the things that are said

When a baby dies we know that people say the oddest things. Sometimes with good intention and mostly without thinking.

Of all the things that have been said to us, I wonder why people say how sorry they are about Alice's death and then follow it with something along the lines of 'there will be plenty more babies for you one day.'

Will there?

I wonder?

Would you say to your friend on hearing of the death of her husband 'there will be another husband for you one day.' Or when one of your best friends dies would you say to her fiancee, as you stand there outside her now silent ICU room, 'there will be other fiancee one day...'

I don't think you would. Correction, I know you wouldn't because you now know what to say when some one dies. I guess that's one 'good' thing that has come out of this mess.

People die all the time. Its not a new thing. Its a terribly sad thing. It will happen to us all. But why are people still so crap at dealing with it? I know its scary. I know its devastating. But I can talk about it. And I will and I do.

Perhaps if only we talked about it a bit more, people would know what to say. And more importantly, what not to say.

waiting and wishing...

Autumn is here. Cool nights and sunny afternoons. The leaves are starting to turn and fall from the peach tree. We are waiting in suspense to see the leaves on the Japanese maple become golden and orange and red. Waiting to see what grows and changes in this garden at the Blue House.

These days we always seem to be waiting for something. Waiting for anniversaries. Waiting to feel happier. Waiting for some one to say the right thing. Waiting for my husband to come home from his many trips abroad. Waiting for people to finally say how sorry they are that this has happened. Waiting to stop being so angry at people who have said nothing, not one word about Alice dying.

Wishing for all to be right in the world.

Minnie and I were playing in the garden a couple of days ago. Just mucking about with the puppy and doing some digging in the flower beds. Enjoying the afternoon. She stopped playing and said 'Mummy, I wish for Alice Buttons to come back.'

So do I.

nothing to say...

I guess I am feeling like I have nothing to say. For the moment. Of course I have things to say but maybe just not the words to put down here.

I know that this blog is about this part of my life, the grieving, lonely and so desperately sad part of my life. But, like you all I have another part too. The part in which I smile and laugh and sometimes have a glass of wine. And I have a big part in which I have a 3 year old who loves to talk about the anatomy of the ear, the skeletal system and who this week will not dress in anything appropriate for the weather. In this other life we have a 12 week old Golden Retriever puppy. But, I know that this place is not about that.

So for a while I think I need to be in that other part of my life. I will still be around, here for my dear friends and reading your blogs. Sometimes writing about my sweet Alice. I will be here hoping that the lost mama will email back and tell me how she is.

Once you are in this club or community or 'family',' the one that no-one ever wanted to join, you are in it for life. I know that we are all here, for each other, for the long haul. For all the days. For all the crap bits that have been and for all the great bits to come.

lost mama

I recently had a email from a babylost mama. She found my blog and wrote to thank me for sharing my experience. And she told me about hers. Still very raw and new, she is feeling lost and alone in a country far from her home. People don't want to talk about her baby. No support or counselling was offered. 'They' didn't think it was a good idea for her to hold her precious baby. I could feel her intense pain and loneliness and anger through her writing. I cried thinking about her birth experience and about how she felt so alone.

I wrote to her and told her that she is not alone, that we are here and the we understand. We really understand. I told her that we will talk about her baby with her and scream with her and sometimes hate the world with her.

I told her we would take care of her.

I have not heard back. I need to know that she is OK. Not OK, as no-one here is 'OK' but you know what I mean.

If you are there, please just let me know how you are going.

You are not alone, even though at times you feel such an indescribable loneliness.

We are here with you on this awful journey.

six

Today is 6 months since Alice was born.
Born because of complications beyond any ones control.
Born at 20 weeks. Tiny and perfect.
Tomorrow is 6 months since Alice died.
Died because of complications beyond any ones control.
She has been dead now longer than she was alive, safe inside me.
A nightmare.
Everyday.
Remembering, grieving, thinking about what should have been.
Thinking about how everything has changed.
But how everyone else has stayed the same.
Knowing that I will always think about her every day.
Wondering if other people will.
Trying to never forget every little detail about her.
Trying to forget the baby urns and coffins at the funeral home.
Thinking about the other babies and their mama's.
Wishing with all my heart that this doesn't happen to any of us again.
Gratefull that I can share her here with people that understand.
Sad everyday that I will never be able to hold her again.

warmth

I remember holding Alice, holding her close to keep her warm. I wrapped her, adding extra layers around her tiny little body, trying to keep out the cold. I spoke softly to her, my warm whispers settling on her cheeks. Holding her delicate perfect face to mine.

They dressed her in a pink knitted hat and jacket. Keeping her warm. I made her a quilt. To keep her warm.

I tried so hard but, nothing I could do would stop it.

The cold came slowly creeping in, forcing out the warmth, taking over Alice and the room and our lives.

other people

I sent a message to an old acquaintance last week asking after her baby that had been due in February. I also told her about a mutual acquaintance, updating her on the birth of her daughter. I thought I had better say that Alice had died as the last time I bumped into her, we were both happily pregnant. I thought it would be odd if I didn't say something, given that I imagine she would have been wondering about our baby.

So she then called. I asked after her baby and we chatted about our mutual acquaintance. We chatted about some other people we knew. Then I explained, that although it must have been a little shocking, I needed to let her know about Alice in that message. Then she told me that she knew as she ran into my best friend last year and she had told her about Alice. She said knew all about it but said that she was 'too chicken to call as it was just all too difficult.'

I said that it was OK and for her not to feel bad.

But, what I felt like saying was 'you have no idea what 'too difficult' is.'

What I should have said was that even if you cry, if you can't find the words and if you feel like vomiting, the next time you know someone who has a baby that dies, you damn well call them or send a card.