Losing Your Best Friend

I've known her for over 13 years but sometimes things happen that change a person.

Of course, I naturally changed after losing my boys and she was by my side throughout it all! Like she was by my side when I had my rainbow princess.

She said that she told me last year she felt I had changed. I didn't know what she meant but I can see it now.

I feel more comfortable with who I am and what I want from life. It means that I've a different approach for life but I still think I'm me. 

Subconsciously, I think we've been withdrawing from each other for some time now and it seemed we had to make an effort to see each other rather than it be natural. Hubby thinks it's because princess started preschool so we have a new friendship circle, one that she's not apart of as its people with children the same age as her. 

The stupid thing is it started over some cards and its escalated from there. She's in a tense situation where her mum is in hospital from being hit by a car so I tried to reasons with her, saying I know things are tense but I was told in no uncertain terms it was a bunch of crap. 

The difference being is this time when she had a go at me, I didn't roll over and apologise but I stood up for myself and i told her a few things that had bothered me. That didn't go down well.

So whilst I am upset that I possibly have lost my best friend, I can't keep stepping on egg shells around her and watching what I say. The worse bit possibly is the fact I am not deeply upset about it. I left it up to her to decide but she never replied. I can't and won't chase her for an answer and just hope she comes back to me.

11th May - Birthday Eve

Today has been a day of reflection, recognition and moving forward.

When a person loses a child, you get the textbook phrases said to you, even 6 years later. Most of the time (fellow bereaved parents will know what I mean) its all well intended and as the bereaved mumma, I take the sentiment.

But there comes a time when as a bereaved mumma, I am thinking about what others are thinking. No, I haven't got over his, or their, deaths. No I haven't moved on. I am no longer the sobbing, quivering wreck at the mere mention of their names. I am at one.

That's all I can say on it. I am at one. Yes, I miss them. Yes, I hate the fact that life is so fucking unfair; to bury not one, but two babies in the space of 4 months. Yes, I wish they were here. No, I don't know how I cope, I don't know how I have gone from not being able to leave the house for just feeling overwhelmed, to being able to do 'normal' things.

The whole process of being a bereaved mumma is fucked up. There is no manual. Just like there is no manual for the first time parent. I just muddle through as best as I can, swim as hard as I can, sometimes the tide takes me back. But you know what, that is okay.

I see the desolation, the rawness of the pain, in the eyes of that mummy whose precious child has just become an angel. I see it. I feel it. I relive it. What can I say to her? Other than, you know what, it will be okay. I was where you were, there was no one holding my hand, but I am here for you. I will hold your hand. It's okay to let go of my hand and try and sort it on your own, but my hand, and my heart, will always be open to you.

Because I am further down the path than you are.

You see, I envisage a path, more or less the same as Dorothy on the yellow brick road. Only it's not yellow. The beginning is darkness and you are travelling towards the light. Along the way, you will encounter various people who may or may not help you. I am no where near the Emerald Castle but I am in the hazy sunshine, the slight warmth of spring on my skin. I can see the darknes behind me, I can see the clear path ahead of me.

If I step further towards it, it doesn't mean I forget, or move on. It just means, I have found a new path of understanding.

This time 15 years ago, I went on a first date. Unknown to me and this boy, but our paths should have crossed years before it, but fate... destiny... brought us together at this particular point in our lives. We laugh about that first date now, Pizza Hut followed by Kevin and Perry Go Large at the cinema. I know, so retro!

But that boy held my hand for the first time on that date, and he's never let go. He has been my rock, my strength, my better half (I will admit that here as he probably won't read this!), my sanity, my stability, my true love, my soul mate... we were just meant to be.

You see, I was meant to go to his secondary school and he mine. But we never did.

His family friends daughter, was one of my best friends at school. But we never met. (Coincidenitally, her ex-boyfriend was his best man and one of our best friends now!)

I was a checkout chick, and I did a lot of checking out ;-) I once saw him and thought he was a bit of alright. Didn't know who he was.

