heart is starting to mend - ironically, with the very thing that makes it hurt so very much. My love for you. 

It's a swelteringly hot day here today, I hope heaven has ice creams with chocolate sprinkles for you. 

I love you always and forever my baby girl.
You are always in my heart.
mummy xxx