3 years...

And not a day goes by that I do not think of her. Sweet baby Alice. You will always be missing.

Alice

originally blogged here

It is 2 years today since our sweet Alice Buttons was born. Tomorrow it will be 2 years since she died.

2 years.

After 2 years I have nothing profound to say about life and about death. Nothing insightful or all that meaningful. Life can be short. Death can be unexpected and unfair and at the wrong time. I have learned that people don't like talk about death. And when you say you had a baby that died, it is as if they didn't hear you. They move on in the conversation. They leave those words hanging. I imagine that if you could see these conversations, you would see those little-big words, 'dead baby,' just hovering there, waiting for the person to let them into their ears and into their brains. Most people don't. They don't want to think about what that means.

Some very special people do let those words in. They ask you about her and they talk about other babies that have died. They send beautiful balloons on her birthday and messages of love. They are the people that say her name, that say how shitty it is and they talk about her like she was here.

Because for us, she was here. She will always be here. What I have learned about life and death is that every day of every week of 2 whole years you can think about someone and you can desperately miss someone that you never knew. What I have learned about life and death is that I am sure for every day for every year for the rest of my life, I will miss someone that I never got the chance to know. What I have learned is that you can fill up your heart with a new life but a bit of you will always be missing.

Someone will always be missing. Alice will always be missing. Missing and missed.

One month

Today Louis is one month old. One page of the wall calendar has turned over since his arrival. One month of joy and sleeplessness and of lots of crying. Crying by both of us. I cry in amazement at his perfection. I cry happy tears and of course I cry sad tears. Would Alice have tried to suck her thumb like Louis? Would she have settled so easily in my arms? Would she...? I know it does no good asking these questions in my mind. Just hard not too.

Today the pediatrician checked Louis' heart again. He listened much longer than perhaps he needed too. He knows about Alice and her poor little heart that was never going work the way it should. So he listened as my sweet Louis screamed and cried and made certain that the world could hear him.

And his heart is fine. Beating like it should. Able to beat for a very long, long life.

Relief. Tears of joy. And tears for his big sister Alice.

Louis Franz

I am not sure if anyone still follows this blog, this neglected blog. This blog that connected me to the amazing babylost mama's that have held me up over the last 1year and 8 months. This place is where I felt I was not alone on this most horrid of journeys. But from the horror of loosing Alice I have made some truly wonderful friends. And from the horror of loosing Alice, a new life has been made. On 8th May at 2.10pm Louis Franz rushed his way into this world. Our gorgeous boy. The boy that listened to my endless pleas that everything will be OK.

The joy of having Louis also brought a deep sadness, a longing for Alice. I guess that's how it will be. Happy/sad. More happy than sad but always, lurking not too far under my skin, will be a little bit of sadness.

sharing the news...

I found it, and at times, still find it very hard to tell people that I am pregnant. I didn't really know how to announce it and I apologise if I upset anyone by just blurting it out, in the very (photo) graphic way that I did.

I shared the news with a couple of people when I found out I was pregnant and that was it. I only told two of my best friends a couple of weeks ago. As I live a long way from them, it was easy to get away with it. I would have preferred to not tell my family until the baby was born but that was not possible. I didn't want to have to tell people that something had gone wrong. Because of Alice dying I didn't want to talk about it.

I didn't want to think about what may happen again.


We have had many extra scans and tests. Each of these has been a huge milestone. Panic and anxiety leading up to it, a brief moment of calm, and then more panic and anxiety as I wait for the next test. We have one more big one to go. One more and then we just have to wait. Waiting and waiting. So many minutes in the day in all that waiting. If only I could close my eyes and wake up at the end of April.

But if I did that, I wouldn't get to feel those lovely kicks and rolls and enjoy all those 'secret' moments, just the baby and I.

For many of you, one in particular, I know this is hard. I wish it was you, sharing your news with us. I think of you and send all my love and baby making vibes your way.

growing...

... a precious new life.

the end

I have come to the end of this blog. I think. I think that I have nothing more to say here. I have struggled with it of late as I really feel I can't write what I think or feel. There seem to be many things that I shouldn't say in fear of upsetting someone or saying the wrong thing.


Sometimes I feel isolated from this community, for many reasons. Sometimes it is too hard to be here. And while its to hard talk about Alice to people in the real world, sometimes its too hard to talk about all my children here in this community.

I will be always a bit different now. Forever changed. Holding your baby while she takes a tiny, gentle breaths in your arms and dies a few hours later will do that.

During this year, I have got to find out how badly people handle the death of a baby. How families and friends forget anniversaries. The days passing without a word. Nothing. I didn't want in depth phone calls or essays but, an sms or a card would have been enough. Or an email or a message. That would have meant something. I guess that in a few years, only a handful of people will remember Alice Buttons. And I shouldn't expect that they will remember her - their worlds didn't stop when she was born and died. She was their lunch time conversation or a pitying chat over coffee. To us she is our daughter, the one that didn't get the chance to grow and love and live. The daughter that will always be a tiny baby that died in my arms.


But during this year, I have got to find a whole community of women and men that have also had their hearts ripped from their chests and shoved back in, with big parts missing. I thank you all for your support and kindness over the last year. I will follow your journeys and hope that we all get a happy ending, one day.


I may be back. I may not. But thank you for being here with me.