Only fate finally intervined at this point and back then, you wouldn't believe it but we had no Facebook, Mobile Phones were relatively new - so we wrote letters to each other. Before we went on a date.

We used to write letters to each other all the time; even after our first date. As you can tell, I like to write. I can express myself literately better than I can vocally. But once we started texting, that was it.

I remember the first texts. I was in afternoon registration at 6th Form. Don't remember much more after that afternoon as once we started, we didn't stop.

I do have a point to this story... bear with me...

So, the date of our first date, the date we became a couple was Thursday 11th May 2000.

Fast forward to Monday 11th May 2009.

We had moved in together, moved away from family and our friends. Started a new life down south. We had our bumps in the road. I graduated university, we got engaged. We got married.

Monday 11th May was our 9th 'date' anniversary, but it was the last day we were officially a couple.

I was induced that morning.

But he waited 24 hours to make our lives complete.

One chapter ended and now our new chapter began as a family.

So tomorrow is about celebration. Celebrating the fact that 6 years ago, this small baby boy came into the world. 7lb 15oz at 36 weeks and 5 days gestation.

He changed everything. He made us a family. He made us fighters. He showed us how to be strong. He showed us true love. He showed us that nothing could break us. He made us believe in miracles.

He not only came into our world, the world, but the heart world.

He showed us true courage, he showed us that love can change everything.

So tomorrow is about celebrating our biggest boy's 6th birthday. He isn't physically with us, but we know he is always around us. He is playing football in the clouds above with his brother and all his angel friends. He is happy, he is free, he doesn't know the world full of pain, medications, surgeries, procedures. He is free as a butterfly.

It's about celebrating becoming a family for the very first time.

xxxxx

p.s. to the parent who isn't at this point just yet; don't wish for it. You will learn alot more about yourself before you get to this point. I am not saying the pain, sweat and tears will be gone, but you will be able to smile at the memories of them, for they have made you strong enough to live another day.

The C Word

As many of people across the country, I watched the TV adaptation of Lisa Lynch's book, based on her successful blog, Alright Tit.

I, like most people, know the devestating impact cancer has on people. I am grateful to not have known it in my immediate circle of friends or family.

Though the innate selfish person within me, almost wonders, had my boys been cancer kids instead of heart kids, would the social acceptance be more present?

But that is the selfish person in me, wishing that there was more awareness of congenital heart defects. (NB: more children die yearly from some form of congenital heart defect than they do from ALL childhood cancers - so to be blunt, you are more likely to have a heart kid than a cancer kid and for them to die but hey, the compassion / awareness / knowledge is all to present in every aspect of media life for cancer #getsoffherboxtocontinuewithherramblings)

My point of this innate rambling is the way Lisa speaks about blogging. How the almost-anonymous world of blogging is so cathartic in times of strife.

How bloody true!

This <whole blog> is my story, my ramblings, my journey of living after loss, parenting after loss, raising my rainbow baby, mourning, grieving.

There is no time limit on grief.

There is no manual on how to deal with life after loss. When that loss is your 4.5mth old baby boy or your 17w5d (gestation) old baby boy.

I don't pour my heart and soul into this blog, thinking that Steven Gerrard will read it and fall madly in love with me. I do it so that I let everything out, its cathartic, it's a way of processing my thoughts and feelings. So that when I am having a truly shitty day and thinking what the hell - I can see, look how far you have come babes, you've made it this far, you can keep going.

Believe it or not, I never kept a diary as a teenager - too much effort LOL! I preferred switching off and going to sleep rather than write about my meaningless day where the boy I fancied never looked my way or the cow bag who kept giving me filthy looks tripped over and fell flat on her face (please note, this are not actual events from school - I tend to block out most of what happened there as I didn't enjoy it!). I always started each year with the intention of keeping one but never lasted long enough for it to be worthy!

Now I flit in and out, when I have something to get off my chest (Dear Stevie G, you never need to get off my chest ;-) ); I hope that there is a babyloss mumma reading this who is fresh on her journey of life after loss and isn't thinking 'jeez, who's this nutter?!' but getting something from my honest ramblings and all it takes is to find the outlet of where you can truly be honest of how life truly is!

xx

You Raise Me Up

It's that time of year again, where I struggle beyond where words can express.

