Disclaimer for my family and friends

Please read this if you know us in the ‘real world‘, it is important and should be read before you read any more of our blogs.

I hope if some how you’ve found us here, you’ll better understand us, but please don’t feel you have to read what we have written if it is too hard.

We are sorry we haven’t told you about this blog. We/I didn’t because we dearly love you and this blog has allowed me to pour out my feelings at their rawest. We are very fortunate that we have God holding us together, but we didn’t want you to be more worried about us if the things we say here are deeper and more upsetting than we say face to face with you. I have also found it far easier to say these things in my own time, with tears streaming down my face than showing you how deep this pain is. I know it hurts you, that you can’t take away our pain, so please forgive me for hiding some of it.

Feel free to talk to us about what you have read here, but please be sensitive and careful about who you tell about this blog

In love

The beast

You’re not looking under bushes, checking around corners, you don’t expect it, especially when you try your best to live by the rules, eat the right things and pray everyday. You read about it in the newspapers, hear about some poor soul on the news, you empathise for a moment never believing you could be next headline. I didn’t hear it coming, I feared it, but with no sense of reality or understanding.  It wasn’t a rainy day, it wasn’t a Friday 13th, I hadn’t broken any mirrors.

Then suddenly it rips into you, its jaws tearing though, its claws gripping in so tight, pulling away is impossible and will bring even more pain.  All you can do is curl up into a ball, in some vain attempt  to protect yourself, it doesn’t work, its stronger than you. People look on, as the feral uncontrollable  beast mutilates the very person you thought you were. Others want to help, but they are powerless. You will never return to who you were, never be the same.

Hours, days and weeks pass by. Just as you think you can uncurl you can unwrap yourself, your bitten and mauled again. The beast is familiar, old scarred wounds reopened and the shock you felt during that first attack no longer dulls the mind, it is now real, deeply painful and part of the new life. The beast is always there, you do you’re best to chain it, to muzzle the rabid mouth full of teeth. You occasionally let it off the leash, that you have, after so much time managed to bring some control with, but not in public, that would never do, no-one wants to see that kind of pain. But you have to give it freedom, at times, otherwise surely the beast will build into something again that cuts into every part of you and you cannot contain. Its almost your pet, ever present and sometimes submissive. The beast even has a name now, we call it grief.

Nothing to say

Well the title says it all really, we are now firmly into new normal. Life seems to be moving along fairly fast (I’m discovering I’m not young anymore) with not too much in the way of drama, thankfully. From the outside it probably looks like we are all healed and happy now. But do you know what, its not. I still pray that in some miracle we’ll have Abi back, God can do anything, right? I am finding myself very anxious as our son is soon to start school. I want to grab the teachers by the hair and tell them how precious he is and how much our family has already lost. A family day out was close to being cancelled as I imagined all the unlikely and insignificant problems we could face. There are some moments of utter joy as the boys play and when I don’t let my fears prevail. But the normal sucks. I want to be content with just the boys, I want to feel joy without guilt, I want to look forward to the future with hope rather than fear. I don’t want to forget the past, but I don’t want to live the deep sadness. I have nothing new to say, I love you and miss you baby girl.

Ready to press the pause button

Like me, I’m sure if your life had a remote control, the rewind button would be well used. Obviously this has never been more so than when Abi died. Whilst I have come to a place where I know there is no rewind, I have found myself the being drawn to the desire for another remote button recently. I want to press pause. This desire contains some positive and negative. One the positive side is the realisation that I am incredibly blessed. Our boys are healthy and strong, full of the life we so craved after Abi’s death and whilst they at points have us exhausted and at the end of our wits, they remain two shafts of the brightest sunlight, joy and healing into our lives. Lives which would be remarkably different and empty without them. I still grieve deeply for Abi, as I watch her younger brother grow and develop, I cannot escape the thoughts that we should have been experiencing all this with her a year ago. Whilst so much healing has taken place, I do at points, feel this is about as good as life will ever be, never complete, never perfect. As our littlest one grows and develops I almost wish for time to stop. This time just seems so precious and special, time which we never got with Abi, time in which so many amazing subtle special memories can be made, but time that moves so fast. With each day we move further from Abi too it seems, she will always be a baby in my mind (or has done so far) and as I see her brothers grow and develop and change, she is left behind. Our biggest boy starts school soon too and I am so not ready to let him go, however he is ready. Somehow I need to find hope, excitement and promise for the future. I need to not settle for this point of expecting this is as good as life can now be and waiting for something to spoil it all.

