Take my place

Losing one baby changed my world. I cannot imagine having to go through this pain and heartbreak multiple times and yet so many of my baby-loss friends have lived through just that. Multiple miscarriages, stillbirths and sadly their beautiful babies die shortly after birth due to complications or diseases that were not or could not be diagnosed until after they were born.

Lily Allen wrote this song after she lost her son when she was 6 months pregnant. That was after she had experienced a prior miscarriage. I think her words truly reflect the heartbreak and despair of baby loss. 

How many children do you have? Is this your first baby?

Such ordinary questions. But after baby loss, such a heart breaking questions as well.

Now that we have our precious rainbow baby, whenever I'm out with my daughter and we meet someone new, or even someone in our day to day interactions at the store or at any old mundane place, I can almost predict the way the conversation will go...

At first they coo over our new baby. Almost everyone in this country loves babies, so I have almost  always come to expect that most people I interact with will engage in conversation about our baby. Babies seem to be the perfect excuse to start a conversation with me - a foreigner in this land and most people want to have a peek inside the stroller, almost like it's a compulsion to some people to know what this foreign baby looks like. 

The first thing people say when they lay eyes on our baby is "Big eyes!". Then if my husband is with me, they often remark on whether baby looks like myself or my husband. A few moments of silence follow while they are smile and making googly eyes at my baby and then they ask, "Is this your first child?"

I am somewhat less uncomfortable with the question now than the first time I was asked it. I was just starting to show in my pregnancy and someone posed the question, "Is this your first baby? How many children do you have?" 

Most people would consider this a fairly harmless question. But for someone who has experienced baby loss, it is a fully loaded question. Every single time I'm asked this question, I consider the answer I will give very carefully. It is very important to me to acknowledge all my children. 

But at the same time, if it's someone I will never meet again, such as a store assistant, I don't really want to explain my whole life story to them either. If that is the case, especially sometimes with the language difference, I just say "She's our first born child". By which I mean that she is our first baby to have completed a pregnancy (and then some being slightly overdue).

It also makes me think that the next time I'm pregnant...despite having had a rough pregnancy, I must be crazy to consider going through it again, but there it is...the screen will say G3P1. In every pregnancy ultrasound picture, you will notice that there is a "GxPx" statement somewhere at the top, near the patient's name and the hospital's name. 

G stands for Gravidity, which originates from the latin word Gravida, meaning pregnancy. In this case G stands for the number of known pregnancies a woman has had. While P stands for Para or Parity, which in a nutshell means the number of times a woman has given birth to a baby aged 24 weeks and over, regardless of if her baby was born alive or not. 

In my second pregnancy with my daughter, it was amazing how many of the scanning doctors were not paying attention because they would say, "This is your second child?" And I would say, "If all goes well, she will be our first born". Then it would sink in and they would say, "I'm sorry I can't see that you had a miscarriage", but just by looking at the G and P numbers, they should have known.  

G3P1. Just four characters, but what a story those four characters tell.

Coming back to the question of how many children we have, it made me feel so much less alone to know that my husband struggled with this question too. We were out having lunch while my mother spent some time with her grandchild and I mentioned how difficult this question was for me. He surprised me by saying that he struggles with it when someone asks him that question too. I love this man for so many reasons, but most of all I am so grateful that our Pip, wherever she is, knows that she is included in our family. She matters to us and she counts. 

So now when someone asks me how many children I have, I usually say, "Two. I have one in heaven and one on earth". 

Sometimes my response takes a while to click. Often people will ask for clarification, but mostly people will say, "Oh I'm sorry" and move on. I don't mean to make anyone uncomfortable. After all, this is my loss, this is my grief and these are my children. 

For the person I'm in conversation with, they will probably forget me the moment I am out of sight and I have stepped out of their store or restaurant. But for me, every time I count Pip as my child, even to a stranger, I honour her. I honour her life, however brief it was. I honour her spirit, which I hope is free and in a happy place. Last but not least, I want my daughter who is here on earth to know that each and every member of our family is precious and loved.

How many children do you have? 

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 

Pip's Sand Butterfly

Right now I feel like the most blessed person in the world. I am surrounded by so many amazing friends and the kindness that comes to me on a daily basis blows me away. Often it's the little things like a quiet how are you? a hug, a note in the post or an email, maybe a text message or two. 

Then every once in a while, I get a bonus blessing and receive something in the mail. Then sometimes out of the blue on a very average day when I'm not expecting anything at all, I came home to a beautiful personalised gift like this one that Nat sent me. 

I've often admired Carly Marie's work but never thought I'd someday be lucky enough to have my very own sand butterfly on Christian's beach. She'd bought it especially for Pip and sent it as a surprise! There were a few tears because it is such a blessing to know that our angel is remembered and lives on in the hearts of others as well as our own. 


