Losing Friends as a Single Bereaved Mother by Emma

I wish I could tell you that people will support you through this difficult time. That the friends you have at the start of your journey will always be there for you. The ones that may have been at your child’s birth will still be there for you in 6 months time. 

Friends come and go. When you lose a child, people’s true colours are displayed. 
Those who are really there for you stick around no matter what. 

I found some friends judged or criticised me. I struggled early on with social situations. I was upset that some friends expected me to move on and get over it and just carry on with life. “Why delay the inevitable?” I was told. 

It’s hard because I found that I held onto ambivalent relationships because I felt so alone and isolated. What I didn’t realise that these ambivalent relationships were quite often worse than the toxic friends who I had removed from my life. 

When you lose a baby, you only have so much emotional and physical energy. Chances are you have been reliving the moments you lost your child, the whole pregnancy and days after losing your child in your head. The last thing you need to have in that space is who’s genuinely there for you and who’s not.

Put yourself first. Do what you need to do. If that’s going for a walk every day to clear your head do it. If its visiting your child at the cemetery every day, do it. I don’t care what it is but make sure that you do what you need to do to survive. No one else is walking this journey but you.

Cherish those in your life that see beyond your mask. Cherish those who take the time out of their day to send you messages and ask how you really are doing. Don’t settle for second best. If you are not getting what you need, ask and explain to those around you what you need. If you’re still not getting what you need, chances are you will find it elsewhere. 

I have met some of the most amazing people since losing Lynette. Work colleagues have become closer. I didn’t realise how much I could call my work colleagues family. 

You lost your child! It is not too much to expect that close friends will support you. 
Wouldn’t you do the same for them?

Emma

If you require support after reading this blog, please contact Sands on 13000 72637

Coping with Miscarriage - Therese

Therese shares with Sands her experience of miscarriage which occurred a long time ago when there was no support available.

'It didn’t matter that I had two other precious children that I loved with all my heart; I always felt this missing link and sometimes felt so alone.'

In those early days of losing my precious third child through miscarriage, there was always a feeling of something missing at Christmas as I knew that I should have been about to give birth any day after Christmas. There was no support in those days either from family or the Church (I was a Catholic) and by the Health Professionals. No-one could understand this feeling except someone who had gone through it. I also felt very guilty as my miscarriage started the day my older child was performing in her first calisthenics concert as Red Riding Hood. My sister-in-law who had come to watch my daughter, had to take over her care and look after her while my husband rushed me to hospital – I had to have a curette after the loss of my baby and I didn’t even know what that was! I mentioned my miscarriage a short while ago to my same sister-in-law and she had no memory of the day! I thought “wow how could you not” but it just goes to show what is important to one person isn’t to another unless it has an emotional impact to that person.

It didn’t matter that I had two other precious children that I loved with all my heart; I always felt this missing link and sometimes felt so alone. If I hadn’t had my friend Robyn who had been through it (twice!), I am not sure I would have survived. My husband and I had differing ways of handling it and while I thought I understood that he was grieving too, I felt my loss was worse as I had the physical pain of the loss plus the emotional pain as well. Of course, many years later and being a professional working in the field of loss and grief, I now understand that the grief of men and women is both different and, on some levels, the same; we just handle it differently.

Much of my recovery was a feeling I just had to get on with it for the sake of my two children and the husband whom I loved, but guess didn’t understand at that point. The physical recovery took time and the emotional even longer. Grief is not something that just goes away with time as many would like to think; one just learns to deal with it.

How did I get through it one might ask? My dearest friend kept me sane and even back then I think I started to write poetry, a passion that is still with me today. It was probably not until after my next child was born that I realised that my recovery from this miscarriage had not eventuated but rather I had hidden it away. I had a physical breakdown and went into a retreat-like existence with the lovely Grey Sisters in Canterbury,  where I joined a group of women who were going through rough times too. I was able to start talking about what had happened in a more forthright way.

By this time, it was the beginning of the end for my marriage, although we struggled for another 10 years plus and moved to the country. Today I may have handled things better as there is more support but one can never say how you could handle something until it actually happens to you. There were other grief situations we were both going through at the time and I feel in hindsight that this added to our burden and we had also lost the art of communication as my husband began to absent himself more and more.

