Apparently the same law that applies to home ed (have one very good day, you immediately get a very bad day) applies to baby grief in a similar way. So if you write a sentence like this:-
“Now that, I hate saying this but I’m having to try and make it true, the worst of the raw grieving is beginning to pass…”
you will immediately get hit with a wave of crushing grief and the unfairness of life. With a few sidewinders thrown in for good measure.
Yesterday I woke up with the radio and the first sentences I heard were these; “I wanted that pregnancy, I wanted that baby. And it was just too awful.”
So I turned it off and turned on my Kindle to try a new book. The first page was a mother writing to someone begging to know how her son died and the other person reflecting that all that happens to pain and grief is that you eventually find that it is the days when you have forgotten for a while that hurt.
So I turned on my phone to play a word game; I spelled a word, just using two letters. Two letter dropped into my screen. CP. Cerebral Palsy. Even in that order.
Thanks world. Sometimes what has happened lately is nearly enough to make me believe in god. And he is not being kind.
Sometimes I just don’t know where to reach for help any more. Max prefers not to speak of Freddie. If I write on Facebook I feel needy and over dramatic, if I write privately or here and no one answers, I just presume people are bored and rolling their eyes. If I ask for answers, I ‘know’ I am being needy.
If I write among the babylost, I risk hurting someone else. Amongst my intake, only two of us are left not pregnant now. Everyone else from April, even afterwards, seems to be carrying their rainbow. I don’t want to hear how scary it is, I just want to be there.
I’m so tired of trying to be brave and stoical. I’m so tired of trying and failing to get pregnant. I don’t think I can do it any more. I don’t know how to keep lifting myself back up. This morning I dreamt about the first time that Freddie tried to die, almost died, if you don’t count being born. It comes to something when waking up from that is a bad thing.
I am still here and reading and I am not rolling my eyes or bored by what you are saying. I don’t always comment cos I don’t have the words and sometimes I am crying too hard to type. Just keep on writing. Even if I don’t comment I hear you xxx.
Thanks Ruth. Thank you for caring. Of course, I know people care, but bad days are full of tricks of the light that make this such a lonely place to be.
Same comment as Ruth really, I know you don’t know me though but I read every post about Freddie, it is a very lonely place, maybe that’s just how it is I don’t know. I just don’t know what else to say.
Thanks Pixie minx, I appreciate it 🙂
oh what the hell is the universe on, giving you that set of circumstances? that’s enough to bring anyone to their knees.
i HATED how long it took me to get pregnant. i still hate that SO MANY people who lost babies after me got pregnant before me. (and i still feel guilty about e, that i got there before her.) (and i hate myself for thinking all this, too, it’s a horrible thing to resent fellow BLMs in any circumstances.)
there should be an order, and it should go in strict order of loss. those who lost first get pregnant first. oh and we are all guaranteed live babies the second time round. fair’s fair after all.
(i KNOW that those who get pregnant quickly have to process everything at once and that it must be incredibly hard. and that in some ways i’m glad i had brain space between the two pregnancies. but… still. i still hate that it took so long.)
i should blog about this rather than write about it here, but i’m too ashamed to admit it and own it.
I hear you beth; it is very tough. i think I’ve just now lost all conviction I’m going to get pregnant. It seems to be a knack I have lost.
I don’t think it’s possible for you to be needy and over dramatic or boring. You should have Freddie. It is never going to be fair or right that he’s gone. :hugs:
Thank you Anne-Marie 🙂
Only want to say the same as Ruth, I read everything you type about Freddie. Poppy talks about Freddie just as she does her other cousins. His photo is on our PC. We all wish we were brave enough to type the way you do!
Oh Louise. I’m so touched by that and also so sad that Pops has this in her childhood. But I do love her and you for it.
I’m always listening, never rolling my eyes, and only today I said to Woody how much I was wishing you a baby…maybe it’s innaproprate to tell you that, I’m sorry if it is.
We think of you and yours often here, always sending you love. x
Oh Jeanette, it isn’t inappropriate. I’m so grateful to be in your thoughts. If only wishes could come true, eh?
As the other not-pregnant one, feel free to send me emails full of drama and neediness. I will of course see your feelings as perfectly justified and necessary. I hate that all I want to do is rage about how everyone else seems to be pregnant, yet that’s what I feel and there’s no where to put those feelings. Maybe if we trade, it will get better.
It has to be worth a try. It just sucks.
BTW, look in your spam folder for an email from me shortly 🙂
Oh sweetheart 🙁 I haven’t any words to make things better, but I’m not rolling my eyes – it’s more a case that anything I might post in a comment just sounds trite and patronising.
