What October Means To Me:

Larissa shares her thoughts about Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness month:

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I remember hearing about it in 2012 and it didn’t really sink in. I was pregnant with my first baby and honestly didn’t think too much about the significance of the month. I hadn’t experienced a loss and neither had any close friends or family, so the month passed without too much thought from me.

October 2013 was a very different story. It was nine months after the stillbirth of my daughter and I was six months pregnant with my second child.. In 2013 my life was consumed with grief and the need to physically and publically remember Ariella was strong. Throughout the month I took photos to participate in Carly Marie’s Capture Your Grief project and found it was so healing and meaningful to be able to share my thoughts about the topics. I was visiting some friends and family interstate for part of the month and that meant I missed the Sands walkathon and candle lighting ceremony, although I wanted to attend both. I didn’t feel too sad about missing them though, as I felt as if my entire life revolved around remembering Ariella.

This year, October was different again. I have a nine month old son who keeps me very busy, so while I still grieve the death of my daughter, my grief looks different now. I decided not to participate in the Capture Your Grief project this year; doing so would have meant focusing quite intently on my grief and sadness, which I didn’t feel like I needed to do. A number of people have told me lately that I’m looking a lot happier and “better” than I have for a long time and I have to agree with them. I do feel happier and I even feel like I’m getting better. I’ll always miss Ariella but that longing for her isn’t as all-consuming as it was last October. However, I feel as though I cannot remember Ariella physically and publically as often as I would sometimes like. So I decided to attend the Sands candle lighting ceremony. I left my son at home with my husband and headed off to focus solely on my little girl for the first time in a while. As I drove to the venue, songs starting coming to mind. Songs that provided so much comfort in the days, weeks and months after Ariella’s death, such as “”I Will Carry You” (Selah), “Glory Baby” (Watermark), and “Still” (Gerrit Hofsink). I hadn’t listened to them since my son was born but just thinking about them made me remember how much truth are in their words. I carried her while her heart beat, she has Heaven before I do, she was gone before she came… the memory of those songs brought tears to my eyes as I was able to focus on my daughter without also needing to care for my son at that moment. As the ceremony started and I lit Ariella’s candle, I was so thankful to have an hour to just think about her, all I had during those 39 weeks with her and all I lost when she died. One day later, on the International Day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness, my Facebook news feed was filled with photos of candles lit in honour of my baby girl. It made this grieving mama smile through her tears to know that other people were publically remembering my precious Ariella.

As I look back at three very different Octobers, I can’t help but wonder at what October 2015 will bring. What stage will I be at in my grief? Will I want spend the month focusing on it, or just a single day? Will it be a mixture of the past two or something else altogether? Who knows! But what I do know is this – I’m so grateful that there is a time set aside to remember and honour all of our precious babies, however we decide to do it.

Larissa

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Larissa Genat

Larissa is a wife to Marcus and a mother to two beautiful children – Ariella Jade in 

Heaven and Levi William in her arms. She loves spaghetti bolognaise and the smell of rain, but neither of them could make her smile when, after a textbook pregnancy, Ariella unexpectedly died at 39 weeks gestation. No reason was ever found for her death. Soon after Ariella’s death Larissa began writing. You can find her posts at 

Deeper Still (www.loveisdeeperstill.blogspot.com)  and on Still Standing Magazine (http://stillstandingmag.com/author/larissa).

Miscarriage, Infertility, and weight loss

A newcomer to Sands blog, Shanelle shares her experience of infertility, weight loss and a miscarriage...

In my trouble to conceive over four years it was put down to infertility due to hypothyroidism and obesity, it was a huge struggle for me, having conceived my son easily years earlier at 80kg but tipping the scales at 128kg, I had been trying to lose weight for years, exercising, trying every diet under the sun and even three cycles of Clomid with no success.

Low and behold we unexpectedly fell pregnant though ten weeks later we miscarried with doctors and nurses reassuring us that there was nothing I could have done and not to blame myself. Even the gynaecologist performing my D&C said not to blame myself, though my size could have contributed to the miscarriage but it was a fact I had try to accept and not beat myself up about it. After all, these things happened right? And I fully had faith in the wonderful nurses and doctors treating me throughout the whole deal.