Forever

Our big son was nearly 3 when his little sister died and whilst we obviously tried to keep things age appropriate, we didn’t want to hide away from him what had happened. As I was growing up I was very aware that to mention certain things or ask questions on some subjects left my parents uncomfortable. I didn’t want our little boy to feel that there was anything he couldn’t talk to us about, so we did our best to involve and explain things to him as they came up and he mentioned them. As the past 19 months have followed it seemed he was coping very well and for the most part had accepted and reconciled the death of Abi and the new normal that flowed from her loss. I have however worried how Abi’s death will affect him in the future, but he seemed fairly settled with things, visits to Abi’s grave were ok with him and whilst he didn’t fully understand what we’d really lost, he occasionally spoke of Abi and seemed at peace with the photos we have of Abi displayed in the house.

A couple of weeks ago all this changed, he understood death is forever (well till heaven). Our poor big boy has been to several funerals in his four short years, they don’t faze him at all, but he never really understood. Shortly after breakfast one Sunday morning, from nowhere, he asks me if his great-grandfathers body is still under the ground. My grandfather died just a few months ago, just after Ben was born and once again we thought our big guy was coping well. He had only recently started to seem interested in his great-grandfather for maybe a few months before he died and we had obviously underestimated the close bond he had felt towards him. Hubby was busy in another room as the question was asked and without wanting to frighten our son, I called my big boy close and whilst fighting back my own tears explained that yes, his great-grandfathers body was still under the ground. With very little reaction he followed up with a further question, “well when is it coming out?”

In the following moments I held him tight and attempted the impossible, to somehow explain the forever of earthly death and make it ok to a deeply loving sweet four year old boy. A little guy for whom death has taken so much, a wonderful inspirational, big hearted greatgrandfather and a sister, who he would have adored with the same all consuming, unending gusto that he pours onto Ben.

What can I say, its just so cruel to know that at such a tender age that his heart aches for them, just as mine does. I can only hope, pray and try to help our beautiful boys to take joy from the love of the wonderful family we still have around us and trust that we will see those we miss so much again in heaven. Earth sucks, roll on heaven..

I’m back

Well, long time, no see… yup

I’m not going to check how long it has been since I last wrote here, but I know its been a long time, sorry (sort of) I’m sure you’ve not missed me that much. The main reason for my absence has been my focus, time and efforts have been more employed else where. Before I say to much more I want to leave some space before you read on as the change of focus is our recent pregnancy and birth of our son.

 

 

Baby Ben safely arrived six months ago now (wow how time flies) and is a huge ray of sunshine into our lives. My third pregnancy was so full of appointments, fears, stress and health issues that I pretty much went to into hiding by the time we got half way. All that is now a distant memory and in some ways those nine months have just disappeared from my mind especially in regard to any change in my grief. It feels very much that for most of that time I put my grief on hold, I kind of knew at the time that was what I was doing, but I felt it had to be that way. Allowing myself to grieve became like standing close to the edge of a cliff, if I got to close I would fall into the raging sea below and be swept away. Before I knew I was pregnant with Ben, I would only walk to the edge when our toddler wasn’t around in an attempt to protect him. But with this new life inside me I was fearful to even move. I reasoned that if the worst were to happen again, I needed to feel there was nothing I had or hadn’t done that could have possibly caused another of my children to die. Thankfully Ben arrived safe and pretty well, but in these last few months I have found I am back pretty much where I was a year ago, in terms of grief. I want to write here again, I think I need too and I read other blogs much more again also. Don’t expect to hear too much though, so many posts I start to write are dumped as they sound so ungrateful and like a whining teenager (maybe you think this one is too, sorry). I have so much, I shouldn’t focus on what I haven’t got. But for the record, I’ll never “enough” children because I  cant get back  the one who we loved and wanted just as much as her brothers.

and this is faith..

