Two Years on..by Jess

I’ve had the words rolling around and around in my head for months, I’m finding it particularly hard to articulate my thoughts 2 years on. There may be no real point to the following, it may seem like rambles, but here goes…

How can it have been 2 years already?!! 2 years since you entered the world so silently, 2 years since we looked on your beautiful face, kissed your closed eyes and ruby red lips. 2 years since we held your hands and said goodbye. 2 years since a little piece of me died with you.

I never thought I’d feel truly happy again, never thought I could experience contentment again…I’m still on the fence about contentment but we have been blessed enough to feel pure joy welcoming your little sister into the world! She was the spitting image of you, seeing her sleeping soundly in that hospital cot was both elating and unsettling. Walking her through our front door and placing her in the bassinet we made up for you felt the same. You would adore little Belle Emma. You would have been a doting big sister, so proud of your little baby…I suppose. We’ll never know. Most likely Belle would never have been born had you lived, we would probably have carried on with life as normal. Complaining of the lack of sleep, the cost of nappies, the seemingly trivial day to days of raising a family. Losing you gave us a perspective that you can only gain from losing a child. That’s not to say that we don’t complain about the sleep deprivation, we’re only human after all.

Since bringing our 3^rd child  Belle home, every second of my day is filled with some form of craziness and yet I still think of Emma every one of those seconds. After she died all I wanted was to be pregnant again, thinking it would fix or at least help repair the hole in me. About 13 months after Emma was born I finally fell pregnant and it was beautiful. My pregnancy was such a breeze (physically, not emotionally) and really in a way, healing. I proved to myself that I could do it, that my body could get through it.

When I look into Belle’s eyes I look for Emma and she’s not there. Belle is a little version of me just like her big brother (now nearly 4), only she has her Dad’s beautiful blue eyes instead of my brown. Those eyes kill me. They are the most beautiful eyes you’ll ever see, when I look into those eyes I feel her love for me and I feel our connection. I also feel that hole inside me opening back up. I never got to look into Emma’s eyes. Would they have been brown like mine or blue like her Dads? Another unknown.

Bringing Belle home was a monumental moment. We finally brought our baby home…but it also brought home that Emma will never come home. Belle, Adam, any other children we might have are not Emma, they never will be Emma. She is lost to us forever. It sounds ridiculous but I never realised it until I placed our precious bundle into that bassinet that I lovingly made up for Emma but never used for her. She’s never coming home. For the rest of my life I’ll miss her and I’ll be missing a piece of myself. Adam will be missing his little sister and Belle will never have her big sister to grow up with.

Some days I’m ok with this, some days, like today, it’s more than I can bear to think about.

Happy Birthday baby girl xx  

Jess

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Jessica Lawless

Jessica lives in Victoria. She is the wife to Shane and a Mum to 2 beautiful kids - Adam, nearly 2 and Emma, born sleeping August 2014.
I like to practice yoga, cook, read and spend all my time being a SAHM with Adam. My family and friends are my whole world, there is barley a distinction between the two.
I hope by being so open and honest about my experiences I can help raise awareness and provide support for others.

Charlie's Tenth Birthday.

It’s coming up to Charlie's 10th birthday on the 2nd September.

Today I hid in my daughters’ wardrobe and cried.

One of those silent cries because you don't want your children to ask what's wrong.

I knew it was coming. How could it not?  It never comes when I expect it too.

It waits until my heart can't take anymore.

Today I was putting my 7 year old’s clothes away. A simple chore.

I held the door so tight with one hand while my other hand covered my mouth to stop my screaming.

This year Charlie would have been 10. Double figures.

Wow, I would have had a son who was not far from becoming a teenager.

His sister Neve would have been 9.

The pain is still so raw, the pain of not holding them.

To watch friends’ children turn 9 and 10. To see what they are doing, seeing who they are growing up to be.

I have had to learn to not ask the what if's. There will never be an answer. I think sometimes the what if's are what hold me in this emotional rollercoaster.

Today as I stood there letting the tears flow and trying not to scream out, I had to give myself permission to let go, to not try to be the strong mum, friend or wife.

Today I can't do it. I can't be the mum that plays or laughs. Today I don't want to ask my husband how was your day.

Today I don't want to listen to a friend.

Today and probably for a few more days, I want to lie in bed and be cared for.

I want to be held and fed and not be all those roles of mum, wife and friend.

That's hard to ask for help, for me especially.

Today I told my husband i need to go to bed and not be a mum. He reply was to remind me he will support me and hold me and to allow me to stop my roles.

As he kissed the top of my head and held me he said

" you can cry and go to bed if that's what you need"

I so wanted to crawl into that bed. To allow the darkness to sweep over me like it has done so many times before.

Yet I didn't. I heard my two children playing and laughing downstairs.

My first thought was, how do I explain to them I can't be your mummy today?

They don't understand, how could they? They know about Charlie and Neve. We have always talked about them.

They need me, regardless of how I'm feeling. They need feeding, homework needs to be done, talking about their day. To them,  I'm their world.

I can go to bed when they do.

So today I didn't go to bed and hide. It doesn't mean tomorrow I won't. For 10 years I have battled.

10 years without our first son. I still remember his birth and seeing him for the first time. Those beautiful long legs. The way he looked just like his daddy.

I remember holding him whilst singing twinkle twinkle. The smell of his skin as i kissed him.  The tiny hand that gripped my finger.  The look on my husband’s face as he held him as he took his last breath. He was born alive at 23+5 weeks.  He lived for 2 minutes. He was not a miscarriage or a stillbirth.

Our son lived. I hope in those 2 minutes Charlie knew just how loved he was and still is.

I have those memories of him. Those memories I have every single day.

When Neve was born sleeping we lost that time of feeling her heartbeat of her grasping our fingers.

I remember her everyday as a chubby curly haired baby who was perfect.

Time they say is a healer. Not for me.

For me it’s just more time without them.  More time for remembering.

So today when I cried in the wardrobe I was crying for the 10 and 9 years of missing and remembering.

It's always so bittersweet.

So today I chose not to hide in bed but to allow myself to feel and to cry.

It's never easy, there isn't a magic wand to wave.

Today the choice I made was to keep going with support. Tomorrow maybe another choice.

Tomorrow  is another day.

For Charlie and Neve the love I have for you grows every day.

Kristina Riley