Until, two weeks later when I had a follow up appointment with a new gynaecologist for review on an ovary cyst. Asking when it was safe to try conceiving again she replied that at 128kgs I be concentrating on losing weight and not even consider trying for another baby at my size, considering all the health implications like high blood pressure and diabetes. I was devastated; I couldn’t help but cry in front of her, to which she suggested counselling. Here was this lady whom I’d never before, without even asking my medical history (if she had, she would have known I had perfect blood pressure and sugar levels, along with a healthy lifestyle despite my size) judging me and making me feel like I didn’t have the right to have a baby based on my weight. The blame game hit with vengeance. 

I went home and attended I had a follow up scan with my GP for my cysts, and after speaking with him, he prescribed me Duromine to aid in weight loss while I fully recovered from my miscarriage, in hopes it would rally my spirits from what the Gynaecologist had said (all of which he disagreed with.)
Meanwhile I had my scan. It had been 6 weeks.  My world well apart all over again at seeing an empty uterus and a lifeless heart rate monitor, that I ended up taking the Gynaecologist advice and sought out a counsellor through the hospital, despite me being a trainee counsellor myself.  We spoke on the phone for an hour before she decided that what I was experiencing was typical grief and didn’t need to enrolled into their program but to call back, if needed. It made me feel alone, so alone that I alienated everyone and focused on exercising and eating right.

Another month passed and I had lost 5kgs, feeling hopeful at my final gynaecologist visit, I met with her assistant who, when asked when I could try conceiving again told me that she saw no harm in trying considering I was maintaining a healthy lifestyle but she had to ask the gynaecologist to be sure. She returned with the message I should lose at least 20 more kilograms before trying again. Devastated, self-loathing, I left.

It has been two months since that last visit and I feel through the experience judged and completely let down by the public health system, though I know they were only doing their jobs. But if nothing else this experience has made me determined.

Determined not to let my self-worth and confidence to be scarred by opinions, no matter how professional. And with the support my partner and my doctor I had added more and more healthy choices and exercise regimes to my Iifestyle while learning to accept myself for who I am, and better myself not for medical statistics but for myself, my family and my future family.

Shanelle Kay

 

If you require support please call Sands - 1300 0 SANDS

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"

Clementine's First Birthday

When birth and death are so closely intertwined, how do you celebrate a birthday?

Our baby girl, Clementine, was stillborn on 29 July 2013, two weeks before her due date.

As a mum, I have many strengths, but birthday party planning is not one of them. Our first child, Eleanor, once attended a friend's birthday party on the weekend of her own birthday and declared her friend's cake the highlight of her birthday weekend (it was a great cake).

However, planning a birthday celebration for Eleanor is a piece of cake (ha!) when compared to surviving the anniversary of Clementine's birth and death. 

In early July, Clem's first anniversary - 29 July - could not have loomed larger. For me, it was like a dark shadow of fear, loss and self-blame that was cast over my days. 

One Saturday afternoon, Ben took Eleanor out to give me some quality time with my To Do list. "A big cry" must have been somewhere on that list because that is what I ended up doing. The uncontrollable, can't-really-speak sobbing is always a sign for me that I might need help. 

I called Sands. 

The parent supporter listened... and listened. And I listened. And she helped me:

         This day is between you and your baby 
         You don't need to do anything for other people
         Do what you need to do 

And I survived a bit more of July. 

But then, about a week before Clem's anniversary, my grief decided to hit me with a bit of anger. 

I say "a bit of anger" but let's be honest, it was a lot. I was enraged. My baby died. What do you do with anger? 

I called Sands again. 

We talked about anger and grief. When people picture a bereaved mother, they probably don't picture anger but, it can be there. Alongside the sobbing and self-blame and emotional eating. We don't often talk about anger. It helped me to talk about it. 

I am a part of a wonderful Pregnancy Loss Australia group on Facebook. After speaking with the Sands parent supporter, I shared my anger surrounding Clementine's anniversary with the group and asked if anyone else felt anger. I shared our plans for Clementine's day - to go to the park opposite the hospital where Clem was born and blow bubbles to her. 

Members of this supportive group offered to blow bubbles to Clem too. They knew I needed others to recognise my baby on this important day. My anger dissolved as their compassion and understanding reached me. 

I decided then to share our plans for Clem's day with all of my friends via Facebook. And I invited them to blow bubbles to Clem too. On Clem's day I just wanted to blow bubbles with Ben and Eleanor but I wanted others to know it was Clem's day - a special day. I needed others to remember Clem on her birthday. 

I was scared to ask others to remember - what if no one replied and everyone felt awkward? But, that didn't happen. People did respond. They wanted a way to support us and I had given it to them. And on Clem's birthday, people sent me beautiful photos of their bubbles for Clem. It made my day. 