These days I know a lot more about the association of stress to loss. I have even run courses on this subject, so I am aware of my triggers and can manage it better; however, Christmas still brings up a few tears for this loss and others that have occurred since.  One does get through it but at the time one can’t see the wood for the trees.  

Some words of advice: Don’t isolate yourself as I did. Ask for that all important support from anyone and keep asking until you get it. There is so much support out there and I truly wish that an organisation like SANDS was around when I was going through my loss of my baby.

Therese

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

About Therese 

Therese has worked in the field of counselling and community development for over 20 years. She has worked predominantly in the health and welfare field. She has worked in the primary school sector counselling children through a range of loss and grief and traumatic experiences.

Therese has also delivered a number of conference papers on the theme of children’s loss and grief and articles on stress management too. She also worked as a Sessional teacher in the TAFE system and the Private Sector in the Community Services area, including Mental Health Welfare for over 20 years. She is also an experienced Supervisor.

Therese has as a small business conducting Reiki, Inner Child Therapy, Meditation and similar therapies. She is also works as a Group Facilitator and teaches stress management and relaxation techniques within the local community as well as running workshops in the areas of trauma and loss and grief and related areas.

Therese is a published poet and has three children and four delightful grandsons. She enjoys nothing more than a good cup of coffee and the occasional glass of wine or bubbly. She is passionate about climate change and the environment, wanting a clean world for her grandchildren to grow up in and one where any type of violence is not tolerated.

Came to early, gone too soon...

Genevieve is a new comer to the Sands blog. Here she talks about her pregnancy, birth and death of precious Amalie.

After nine years and five miscarriages, I finally had a joyful and life-changing journey through a remarkably straightforward pregnancy last year. I had many new experiences.  I relished discovering that my clothes are too tight.  I was relieved beyond words to get the “all clear” on the 18 week morphology scan.  I discovered that, despite my best efforts, I became one of those annoying super-gushy types of pregnant women.

The most surprising aspect to me, however, was the reactions of friends and colleagues.  Without exception their responses were overwhelmingly positive and supportive, for which I was immensely grateful.  What intrigued me though is that many started to treat me more inclusively, seemingly because I was now “one of them”, a member of the “parenthood club”.  When I gently explored this with a few, they reflected that it has been difficult for them to juggle their desire to talk freely about their kids while being sensitive to my situation, and that at times it has been easier not to engage at all.  I know I've played a part in this too.  

While the drive to procreate differs between individuals, for many of us, myself included, it can be an overpowering one.  The primal reproductive instinct is at the core of many people’s sense of identity and life purpose, as well as having cultural, social, spiritual, financial and familial implications. 

The second half of 2014 was the happiest time of my life.  I was in the “club” and on track to fulfilling my lifelong dream.

But everything changed on 1st December, when a simple urinary tract infection developed into a serious kidney infection (pyelonephritis) and started spreading to my blood (early sepsis).  It triggered a premature labour and a mad rush to the nearest hospital (we were out in the desert at the time, hours from civilisation). I didn't quite make it and ending up delivering my own baby, just metres away from the hospital entrance.  That was certainly not part of my birth plan!

Considering her dramatic and premature entrance, baby Amalie did remarkably well at first.  Her birth weight was over the magic 1000g line and her vital signs were excellent.  We were cautiously optimistic.

Alas, four days later things took a turn for the worse and, tragically, Amalie’s tiny system was overpowered by E. Coli, just as my body was starting to win its fight against the same bug. 

Suddenly and cruelly, I was ejected from the green side of the reproductive fence.   

I've received amazing support from friends and colleagues, but, understandably, many struggle, not knowing what to say or what to do.  Some either resort to platitudes or avoid the topic completely which can leave me feeling even more isolated.  I've found that focusing on the intention rather than the words is the only way to shield my heart from unintentionally insensitive remarks. 

After all, rarely can a response make things better. What matters is the connection.   Parenthood club member or not, I know I need to maintain the connection with my family and friends to get through this terrible time.  And to remember Winston Churchill’s advice: “When you’re going through hell, keep going.”

RIP Amalie Ella.  Came too early, gone too soon.