Saturday morning, I had a complete and utter breakdown. It had been building for some time, and it just poured out. I actually felt suicidal. It wasn't just because of the boys, there was other things as well. I won't go into detail as it was just a culmination of life in general.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to a mediumship event and was a member of the audience. My boys came through. Some people are skeptical, some people are believers and there are those who sit on the fence. My word, she knew things, no one would have known. I drew a lot of comfort from that and I still smile at the thought of it.

But then the build up happens and life because unbearably shit. I did a post on my personal Facebook page about how I was struggling. I don't do this for sympathy or people to send love. I do it so they realise I am struggling and the reason I am not wanting to meet up or go out is because actually, every day is an effort of going through the motions. It's so difficult to explain the feelings of the build up and you will only truly understand if you are a bereaved parent. Talking to a good friend today about clock watching, and the minute the clock hits that significant time, it feels like the weight has been lifted. It's so true.

This weekend, we had the opportunity to attend a memorial event. We didn't make the one last year as we were going on holiday so this was our first time. It was exclusively for bereaved families; a chance for us all to just feel at ease. There was an invisible cord that connected each and every one of us. We all knew the pain, the tears, the heartache. We all understood when no words needed to be spoken.

The lead person said when he was asked to do the event, two words popped into his head, and he couldn't shake them.

The first was recognition.

The event was a chance for us all to be on a social level of acceptance. There was no pity looks when you mentioned your child has died, there was no awkward silences. There was love. There was a time for remembrance, reflection and recognition. Our babies are here. Some of them, their feet didn't touch the earth but left imprints on our hearts.

The second word was celebration.

My ears pricked at this as it wasn't a word I thought of. We were there to celebrate the lives of these precious Angels and all that was and continues to be, achieved in their name.

It made me think about my own personal journey and how far I have come. He will be 6 in 9 days time. I'm still grieving, I'm still angry, I'm still desolate.

But I have never celebrated either of their lives and their everlasting imprints.

Eldest changed me, the minute he was fighting for his life, I was the lioness protecting her cub. I was his voice, I was his strength. I gave him all my strength so that he could fight to come home. He became my world. A world different to life with a healthy child. His death broke me. Shattered me into a tiny million pieces. Every day, I am picking up another piece and putting it back together (in me) like I have been for the last 2041 days.

Two things happened in the darkest days following his death; I found a part of me that dug deep to help others. And I found out I was pregnant.

But again, the events surrounding his life and death, shattered me into a billion pieces.

I have lost myself in a world of grief, desolation, loneliness, heartache, confusion, and resurrection.

I almost feel like Jesus, rising from the dead again, (no blasphemy intended) or a Phoenix from the ashes.


I feel like I'm confusing you. Imagine one of those 3d puzzles; carefully constructed. Then, one day, something drops down and crashes into it, sending all the pieces into a million different directions. You then look for the pieces and begin to put the puzzle back together when another drop sends the pieces even further afield. And you have spent the last 1900 days trying to put all those pieces back.


Those pieces are pieces of me.


So what have I celebrated? As in truly celebrated, when it comes to them??


▫️ a fundraising body, dedicated in their names

▫️ them

▫️ their imprint on the world and me

▫️ the fact that they continue to link their invisible cord

Celebrate that I am still here because I need to continue picking up the pieces; I need to sort through all of them to figure out if it is the right piece for that time.

Celebrate the person they made me.

Celebrate the love I have.

Celebrate that I can look back down the path and know they are still standing by me.

Celebrate being their mummy.

I think I've just put a massive piece of my puzzle back together.

At the end of the service, the brass band played Westlife's "You Raise Me Up". Truth be told, I love a bit of Westlife but like everyone standing there, the lyrics flowed through my mind and matched feelings I never knew that were there.

The lyrics could be applied to their short lives, to their deaths, to how their deaths continue to implicate our world.

"You raise me up to be more than I can be"