And, with a friend's help, I even baked a cake. A Clementine cake, no less. It wasn't perfect, but I thought... If I can bake this cake, if I can ask for help, if I can find ways to be Clem's mum even when I can't see her, then... anything is possible. 

Happy first birthday Clementine. Thank you for all you give me. 

Susannah

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Susannah Aumann

Susannah lives in Melbourne with her husband, Ben, and daughter, Eleanor. Her youngest child, Clementine, was stillborn in July 2013 at 38 weeks gestation. Susannah is passionate about raising awareness to encourage research into stillbirth.

Reflections of a father

The older I get the more I wonder if I will ever have kids of my own.  I wrote a poem a couple of years ago called “To the son I never knew”.  I never wrote it to share; I wrote it for my own mental health.  Since sharing it I've had those who were able to read it thanking me for writing it, and those who were honest enough to admit they couldn't read past the title saying though they could appreciate the courage  it must have taken me to write it, they couldn't read it, and I tell them it's OK.  Everyone journeys life at a different pace.  It took me 12 years to write that piece.  

Having travelled extensively for work and even getting married years later and gaining an instant family in that time I didn't really think about it much until I moved back to where it all began.  The familiar faces seeing those I saw growing up now with families of their own.  It felt somewhat surreal being in such familiar surroundings after so long seeing how everyone’s lives had developed in that time and wondering where mine was headed.  I was at home one day when it struck me, that I was living just down the road from the cemetery.  I didn't go there right away but when I did it was a week before his birthday. I hadn't even remembered how close to Christmas that fateful day was, he wasn't due until well into the New Year.  It's amazing how much and how well we can block things out from our memories to keep going.  I really hadn't had any contact with his mum since then, it was a really messy situation, and thankfully she has since married and has healthy kids.  I wasn't prepared to marry her despite her father’s insistence but I have no doubt in my mind we would have at some point, but to me her being pregnant wasn't enough reason to tie the knot.  Regardless of our relationship status though I would have raised that kid as my own.  I didn't just lose him though, I lost her too, and I think that was the hardest part.  In fact we all nearly lost her, thankfully though she found her way through.  

So after multiple major life changes in a short space of time I found myself reflecting on the last 12 years of my life and how different it would have been if he'd grown up calling me dad.  I've got nieces and nephews, a god daughter and sponsor kids but none of them require a daily commitment.  Though I feel so privileged being able to have the input I'm allowed into their lives.  

I've since written a second piece called “to my unborn son” inspired the song “Always Here For You” by KJ52.  I'm young enough to still have my own offspring though I also don't feel the need to.  I'm happy being able to assist in ways that I might not otherwise be able to if I had kids of my own.  Yet the thought still remains, if he'd made it ….. “so many memories that were only ever dreams.  So many dreams that never got to be memories”.

Neville Hiatt

To view Neville's website click here

'to my unborn son'

right now you are cells multiplying and dividing at a rapid rate

please know it doesn't matter if you are 18 before your first date

before you are born I want you to know

there's a good chance you will really love the snow

if you are anything like me you will feel more, than those around you

so be very careful with those that surround you

but most of all know that you are your own self

your not mine, or your mothers, you are your own self

you will make mistakes and that's okay

though the choices you make live with you till your dying day

you will grow up in a world different to what it is today

but with each day you breathe life, don't waste your time away

you will know heartache and pain, yet you will also taste triumph and gain

when you fall in love you will know the truth in these words

when you see her for the first time you will know

it doesn't matter what your grades are

some of the richest men alive today dropped out of school

yet in all things do your best and follow your heart, it's your strongest tool

when it rains be thankful for the nourishment of the earth

and when it's sunny a tan is not cool, look up your great grandfather he was a young fool

you will have more opportunities than ever before

but never lose connection with those closest to you

I've said it already but I will say it again

you will know sorrow and pain, but these are but the moderator to happiness and joy

everyone leaves this life at some point, so every chance you get explore the joint

but most of all your name is not your identity

it is simply a word to identify you but you will be known by how you choose to live this life.