I’ve been reading you for over five years now and your life blogged has touched me in more ways than one. Your words opened my eyes exceedingly wide when I first met them, and I think it was a post about a bad day, it was an epiphany for me, I wasn’t the only one. This was way back in my first excursions into internet life, I think your blog might have been the first or one of the first I ever read. I was on the cusp of home edding, and you convinced me. Then shortly after that, my dad, who’d been dying, died in a horrid hospital cock up, I saw it happen and that was the start of what I know to be the hell of grief. During the early days of that, when I quite simply lost my marbles and wanted to join him (I admit it now), I can remember thinking, oh people are not going to want to read this, there was this huge pressure to ‘get over it’ i put on myself. Anyway, you were one of the people who left really exacting comments at that time (i started a blog too). I can safely say that blogging through that with blog chums, most of whom I have never met face to face, was the single most supportive experience I have ever had. Meaning: (in my dreadful old windbag way) I think we’ve all got our reasons for caring ever so much about you and for being really sad about Freddie’s death. One can only hope that this cyber support, along with the physical support of day to day mates and family gets you through the darkest days. There will be light days, days when the tears run through the laughter, it’s always lovely to read your upbeat posts… but those dark days? Count us in for those too.
Merry, I’m sorry for all the times I’ve read and not commented. I log in almost everyday simply because I think of you almost every day as your words have touched me even though I have never met you and I am willing you on your journey through this difficult land. You write so honestly that I feel I am learning something about what you are going through and that will hopefully help me be that bit more understanding a person than I might have been otherwise. I run out of words but I hope you never do. Keep writing….
I read and don’t comment but never eye roll. Thinking of you and wishing there was something I could type into your little comment box to make it all stop hurting. L x
Merry, I read here as well but rarely comment – it’s never because of eye-rolling, more often it’s because I’m nodding but don’t have anything unique or innovative to add to what you’ve already captured so well…
I do think it should just be written in the stars that BLMs should get to decide the exact cycle when they will conceive again, and as soon as they are ready, it will happen. I hate that it hasn’t happened as quickly as you’d like. Even more, I hate that Freddie isn’t here with you.
I send you much love.
i read when i can. I don’t always comment, mostly i feel my words are addequate. I think about you all often, there is no eye rolling.
No eye-rolling here either……just run out of ways to say I’m gutted for you all, and I wish I could change things. Lots of love 🙂 xXx
that’s an…..interesting…..smilie there! No idea how I did that!
Merry, I read, I think I have commented perhaps once. No eye-rolling from me. I know what you mean, it feels like there is only so far you can push your self and your dead child on fb, only so many times you can burden your (blissfully ignorant of dead babies, even though they try hard to support you) friends, only so many times you can randomly chose 4 books from the “whats new” shelf at the local library only to find that all four mention/”deal with” dead babies. Once I was past Catriona’s first anniversary/birthday it was hard to keep expressing myself without feeling people were secretly eyerolling and feeling I was wallowing…blah… and it is a form of torture when someone who you have helped when they lost their baby as you were a few months further down the babylost road has their rainbow before you can even get pregnant again… At the same time you are trying to process your own grief you are trying to help your older children…. I am sorry you don’t have your beautiful Freddie and that I don’t have my beautiful Catriona, but I will read for as long as you continue to write xxxx
Thanks Emma, it is good to know others recognise the feeling. Much love back.
Also still here and reading, Merry. Think of you often. I have nothing clever to say but I’m sitting here with a mug of tea and I’m sending you a cyber mug too. x I would never presume to roll an eye. Never.
Merry, like so many others I often don’t comment because I would be saying the same as everyone else. I always read, am always touched by what you write, and often cry with you. But I never, ever roll my eyes and am never bored. Please feel free to write about how you feel if it helps and know we are here to listen, pray, and feel with you. Sending {hugs} xx
Oh god, I really didn’t mean to make people feel bad for not commenting. It was two separate thoughts – I’m very grateful for the comments, really!
Thank you all (see what I mean – accidentally needs :/ )
no eye rolling here either. just no words that seem right. nothing I can write seems enough. I dont know how to help . Just {{{hugs}}} which, again, seems trite :S
Merry, I don’t often read but I did today. I know how tough things are, even after 11 years I still miss my daughter of 2 days. I still get those ups and downs, though they are more controllable. Having another child helps but the hiatus is agonisingly slow. It took me two years and then that pregnancy ended up lost too. All’s well that ends well I ended up with four little monkeys and a happy life. I wanted you to know that it won’t always be like this for you. You wont forget, you won’t stop hurting but things will change eventually and the memories you have of Freddie keep you going. You got to hold and love this tremendous little boy, he is special like no other. It’s a bond that no one else shared just yours and his. Love that you got him all to yourself.
I’m sorry and sending you some hugs today. ((((((hugs))))))
Amanda, thank you so much for this.
Amanda, this is such a kind reply. Thank you. I am so sorry you lost your daughter too.
Merry, I always look forward to reading here and can relate to so much of what you write. And although I seem to get pregnant easily, I also seem to lose pregnancies easily, and am wishing along with you for a healthy pregnancy that ends in a healthy a baby. May our wishes come true for both of us. Thinking of you and Freddie. xx
Thanks Jenn, lots of love to you.