The colours stood out and I love the gorgeous pinky, yellowy hues in the sunset. The beautiful filagree butterfly is delicate and perfect. Nat said that the colours were what drew her to it. Pink for a girl and yellow for hope. I'm blown away by the thoughtfulness and then to have a friend who remembers the details as well! That's just a different kind of special.


Thank you so much Nat, for your friendship, for remembering our babies but most of all for understanding. 

It's here!

In November, I posted about the handmade holiday gift exchange that my wonderful friend at Grieve out loud arranged for Christmas. I knew that Christmas was going to be a difficult time for me to get through, especially my first Christmas! And so when Julie told me how much participating in a gift exchange had helped her get through her first Christmas, I knew that I had to be a part of it.


When December came and went without Julie's gift arriving, she worried that perhaps it had gotten lost in the post. I knew that it would arrive just when I needed it and it did! I was having a good day and getting her parcel in the mail was just the cherry on top of it all! 

Here's the mystery parcel out of the envelope. It's hard to see in the picture but it's carefully wrapped up in a lovely pink fabric. It's so special to know that not only did she pick it especially for me out of her personal stash, but it's also very close to her heart as it was bought for her first baby( who ended up being a boy).


And then I unwrapped it to find this!! 

Isn't it gorgeous? The letters are made out of fabric and there are hearts scratched into the golden background as well. I don't know where it will go exactly yet, but it will be to a special spot in our home. For now, it will also follow me around the house like my other treasured Pip things. 

Thank you so much Julie! I love it and I thank my lucky stars for you everyday!! 

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

Love for real

My mother in law gave me my first copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit" a few years ago. It's a lovely story for children about love that is ageless, but it is also a wonderful story for adults. A couple of days ago, when I wasn't really looking for it, I came across this quote again. 

                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. 

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

 “REAL isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real.”  

“Does it hurt?” asked the rabbit.  

“Sometimes,” said the skin horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are REAL, you don’t mind being hurt.”  

“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up” he asked, “or bit by bit?”  

“It doesn't happen all at once,” said the skin horse. “You become. It takes a long time.  That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, your eyes drop out, you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don’t matter at all, because, once you are REAL you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” 

“I suppose you are REAL?” said the Rabbit.  And then he wished he had not said it – for he thought the skin horse might be sensitive. 

But the skin horse only smiled.  “The Boy’s Uncle made me REAL,” he said.  “That was a great many years ago – but once you are REAL you can’t become unreal again.”

                                                                                                                From The Velveteen Rabbit, 

                                                                                                                         by Margery Williams.
                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           
          REAL isn't how you are made. It's a thing that happens to you. I always thought of being real in terms of being down to earth and not prone to flitting off in flights of fancy. As I read these words, I wondered if this grief, just like the sum of all my life's experiences, are somehow making me more real. 

        

          When a child loves you...REALLY loves you, then you become real. Maybe for me it's the other way around. When I loved my child from the moment I knew she was here, and over time how I came to REALLY love her and how I continue to love her more and more every day, she was real and will always stay real to me. 

          Does it hurt? Oh boy, does it ever. 

          When you are REAL, you don't mind being hurt. To me the real definition of courage and bravery isn't about not feeling afraid at all, but continuing on despite being scared to death (sometimes this can be confused with stupidity). 

          Does it happen all at once, or bit by bit? When Pip died, it happened over a span of a few weeks. The first ultrasound of doom, then the second, then finally the miscarriage itself. After that I truly felt like I was at the crossroads. I had the choice of whether to stop and grieve. Or I could try to go on and grieve in little bits. I chose the later because I knew that if I stopped, I'd fall apart completely and I couldn't do that, I had a family to care for and a job to do where people depended on me everyday. Fall apart bit by bit, keep moving forward. Don't stop, or the whole world will cave in. Sometimes I can't believe myself that I was in agony at midnight from the physical pain of my miscarriage, then the next morning I was at supervision  talking about my cases and feeling emotionally dead. A part of me had literally just died, but yet there I was trying to work and carry on. One foot in front of the other. 

You become. What have I become? I can certainly feel that I was a completely different person before and I am a completely different person now, afterwards. Do I like who I have become? Some days I really don't. My husband once said to me that I'm my own worst enemy because I am extremely harsh on myself. And it's true. I do expect a lot of myself and feel like crap when I don't meet my own high standards. But most days, once I realise what I'm feeling and why, understanding and peace sink in and it's okay. Most days are good now, but every few weeks the sadness and grief builds up and it becomes a mini volcano, only this emotional volcano implodes internally. So the hurt and the pain stay inside, regroup and wait for the next implosion. It's like those children's toys with goo inside that you can squish around. The goo breaks apart and moves around in the container, but then once the pressure is freed, the ball of goo regroups and waits for the next squeeze.