Copyright 2013 Neville Hiatt

'to the son I never knew'

How do you mourn a son you never knew

how do you count the candles you never blew

how do you know you love a white Christmas when you've never seen the snow

so many memories that were only ever dreams

so many thoughts that will never be shared

I sit surrounded by all these flowers

and say your name aloud but it falls on deaf ears

I never got to hold your hand, or create artworks with you in the sand

I never got to teach you how to kick the ball, or watch you get up after your first fall

I sit in this field of flowers and trace your name etched into the rock 

and wonder how different my life would have been

would I have lived with your mum, would I have been a great dad

so many questions that will never be answered

you'd be 12 today, yet here you lay

12 years I could have spent calming your fears

12 years I've spent drying my tears

so many memories that were only ever dreams

so many dreams that never got to be memories

love dad.

Copyright Neville Hiatt 2013

If you require support after reading this blog please contact Sands on 13 000 72637

Neville Hiatt

Neville Hiatt is a storyteller, a country boy at heart he grew up knowing what the word community meant. His radio career was cut short when he was medically retired before his 30th birthday due to someone not doing an adequate head check.  In the last few years he has developed his love of photography, and poetry and has just released his first collection of short stories.  Left battling depression, anxiety and chronic nerve pain as a result of the accident he has become even more passionate about sharing his life experiences in the hope of aiding others in their journey.  “It doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve done, or what’s been done to you. It only matters what you do with your rainbow today.”

Remembering Stevie...

We are all in Sands because a precious baby has died.    Some of us have found it easy to talk about our experiences and our emotions.  Others have grieved in silence.    Some of us have the comfort of supportive partners, family and friends.  Some of us have felt very alone.  Some of us have felt judged -  our babies died in the early weeks of pregnancy - our babies had abnormalities incompatible with life - we shouldn't have been pregnant in the first place (too young, too old, too poor, unmarried ...)

Everyone in Sands has a  story .  "Stevie's Story" is about grieving a baby lost through termination.  It is a story full of pain and anguish, but also of support and hope. 

Stevie

6 December 1968, Parramatta

Remembering Stevie means different things to me at different times. Let me walk through it as (chrono)logically as I can.

Just after his birth I was confused, distressed, deeply shocked. Shocked to see a perfect, albeit small baby at 20 weeks. I knew immediately I hadn't terminated a blob of cells unrecognizable as human. I had to remember him – remember him as he was – translucent – beautiful – a perfect baby. I had to remember him. He had to be a thorn in my side to remind me of my failure as a mother – a failure as a human being. So I named him Steven, Steven to remind me that what I had done was unforgivable – there was no penance that could atone. Being told Stevie was hospital waste, not acknowledged by his father, not acknowledged by society served to reinforce by belief my life was to be a continuum of pain. That it was. Even as I write this my heart is breaking.

The next day I went back to work. Stevie was locked deep inside my heart. Life went on – somehow and I don’t remember how. We were married a month later and Stevie never mentioned. It was as though he had never been conceived; never been born. Stevie was locked deep in my heart – I remembered him day after day.

The years passed and I no longer conceived. Was it any wonder? I had killed Stevie – I did not deserve another child. In February 1977 I was diagnosed with cancer on the uterus, two days later I was in surgery; 2/3 pf the uterus were removed and I was receiving radiation therapy– I was to be punished by not being able to have children. Stevie was locked in my heart and he reminded me of my iniquity day after day.
In June 1977 when I was in hospital for radiation treatment it was confirmed I was pregnant and was told I needed to terminate the pregnancy immediately; the risk of the baby being deformed, retarded would be too great. Various tests confirmed the child would be severely disabled. Termination would be the only kind thing. Stevie was locked deep in my heart and reminded me what termination was and what it would be. Would I kill another child? Stevie was locked deep in my heart. I told no one of the risk and refused to have the child aborted. In January 1978 my daughter was born; she was healthy – she had no disabilities. The amniocentesis had given a wrong result. Stevie was locked in my heart and I was afraid I would forget him now.

Two and a half years later my second son was born. Stevie knocked on my heart’s door reminding me of all the experiences I had missed with him. My children were what I was living for. Without them I was less than nothing. I could never atone for taking a life.
My rainbow children grew up, flew the coop and with that my purpose for living. There was no point in continuing. I decided on exitus and began to plan and collect the tools I needed … and Stevie was locked deep inside my heart.

And this is where a good friend joined the story. He showed me I needed to liberate Stevie and he started by saying his name. He validated his existence by saying his name. By saying his name he could not be forgotten and he also introduced me to Sands. I can see it clearly now, how – starting with preparing for Stevie’s first memorial and chatting with a Sands supporter at the same time step by step Stevie was carried into my heart – precious and loved – no longer locked up in its deepest depths.
I feared Stevie would eclipse my living children; I learnt by dividing my love between the children it did not become less – it grew.

