That day

It's like a dream looking back. Was I really there? The memories of that day are very clear but it's like I am watching it rather than living it. I was really nervous walking into the emergency department. Brendon and I hardly said a word to each other, although I remember him saying that everything was going to be ok. Little did we know just how wrong he was.

The image that I can never get out of my head is of looking up at the ultrasound screen and just KNOWING. The image was of Lola laying with her back to us and she was completely still. We didn't need the doctor to tell us, everyone in that room could see that this baby was dead. So they all filed out to give us some time and space.

I sat on the bed watching Brendon. His face was scrunched up in pain, he was pacing the end of the bed with his head in his hands and he looked like he was having trouble breathing. I sat and waited to feel what I could see he was feeling but I felt nothing. I knew that what had happened was bad but I was not feeling the pain my husband was feeling.

Brendon seemed to suddenly go into protective mode and he put his own needs aside and came to me. He held me and told me that we would get through this. I still felt nothing. In fact all I could think about was the fact that this baby was going to have to come out somehow. How? Surely I would not have to give birth naturally? Surely I would be sent off for a caesarian immediantly?

The nurse said No. I had to give birth naturally but I could have whatever drugs I wanted. She said "besides, you wouldn't want a scar to always remind you". Little did she know there would always be a scar regardless of how I give birth and I would never want to forget anyway.

It was all too much, I couldn't make any decisions that day, my head was struggling to keep up. We went home with the plan that we would return the next day in order to make the decisions that needed to be made.

Does it seem odd that we got in the car and sent text messages to our closest family and friends, does it seem odd that I went home and wrote a post on an online forum of which I am a member to tell people what had happened, does it seem odd that we went home at all, does it seem odd that I felt nothing at this stage except fear of giving birth to this baby, does it seem odd that I updated my facebook with the news, does it seem odd that I didn't fall in a heap on the floor overwhelmed with grief?

I know the answer to all of these questions is probably yes. Looking back though (and knowing the true pain of grief was yet to come) I understand the way I acted. It was shock, it was self-preservation. I was trying to understand what was happening. I was reading and watching the strong reactions to what had happened from everyone around me as a way of validating that, yes, this was bad, very bad. I was trying to make myself feel that too. The shock and adrenalin was stopping me from feeling anything at all. I wandered around my house and sat at our computer for the entire night trying to understand. I dont think that understanding really hit me for a long time after these events. If I looked back over the posts on this blog I could probably pinpoint when that may have actually happened.

I have felt shame about the events of that day for a long time. I struggled myself to come to terms with how I reacted and imagined how others probably perceived my actions also. I dont anymore though. I understand that grief does not happen in the way you imagine. It is different for everybody. I understand that it took a long time for me to come to terms with losing Lola and that is ok.

Love Daddy

My dear beautiful Lola,

It's been 12 months today,
since you passed away,
You're the daughter I never got to cuddle,
Because of this my tears left a puddle,
Every day my heart yearns for you,
I will never forget you!

I love you sweetie, I hope/know you're in a happy place, and I know you are always with us,

Love Daddy.

How grief looks

...in this house today.

Today marks the one year anniversary of Lola's last moments on earth. A painful and sad day for our family. But grief does not look how you would imagine it looks, in this home.

As Lola's mum, dad and brother cling to each other and sob as they think of their loss they look down to see their two year old daughter/sister followed by a trail of wet footsteps as she comes to say "I wee'd mummy!" and they all laugh through their tears.

Lola's dad takes the kids for a swim to give mum some space ... so she can clean the house. As she cleans, she cries and listens to sad music, always thinking of the beautiful baby taken too soon.

Friends send their love and support and people all over the world think of this tiny baby they never met, putting a smile on the face of her family, momentarily giving them a break from the tears.

Lola's dad is called in to work, he has to go despite his heavy heart so he puts on a brave face and off he goes.

A candle shines brightly through the house on this day to show that they are thinking of her.

Life goes on.

This is not what I imagined grief would be like. I didn't imagine that life would go on, that while grieving I would also be doing ordinary things like cleaning up after my cute two year old who is toilet training. But the reality is that these are the things that have saved my life over this past year. My kids and my husband need me here. In those moments when I have contemplated not being here, the thought of leaving them behind has pulled me through.

We are asking you to light a candle for Lola today, the anniversary of her last day on earth. On her birthday, on wednesday, have a pink cupcake to say Happy 1st Birthday to Lola xxxx

Big ball of fire

is building up inside of me. The closer we get to the anniversary of Lola's death, the less I am coping. The ball of fire inside me is ignited so quickly and i find myself full of anger. And sadness. I knew this time would be hard but I could never have predicted how far I would fall. Some days I dont know how I will make it to the next, the hopelessness is overwhelming.
It has taken me this whole, long one year to feel the complete impact of our loss, I believe. To realise the void that Lola has left in our family will never be filled, never.

Hope springs eternal

I thought I was without hope.
I thought I was protecting myself by expecting the worst.
That way I would not feel disappointment and anything better than the worst would be a bonus.
Leading up to our scan last week I prepared myself for there being no heartbeat on the screen. I pictured how that would look and I decided that is what I would expect. If there was a heartbeat and a healthy, growing baby then that would be a bonus. I kept up this thinking right up until the doctor called our name.
However, as I walked into the room I felt a tiny, irridescent bright light beaming from my belly. It was hope. As hard as I tried to not feel it, I did. I couldn't help but feel it. With hope came calm and light. It was a strange feeling, the way it just came over me in those moments. I realised, in that moment, that 'with hope' IS the way to live this difficult time.

This story made me feel hope too. I want that! Everything Angie describes in that post! (Well maybe leave the sore ass out of my story!)

There's this thing

...that happens to me in the first 20 weeks of pregnancy. It is called Anti-Natal Depression. Have you ever heard of such a thing?
All day, every day my head says
'You are lazy'
'You are a crap mum, wife, daughter, friend'
'You are hopeless'
'You are fat'
'What is wrong with you'
I hardly move off the couch while this inner dialogue plays on repeat in my head. It becomes a self-fulfilling phrophecy.

I have been here twice before though (I didn't have it with Jackson's pregnancy) so a part of me knows that it will end around the half way mark. I believe it to be a combination of hormones, 24/7 nausea and extreme tiredness and probably grief and fear thrown into the mix this time.

In short I am struggling daily at the moment but I have gotten through it before and I will again.