It takes a long time. How long will it take to recover from this grief? How long does this stay with you? Do you ever forget? Because I don't ever want to forget Pip. Like a friend said, no one can ever tell me that she's not my first. Maybe not my firstborn, but my first pregnancy and always the first to have had my heart.

Once you are real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand. I think that I've been incredibly lucky that most of the people I've met have understood. If you want to be positive, surround yourself with people who are positive, people who will support you and encourage you, not people who will put you down and belittle you. The same principle I'm applying now to this different equation. I try to surround myself with understanding, peace and love. So far so good. 

Once you are real, you can't become unreal again. Such simple words, but such profound wisdom at the same time. This is the club that no one wants to join, yet once you're here, you can never go back and you will never be the same again. 

If you haven't read the story before, see if you can find a copy in your local library or online. If you have a smart phone or tablet, there are some awesome apps out there for this story. Some even let you pre-record yourself (or whoever is special to your child) reading it, so that children are able to virtually turn the pages and follow the story to your voice.  

Here are a few links to The Velveteen Rabbit in various formats: 

• The Velveteen Rabbit, by Ruckus Media for iPhone and iPad
• The Velveteen Rabbit HD, by XIMAD for iPad
• The Velveteen Rabbit, by Zoodles for Android
• The Velveteen Rabbit, ebook on Project Gutenburg (a great source for free ebooks) 
• The Velveteen Rabbit, for those who prefer real books from The Book Depository        who offer free shipping worldwide.

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.

More fabric love and transfers

My mother-in-law popped in to see me over the weekend and brought some fabric love for Pip's quilt. I love the pink fabric with it's design of the trees and leaves and the gorgeous baby aqua blue. There is also a pack of angel transfers because I told her that I haven't been able to find any fabric with angels on it yet that I could add to the quilt, so she got these in case I wanted to add to the embroidery on the quilt. Hmm...ideas ideas! 

I'm not sure where I'll use it yet. Still haven't settled on a design for the shooting star block, but I'm sure it will make an appearance somewhere. Have I mentioned how much I love that pink? Thank you Liz, (best mother-in-law ever).

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

Water Child

We lived in Japan for a few years, but sadly I don't know enough about Mizuko kuyō, a Japanese ceremony that commemorates miscarriage, stillbirth and abortion. I remember visiting temples where I had seen rows and rows of tiny statues that looked like baby Buddhas. When I fine-tooth-combed my photo archives I only found three photos I'd taken from one such temple in Kamakura, near Tokyo, but distinctly have a memory of seeing more. 

At the time, my local friend explained the statues as a way for parents to pray for their babies who had died. I remember thinking it was wonderful that grief lived so openly in what some see as a culture that is not always open.

Mizuko (水子), literally translates as Mizu (water) ko (child) - water child. It is a "Buddhist belief that existence flows into being slowly, like liquid. Children solidified gradually over time and weren't considered to be fully in our world until they reached the age of 7". For those who are interested, Peggy Orenstein, a NY Times journalist wrote about experiencing a miscarriage in Japan while on assignment there and explains Mizuko clearly. 

I think I love the thought that regardless of where we are from, who we are as a people, a culture or a nation and no matter where we are in the world, most people would feel the very human pain of loosing a child profoundly. It's not something that you "get over". But I hear that time helps. So do rituals of healing, such as a Mizuko kuyō. Most grieving mothers I know in the Western world have done something at some point as part of their own healing ritual or journey. Some release balloons or butterflies, some light candles, some make cakes on the 1 year birthdays of their children who have died and on other birthdays that follow. Some even have a mizuko statue in their gardens.

My pictures don't really show it, but Mizuko statues in Japanese temples and shrines are usually dressed in red bonnets or red bibs. These are usually handmade, it's hard to see in this picture, but those red beanies are hand knitted. I love the idea of making something for my baby and can only hope that those parents found some healing in making those items in memory of their babies.

The red bonnets and bibs are also left along with gifts of flowers, clothes, toys and pinwheels. The vases depicted in the picture below hold the pinwheels and/or flowers. Sometimes parents also write a message to their Mizuko. I love how all the elements of nature can be represented in this simple ceremony as well. Wind in the pinwheels, earth in the flowers, water which is poured over the statue to symbolise rebirth and the cycle of mizuko and fire when a candle or incense is lit.

In my brief research of the topic it was obvious that there are many views on Mizuko kuyō. Some see it as an exploitation of vulnerable and grieving family members (as some temples ask for a fee when performing the Mizuko kuyō ceremony). Others may have a religious opinion about it. Be that as it may, I can't help but keep coming back to the fact that every statue that is dressed or adorned with gifts, represents another grieving family.