Lacking any mementos from the time Stevie was born I made memories and to my surprise the Sands community rallied around me when I was down, whenever I needed it. On 9 December last year, dozens of mums in the Sands community had changed their profile picture to honour Stevie and I was overwhelmed by their kindness. Stevie became a part of my family – there to see – embraced in my heart together with my living children. Whenever I think of Steven I also think of my unnamed brothers – brothers I have named in my heart.

In the meantime, I have a number of things to remind me of Stevie, beginning with the copy of the memorial service. There is the Phoenix Ben a young friend drew for me, there’s Harry a lovely peacock given to me for Stevie’s 45th birthday, a Christmas bauble with a peacock feather in it, there is the NameArt and the pencil drawing and a pendant with the names of all my children. With or without these things I shall always remember Stevie. Since I have a pencil sketch of Stevie I no longer see him in that hospital bed gasping for breath. In fact when I think of Stevie I don’t think of him as a baby at all any more – no, he’s grown up. I now visualise him as a man in his mid-forties. I feel I have reached a milestone. I certainly know I'm at peace with that part of my past.

                                                         Lana 

If you require support after reading this blog please contact Sands on 13 000 72637

Becoming a Better Person

In this weeks blog Deb Saunders shares her story....

I am a wife to my gorgeous husband Dale, and mum to 5 amazing children, 2 I get to spend my days with, and 3 that I think of constantly, that are always in our hearts. I am a professional photographer with my own business, and I am a volunteer photographer for Heartfelt, an organisation that ‘gives the gift of photographic memories’ to families with stillborn, seriously ill, or terminally ill children. This is my story.

My husband and I had been together for 11, and married for 7 years when we felt ready to start a family. Without any difficulty at all, we were pregnant with our first child, and Kayn was born via c-section, due to placenta previa, 2 weeks before his due date. We were so in love with this amazing human, and life seemed perfect.

Fast forward a couple of years, and we wanted to add to our little family, and again became pregnant easily, but at 8 weeks, I had some heavy bleeding, and after a visit to the doctor, it was confirmed that we had lost our baby. We were devastated, and I was even more determined to try again, and after the all clear a number of months later, we did, and after a few months, were excited to be pregnant again. This time, we made it to 11 weeks, and again lost our precious baby. I felt like I was doing something wrong, and it was all my fault! Of course this wasn’t true, but I was so frustrated, and heartbroken, and didn't know if I could go through this again.

It wasn't long, but at the time seemed like an eternity, before we were pregnant again, and this time we made it through all the milestones, and I had a text book pregnancy. We found out we were having another boy, and Kayn was so happy to have a brother to play with soon!

But a week before Kayn’s 4th birthday, I had a terrible night, and couldn’t recall when the baby had last moved, and rang the hospital to let them know. They reassured me it was probably nothing to worry about, but to call back in the morning if I was still concerned, which I did, as I had a feeling that something wasn't right, but couldn't work out what it was. I was 37 weeks and 5 days pregnant. I went down to the hospital, with my Mum and child in tow, and after what seemed like hours, and a number of scans, I was given the earth shattering news that the baby had no heartbeat.

I felt so alone, and rang my husband to tell him what had happened, I felt like I was on the outside looking in at myself, and I really don’t remember much from that day apart from the feeling of complete and utter disbelief that this even happened, let alone to me. To us?

We went home for the evening, I’m not sure why, or how, but we made it through, and the next day went back to the hospital to have a c-section, as I couldn't be induced, and I wasn't prepared to wait to go into labour, as this may have taken weeks. I’ll never forget in the theatre when Kai was delivered, the silence, there was music playing, which I later found out was a cd by Jewel, but the silence, when there should have been a screaming baby, that was the moment I knew it was true, our baby was gone, and I would never get to hear him cry, and I didn't know how or if, I was going to get beyond this. Ever.

He was so perfect. 9lb 4oz, or 4.3kg, a big boy, looking just like his big brother did when he was born. We didn't get as many photos as I wish we did of Kai Thomas, I struggled to get out of bed, and was out of it on pain killers, and I guess others just didn't think of it, but I do have a few precious, irreplaceable photos of him, and all of us together.

This is my main reason for volunteering with heartfelt for the last few years, as I realise just how important it is to have those memories with your child. Helping to keep their memory alive is such a precious gift to be able to give.

