June 28, 2013 § Leave a comment
Thinking about trying to get pregnant again.
Feeling bung. Broken. Faulty.
It’s almost a year since Rèmy… another sad milestone.
I miss you Rèmy… everyday.
I was planning a presentation for tomorrow when I came across a photo of me about a month before losing Rèmy, so happy to have made it past the first trimester… just, so happy. It’s a really nice photo, it captures every inch of my glow, the sparkle in my eye… I remember catching myself smiling all the time, just giddy thinking about meeting my baby and the future.
I’ve been telling myself recently to change my attitude – it’s do-able. Just need to stop being sad.
Just. Stop. Being. Sad.
May 20, 2013 § Leave a comment
I hate the jealousy.
It hits me hard. When I’m around some pregnant women.
I just… feel filled with… envious, writhing, jealous energy.
And it makes me angry.
And all the feelings of inadequacy, failure, incapability and powerlessness flood my mind, and my heart becomes cold and stoney.
I’ve learned how to forgive myself, and breath through moments of momentary head fuckery, but it leaves a mark on my day, on my week, on my headspace.
Too many eggs are in the baby basket, I think sometimes.
I wish and dream about having a successful pregnancy; some days I’m filled with hope, others I just want to give up hoping. That commitment to the unknown is so much easier for me to consider in work, and philosophise about with artists and friends.
I guess it’s just a matter of fake smiling through these moments. Fake smiling, breathing, hoping and trying to trust the unknown.
January 15, 2013 § Leave a comment
It’s hard to accept that the people who might love you the most can also stab you the deepest.
I find solace at the cemetery. Quietly whispering to Rèmy.
His new neighbour’s shit is always spilling on to his grave. Plastic crap, soggy sad looking teddy bears. I pull out the extra long grass and sit cross legged on his little plot. It’s practical, as there are no seats nearby, but I like feeling close to him. It settles my chaotic heart.
I was triggered today by the feeling that even those closest to me have no way to understand the grief I feel… The way Rèmy’s life and death changed the course of my life. I float along trying to keep going, sometimes the current takes me surging forwards, other times I’m stuck going in circles.
I force myself to survive on a rhythm supported by structure, love and boundaries. When any or all of those things are threatened, I am in pieces.
This is what I know.
It’s seven months on. Everything has changed. My heart still aches.
December 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
In two weeks, it will be six months since losing our baby. Rèmy’s plot at Manukau Memorial Gardens is now almost completely surrounded. I feel the loss of all the new babies in the children’s cemetery. Every visit yields a new experience of grief.
Today I was overcome with emotion. I really cried today. I saw so many tiny babies at the Otara market. I felt too much… desire, jealousy, anger, frustration. A familiar darkness crept over me and I drove to the cemetery in tears.
Whilst understanding the vulnerability triggers, grieving plus Christmas is a new experience. Rèmy was due on December 6. We would have been having our first Christmas together.
So many thoughts today started with, “I just wish…”
I just wish you were here, baby. I’m lost when I’m consumed with your memory.
I had bought lots of delicious fresh fruit and vegetables at the market before I got sad this morning. I came home after being at the cemetery and forced myself to be busy. I made fruit juice, a big yummy salad, macaroni cheese, garlic bread. My partner came home from work and we had a beautiful dinner. He settled my anxiety.
To love and be loved is so soothing for a fragile heart.
October 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
When Rèmy died I played this song on repeat. I know when I’m doing well when this comes on Shuffle and I don’t cry.
But on dark days, listening to sad songs is slow torture. On dark days, I could drown in my tears. Then I imagine letting go of the tension in my body and in my mind, and visualise floating in the ocean. My tears become part of the sea and I am balanced.
I’m fighting not to become a hopeless drifter.
The grief changes. When I think ‘I miss you‘, I’m starting to think it’s more and more about missing stability… sanity, groundedness.
These are some dark days.
September 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
It’s almost three months since we buried Rèmy. The artificial flowers from his funeral were starting to deteriorate, so we removed the bulk of them on the weekend. We got a sculpture from The Warehouse of two Kea birds. We couldn’t agree on pots and flowers, and little shrubby things, so we got a weird garden sculpture. I quite like it now. We thought of it as representative of mummy and daddy, watching over our baby boy.
There have been some pretty big changes in my life in the past two weeks, namely my living situation has changed… for the better, and I finally have a dedicated space to work in. It’s awesome… I’m overwhelmed how great it is. When I was setting up my home office, I wanted something on the wall to remind me of Rèmy – not of his funeral, or his life before his death, but something else.
The hospital gives you this card after your baby dies, created by a great organisation called Sands Manukau – Baby Loss Support which has the date and time of your baby’s death, his weight and length and his little hand prints and foot prints. It’s such a sweet gesture, and we value it so much. I put the card on the wall of my new office, above my whiteboard. It feels so good to have it out and visible. I used to keep it in my diary. It did make me cry to put it up… a lot. But it’s just one of those things. I just miss him… I can’t help that. I feel like those tears christened my office and I love this space.
I went to an event last night where I knew I would bump into people who wouldn’t know what to say to me, knowing I lost my baby. There was awkwardness all round. I know it’s hard for people; they don’t want to not mention it, because they don’t want to appear uncaring, but then they know if they do mention it, perhaps it’ll open up a can of emotional worms… and take the conversation into even MORE awkward territory. So, some people didn’t mention it, but gave me knowing gestures (tilts of the head, warm and meaningful rubs on the back, sad eyes) and some did, and I delivered my well worn lines of, “I lost the baby in July… yeah, it’s OK… I’m OK.”
There’s nothing to say. Losing a baby is horrific. I don’t wish it on anyone. As time moves forward, you just get used to living with it.
September 9, 2012 § Leave a comment
On bad days everything is overwhelming.
There’s a flashing neon sign in my mind’s eye that reads FAILURE.
The mind wanders and the reflection of the light from that sign can be found in every facet of my thinking.
I see it for what it is; grief, lightweight depression and the side effects of attempting to work freelance for the first time in my life. I know that there is a lot to be positive about. Those thoughts surround me on good days.
Today is a bad day. I’m trying really hard to get myself out of this.