I waited so long for you and had you with me so briefly, but every moment we spent together will be treasured forever. My heart is in pieces right now, but I will use the strength of my love for you to try to focus on being immensely grateful for your life rather than being devastated by your death.

You’ll travel with me forever, my darling daughter.

                              Genevieve

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Genevieve Yates

Genevieve is a GP, medical educator, medical writer and musician from the Northern Rivers region of NSW. After a long and difficult road to motherhood, her beautiful daughter, Amalie Ella, was born in December, 2014.  Tragically, Amalie died of neonatal sepsis after only four days.

Through her clinical work, teaching and writing, she hopes to she can use her experiences to help support both patients and other doctors in managing the complex emotions surrounding fertility issues and perinatal loss, and also encourage more open discussion in the general community.

Her website can be found at: http://genevieveyates.com

Grief is a complicated process.....

Shanelle writes again for Sands.  She talks about how grief is a complicated process and how she coped.... 

It can bring us together, tear us apart or alienate us, the later one, is the one that I identify with the most these past three and a half months since my loss.

I was surrounded by love and at first, many beautiful people in my life reached out to me with this own loss stories following my miscarriage, in fact, one lovely lady, my partners cousin was the only person to visit me in the hospital, aside from him, despite having suffered a recent loss of her own, to give us a small blue teddy bear so I had something to cuddle.

Many thoughts and prayers came to us through calls, messages and cards and all I could offer in return was tears and eventually I started withdrawing. Not because I didn’t like them, or I felt unwanted, judged or anything like that but simple because I did not know how I felt or how to react on my own let alone around others, for one moment all my dreams were coming true after four years of trying to conceive and completing our little family and the next was doctors and hospitals, needles and scans and eventually labour… with nothing to hold after hours of pain.

But I was a mummy already and I had to just get on with it because no parent wants their child to see them hurt and eventually the calls stopped, the visitors stopped coming, life just kept moving on but I just stopped. I stopped talking, with myself, my partner, my family… even to my sister, my sister who knew what losing a child was like, more than anyone else, having lost her beautiful daughter 8 years ago to SIDS at 6 weeks.. I could not bring myself to share my feelings with anyone, especially her because I felt shame and guilt for grieving so deeply for a loss when it could never compare to a loss of her baby. How could I be so selfish to cry over someone I never had the chance to see without scans and could barely feel while she suffered every day, for years, for the loss of her baby girl with perfect little fingers and toes, a head full of hair and tiny button nose?

And so I withdrew even more, weeks would go by without visitors, or even uttering anything concerning my loss except for follow up appointments that cemented my silent grief even further.

With my only outings being school drops, errands and exercise all my relationships suffered until last Friday. Last Friday was my nephew’s birthday and the 8th anniversary of my nieces passing and here I was leaving her alone to suffer because I felt bad because of my grief and how it couldn’t compare to hers? What a sister was I? So I messaged and asked her to come over and so she did and when she walked through my front door, we cried. We held each other and we didn’t need to say anything to share how we felt. We just took solace in each other’s company and cried for our own losses, for each other’s loss and in that moment I learned she didn’t care the differences in our losses, she hurt because I hurt, and I her.

So many women, parents, families suffer in silence for their miscarriages, thinking they don’t have the right to mourn, or are over reacting for a baby they never touched, often never felt and will never hear cry. I was one of these people, I hid it, but no more. I have a right to grieve for the life I lost for as long as that grief may last. 

My name is Shanelle and I lost my baby at 10 weeks and every day I grieve for that little life because that life touched mine, changed my life and I will forever cherish the time we had, though brief because I was… I am their mother, and I will not forget. I will not hide my tears, because they are proof that my baby was real and someone I am proud to share with you.

Shanelle Kay

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Shanelle Kay

Shanelle is a trainee counsellor and photographer based in Brisbane.
She believes the best sound in the world is her son's laughter and how he sings to himself when he wakes from a nap. She is also a proud mummy to an angel baby and through writing and various arts she is sharing her experience and finding herself, all over again. In her own words.

"I am all and I am nothing, but most importantly I am exactly who I need

to be in this moment... and that is sometimes the hardest thing we have to accept,

openly and honestly.. Ourselves"