July 19, 2012 § Leave a comment

Saying good-bye to my partner’s younger sister today has made me really sad. Sad because she is my partner’s closest family member, and they have never lived on opposite sides of the world before. Amazed and in absolute respect for her as a young mum with a one, two and three year old. Sad because it makes me think about how close and reliable she has been in our times of need. Inspired by the courage her and her husband Tevita exude taking such a huge step by relocating the family from South Auckland to the South of France. But overall sad for how much my partner will miss his little sister.

The tears flowed today as we all stood around the departures area, in the moment when they absolutely had to go. The men being strong, the women wiping tears and mascara, the children largely oblivious. I miss them already.



July 14, 2012 § Leave a comment

Seeing a friend’s pictures of her beautiful new born baby on Instagram was a trigger.

That sadness which is negative and inconsolable washed over me like a king tide.

Like a bad score, moments like this bring down the average and saying “I’m OK, I’m doing well” becomes only a partially true statement.

This was mostly a good week. As my health started to improve, my head started to come together. The reality of having no job was a chilling reminder that life must go on.

I’m just identifying the triggers…

#np These Arms of Mine ~ Otis Redding

Random thoughts, grief and dreams: one week on

July 9, 2012 § Leave a comment

It’s one week since I lost Rèmy.

I woke up at 3.30am thinking ab0ut his grave. I was dreaming about the soil.

When I was shaking with fever yesterday morning, curled up in the fetal position feeling like I was going to die, I wanted to go to Rèmy’s grave. But I couldn’t see straight and couldn’t have driven. I clutched at the blanket we have kept that Rèmy was laid upon in the casket, and I felt strong.

This is a good resource for miscarriage specific grief – over the last week, my mind, body and soul has been tested to its limits.

One of the well-meaning but irritating comments I have been plagued with this week has been, your time will come – you’ll get there in the end. How do they know? Don’t they think I have hoped, prayed and wished for this? It doesn’t help. It’s well-meaning, but no one knows if this is true and therefore, don’t say it if it is not a statement based on truth.

These are just some thoughts at 4.30am. Lying awake in bed, thinking about Rèmy.

Being alone with my thoughts

July 8, 2012 § Leave a comment

The day after Rèmy’s funeral, my partner was due to go into work. We had a beautiful, deep sleep the night of the funeral and woke up feeling more at peace than we had been all week. I started making us breakfast – the kitchen was still a mess from hosting guests from the funeral at our house for lunch the previous day. I started to feel overwhelmed piling up dishes and returning things to their rightful place. We sat down to eat and I started to cry.

He put his arms around me and said he wouldn’t go to work, and I felt an immediate sense of relief. I didn’t realise how insecure I suddenly felt at the prospect of being alone. We ate breakfast, although I had lost my appetite. We did the dishes together and he cheered me up – our transition from deep sadness to humour is at times swift. He knows how to make me laugh and laughing makes me feel good.

Afterwards he sat down and played Mitch Hedberg videos on YouTube and I cleaned the lounge and kitchen areas slowly, listening and laughing, just happy he was there. The house slowly became normal again – clean, refreshed and ready for a new week.

We visited Rèmy in the afternoon – and it felt good. We looked at the other graves and headstones in the children’s area of Manukau Memorial Gardens and felt secure that Rèmy was in the presence of so many loved children and babies.

My partner’s rugby team, College Rifles, have been enormously supportive and they had planned to have a minute of silence for Taka and baby Rèmy before their game against East Tamaki. We went to watch, it was important moment for him. Watching rugby for me is the same feeling that he has when I drag him to art events – we tolerate and support each other but have limited engagement. I just enjoyed watching him enjoy the game. Our relationship has naturally intensified over this past week and I am deeply grateful to have him in my life.

The clingyness will fade. I was just afraid to be alone with my thoughts.

Darkest Moment

July 7, 2012 § Leave a comment

Once Rèmy had gone, I was struck violently with the most intense loneliness. It was was my lowest moment.

I wrote a letter to Rèmy in hospital on my first night without him. It helped to articulate the pain.

Rèmy, dearest one – our baby,

I wish you knew how much we wanted you. I wish you knew how
much you were transforming our lives. Maybe it was too much
to put on you, because now you’re not here, not part of me –
now your heart doesn’t beat in time with mine, I feel such
an enormous emptiness.

You were our baby, our son. And you always will be. I was so
excited to meet you, but not like this… we melted seeing
your little heart beat in your dark little ribcage. We
melted seeing your strong nose, just like Daddy’s. We wept
when we realised you were our little boy. We had both wanted
a boy – deeply.

Rèmy- you leave me with an inconsolable sadness that I’m
afraid will consume me. I will try every day to be
optimistic, think positively, love and be loved by those
around me. But the path ahead is paved with tears and
memories, haunting self-doubt… your loss cripples me and I
am in pieces – missing you, wishing you weren’t gone,
wishing things were different.

I know that God has a plan, and lost pregnancies have
greater purpose… they are not punishment. But I can’t help
but wish that I was better at this. Twice now in 12 months –
losing our babies is heartbreaking and tragic: this was not
the plan.

Rèmy – I’m so scared of moving forward from this moment.

You have thrown us a curve ball and I know that me and Daddy
will love each other and support each other to try our
hardest to not let your life be in vain.

Baby boy, rest in love and peace. You have made an
indelible mark on our lives and we will never be the same.

Love you more everyday.

Mummy xxx


To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.

Phyllis Theroux

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