And this is faith..

That though my heart is shattered and broken, that You will keep me strong.

That every move I make is under Your watchful eye, you will not let me fall.

That as each tear falls to the ground, You hold me tighter though the storm of life.

That though I do my best, You are there to fill the gap- making perfection.

That somehow, in a way beyond all comprehension and understanding, that You will redeem and make all things right.

Oh teach me to rest in Your promises and trust You more, every minute of every day- no matter how hard life feels. That I may know the peace that only You can give, peace that surpasses all. For You know my fears, my nightmares, the depth of the dark that surrounds.

Lord protect all my little ones, You know how much I love them, because thats how you love me.

Facts and feelings

*Pre-warning: there is a part of this post which for some of you readers out there will sting, you can probably guess what I’m talking about, but I just wanted to warn you before reading on (I am sorry)*

In the time I have been quiet from blogging recently, a lot has happened. Some good, some not so good, but I have to say I’m in an emotional state and for the most part its not a hugely happy one. This post isn’t in some hope of a pity party, nor a moan about some things which have me down, when we have so much to be thankful for. This is a post born out of the same need I had soon after Abi died. If you hadn’t already gathered I’m a Christian, but I’m increasingly rubbish at casting my burdens on to Jesus. I pray about things then continue to feed my worries and sorrows with the same energy and time I did before. I’m not saying prayer, magically makes you instantly feel better, but I’m loosing far to much sleep and constantly far too anxious to keep going without putting this down in black and white. Somehow spending the time in focusing the fear, worry and pain into some kind of readable form can really pinpoint whats eating away at me and I can let it go just a tiny bit.

So to the facts..

Abi died 7 months ago today (no need to explain the feelings on this, we still miss her terribly)

I’m pregnant with our third child (I’m so sorry to those who have read on and for whom this is hard, painful news to hear. I’m sorry if you’re not on this path also and I so wish you could and soon will be too)

Our three year old son has broken his arm and is also waiting to be referred to an ENT specialist

My father in law has been in and out of hospital for the last few weeks and is awaiting surgery

I have had some lumps appear

oh and the washing machine broke (but in the grand scheme, thats is nothing)

..and the feelings

A line from a song I was listening to yesterday kind of summed it all up for me “I’m here waiting, for something new to break my heart”. I’ve become so horribly consumed with pessimism, I fear all good is gone or going.

Baby No.3- we’ve nicknamed this one George for now and I am so thankful that so far everything seems to be progressing ok. I’m not sure how much I can or want to talk about George here. For me this feels like Abi’s place and in some ways it feels that George prevents me grieving Abi as I want to. I should be walking around with the biggest cheesiest smile on my face, for I know that children and pregnancy is an amazing blessing and not to be taken for granted or given. So please don’t get me wrong, I am hugely grateful for George. There has, up until very recently been a part of me that didn’t feel I could cope with parenting three children all in very different ways and states. Parenting our living and somewhat lively son is something I’m used to and is fairly instinctive.  I am conscious that unlike Abi, I can make a real difference to him both now and for the future. Parenting Abi, by remembering and honouring her takes more thought and I am keen not too let her be pushed out of our lives by her siblings needs. But I have to face, that nothing I do really changes her, she’s in good hands already. Parenting George feels like a tightrope walk, finding some balance between enjoying however long we have (please be years and years and years) and taking enough care, that if something were to go wrong, I wouldn’t feel I was to blame. My instinct says I should just stay shut away for nine months, but thats neither possible or condusive to a well me and it doesn’t even guarantee the outcome we want.  I could say so much on George but I’m consious that most of you reading this will fall into one of two groups, you have or are currently ‘there’ too with pregnancy after loss (so you probably know what I’m thinking anyway) or you would give so much to be in my situation with a rainbow of your own that reading this just rubs salt in to that wound. And so for those reasons I will leave the subject here. If I do post more on George in the future, I’ll try to title the post with George so those that wish to, who I will again say sorry to, can avoid reading if they so wish.

The boy- the little man (our son) we have often commented, has done well to make it to 3 and a half before needing a trip to A&E. I took him to the doctors several weeks back, expecting at worst to be given antibiotics for his tonsils and earache but it seems my mouth breathing, heavy snorer may need his adenoids out. We are still awaiting an appointment to see the ENT specialist about this and whilst I hope he is just given the “he’ll grow out of it”, I want to know my little man is properly well and am dreading him being put under anesthetic and operated on if, as I fear, it comes to that. Thankfully his broken arm has, bar the first few days, been fairly ok on us all. It hit me hard to think of my little guy, broken and in such pain, but he has bounced so far back to his usual self, we are fearful he’ll break something else before he gets this plaster off.

I wont say too much on my father in law, but his health is of course a worry and concern to both Hubby and I. On paper, if all goes well he should be sorted soon and back on the road to recovery again, as it is barely 3 months since he last had surgery for a joint replacement. The biggest fear is once again the unknown, as once the initial problem was diagnosed he was patched up and sent home till they can fix the problem. He has since had to return twice to hospital, due to complications and is awaiting the date for surgery.

As for me, in the last few weeks I have had some lumps appear in my arm pits (sorry tmi). I go back to see the GP on friday as the only person I could see at the surgery last week was the very lovely and kind nurse. She felt that the lumps and decided if they hadn’t completely gone or I was still worried should be shown to a GP after a week. She didn’t give me any firm diagnosis, nor did I expect her to unless they were something really simple, but alas, no, not just an infected follicle. Whilst I am trying my best not to dwell on this, I am frightened, really frightened, for me and all my family. We know bad things happen all too well and my mind tells me really unhelpful things, especially late at night mostly along the lines of ” we’ll have to choose, me or George to live” and “at least you’ll be with Abi”. So much for staying calm and chilled for George’s sake!

So with pregnancy, two lots of hospital trips for our son and investigations into my lumps, this will be a year of hospital visits and appointments like no other. I hope and pray this is the sum of it and nothing else will come up for us and all of our friends and family will stay/ improve in health. If you pray, please could you remember us at this time, the weight of fear is stacking up and we really should be enjoying these precious days we have with our son and the baby. Thank you

Hugs

In the words of eeyore, “would you happen to have a hug with my name on it?”

We are broken, into lots of tiny pieces. The breakage happened just over six months ago. The pieces have now slowly moved back into the right places, all but one, but thats lost, forever, buried in the ground.

Problem is the glue. The glue to hold the pieces together has been applied. Its sticky and from a distance makes it all look pretty together, maybe even functioning and dare I say normal. Problem is, the glue wont dry, its tacky, but it hasn’t and wont set. The broken pieces, over time keep easing apart again, still sticky, still held together, sort of.

There are so few words (they come from the rarest, most precious of people) that actual help or make a difference for good. But a hug, that can say so much more. I wont try and put it into words.

Thank you to those who have and continue to hug me (particularly you Hubby), you squeeze all the broken bits back together. Oh and keep hugging me, I’ve heard the glue wont set till heaven.

God and me

I was attempting to have a nap after last nights lack of sleep, but have decided this is utterly pointless when I have a blog post rattling around in my head.

In the last month or so, a few of my conversations and thoughts have revolved around my faith and Abi’s death, today it just seems right some how to maybe record how I am doing in that area, almost a journal if you will, with the vain hope that one day I’ll look back on this post and see how far I’ve come.

I’ll start by saying I don’t feel I’m doing very well on my side of the God and me relationship. Someone said at church a few weeks back that he hoped we’d all read our bibles already today (not the whole thing obviously). Inside, I hung my head in shame knowing that not unusually, I had not. The following lyric from a song sums it up pretty well for me, “you painted me a picture, you showed me how to see, but I just wont behold it, unless it pertains to me” As I tend to never be too far from my laptop, if I’m going to read the bible it tends to be an online site with a daily reading and I’ll follow some verses up in an online version. However I seriously struggle to take much in or find a want to do a daily reading, unless it some how relates to what I’m feeling.

I also find God pretty quiet on Abi’s death. I guess for the most part it’s because I want answers, reasons and some kind of word that will make it all better. I’ve always struggled with not hearing God speak, a group of us used to all go and spend time alone listening to what God was saying to us then come back together and report. I never felt I had anything said to me. It’s the same since Abi died, whilst there are times I would like to read some meaning into things that happen I know I’m willing so hard for a ‘message’ that I’m making it up.

Trusting God isn’t what it used to be, but then I don’t think I had it right back then. I guess a part of me assumed that if I asked God for what I wanted (i.e. my baby to be born safe and well) and it wasn’t a greedy, selfish or wrong desire I’d get it. Trust has now been reduced to a thread, one which says ultimately, at the end of all time, God will make it all right. All I can do is cling, like my life depends on it (which it does), to this. I’ve come to realise that my life has and may continue to involve all manner of horrors, things I would never wish to face and wouldn’t have thought I could.

But there it is, did you spot it? The glimmer of a positive, “I wouldn’t have thought I could”. I haven’t got to nearly six months as grieving Mumma on my own. We have amazed ourselves with how well we have coped, we have survived, thus far. I cannot put this down to myself, its just not possible I  have dragged my own weary heap this far. I’m not a strong person, I tend to see the glass as half empty at the best of times and though we have been blessed with some deep care and love by others, for the most part we’ve gone this road on our own.

So I’m left holding tight to the few things that I know.

Abi is in heaven and I will see her again. Whilst I wish we could have had her here to, I have peace that I will get to see her face to face. It has to be so.

I am being carried and cared for by God, however distance he feels right now, its just beyond me to have survived this without Him.

Whilst I find myself out of touch with somethings, I can relate hugely to Jesus death and I find a real expression of my thoughts and love for both God and Abi in a lot of the music I listen (and attempt to sing along) to.

God is real and whilst I have so little understanding of his ways, I know he must be there as I see the wonder of the good and beautiful around me in sunlight and nature, in the joy and amazing ways of our little boy and in the love of those who care for us in special ways.

(Ironically, I’ve just flicked through the last few days of some readings and found a fair few are probably right up my street. O.K. God point made!)

Mothers day with a difference

Today, I wish I’d have been woken by you stirring in the cot next to me. I’m sure I’ve have groaned as I struggled out of my cosy bed and seen the time. I wish I could feel for real, the feeling as I carefully place my hands around you and gently lift you up. I imagine you so chubby and soft, an absolute treat to hold. Your round little face would relax as you see that Mummies got you and you know your safe and cared for. I wish today I’d have had the amazing hug from you, that give as you nestle close to me for a feed. Our hearts so close and our eyes fixed on each other. Now it really wouldn’t matter what the time was, cause you’d be happy again and I’d be enjoying our special time together. I expect you’d get breakfast in my bed everyday, but how good it would have been to share our first meal of the day together with Daddy and your big brother to, who cares how many crumbs get in the bed today? Speaking of your big brother, I think he’d have helped you out by letting you share the gift and card he so reveled in delivering this morning. I expect he’d be able to write your name nearly as well as he can his own. I wonder if you’d have given me an easy and gentle day, or whether you’d have been fussy sleeping, super hungry or made a huge mess for me to clear up? Do you know what, at the end of the day none of it would have mattered, I’m your Mumma and that means, that I love you, unconditionally and forever.

Today I’ve really missed you Abi, I’m glad you don’t know that though, Mummy wouldn’t ever want you to be sad.