Kai was born on a Wednesday, and I left the hospital on the Saturday morning to be at my other son’s 4th birthday, and to this day I have no idea how I managed to get there and keep going, but I know I wouldn’t have without Kayn, he really was my savior, that gorgeous little boy who loved me and needed me so much, and was the reason I got out of bed for so long when I just didn't want to.

Over the next 2 and a half years, we went on to lose a little boy Kody at 17 weeks, and a precious little princess, Kayla, at 20 weeks, and I’m still not sure how we kept trying, and failing, and trying again, but in 2009, we were so blessed to have Kapri, who is here thanks to some amazing doctors, and the wonders of modern medicine. She was born 6 weeks early, after 2 blood transfusions in utero, and was very sick when she was delivered, but she was such a little fighter, that after just 10 days in NICU, she was well enough to come home, and is now a gorgeous, happy and healthy 5 year old, who started school this year.

I spent my 30’s trying to have the children we so desperately wanted, 8 years of joy, heartbreak and devastation, and it was a tough journey, one that we will carry with us forever. I don’t think the pain ever goes away, we just learn to make the most of the moments presented to us in life for what they are, the good with the bad, but I always carry those precious souls in my heart, and they are never far from my thoughts. I do believe I am a better person for my journey’s challenges, and when times are really tough, I try to focus on my amazing children that did make it here with me, and spend some extra time just taking them in.

If you require support please call Sands - 1300 0 SANDS

Deb Saunders

My name is Deb, I am 43 years old, and have been married to the love of my life for almost 19 years. We have 2 amazing, wonderful children with us, and 3 more that watch over us and help keep us safe.
I am a photographer, and do a lot of work with families, which I just adore, and I love the stories I get to hear and be part of. I believe everyone has a story to tell, we just need to listen.
Through my experience, I found and now volunteer as a photographer for Heartfelt, an Australian organisation that gives the gift of photographic memories to families that have an ill or stillborn baby, or terminally ill child up to the age of 16. This in an organisation I am extremely proud to be a part of.
I am quite a social person, and enjoy nothing better than catch ups with friends over coffee, or wine, I love the beach, we are very lucky to live right on its doorstep, and I love craft of all kinds, and I am very good at starting lots of great things that I will finish one day!

Blaming Yourself

Sands blogger - Nicola Garcia talks about the cycle of grief...

A counsellor who has not been through loss cannot stand in your shoes.

Well-meaning family and friends can’t possibly understand the depth to which your feelings of despair run.

A person, like myself, who has lost a baby – does not experience it in quite the same way.

It is never an identical loss but human nature can be predictable.

That’s why we have cycles of grief.

That’s why there is advice that rings true for you.

That’s why there are things that can help you pull through.

As a Mother of loss, I can say quite confidently that feelings of blame arise, the finger mostly pointed at yourself.

Although people tell you it’s not your fault you wonder.

If I didn’t have that glass of wine.

If I didn’t eat all that cake.

Was it that time I fell?

Maybe I should have been taking it easy.

I shouldn’t have let myself get so stressed.

I can’t believe I complained about being pregnant, maybe the Universe heard me?  

The only thing we gain by blaming and shaming ourselves is a deeper sense of unease. A deeper sense of loss.  A deeper hole in which to dig ourselves.

Sometimes that is what we want. Sometimes that is what we need. To make the loss bigger, to make the loss engulf who we are. To let the loss become something that we can control.

To feel the pain and then stab ourselves harder.

So we fall down. To relieve the sense of needing to get up. To relieve the sense of moving on without our babies.

But life goes on.

Life circles you and time lightens your load.

Blame recedes.

Grief lessens.

But your baby is gone.

Your loss is still real.

And the world seems a little less understanding.

My new baby was in hospital recently. An emergency dash which was one of the scariest of my entire life. I thought he was going to die. I thought it was my fault.

And I let myself spiral.

He was fine and it wasn’t my fault.

But I was very quick to go there.

It’s human nature.

Whether we know better or not, we all go through it.

So as you blame yourself, think of the other Mothers who are going through the same thing; imagine them holding your hand in understanding.

Then breathe in and let it go.

It’s not your fault.

You cannot control everything in life.

And if you could, your love for your baby would have been stronger than any of your actions or thoughts and would have kept your baby safe.

Your loss and my loss is an unexplainable event that just is. That just was.

Find it within yourself to live life more vibrantly than before.

Then, when you and your baby touch hands again in heaven, you can tell them how life-changing they were, how you found out how deep your love goes and that they showed you exactly just how precious life is. 

If you would like to talk to someone our Parent Supporters are available to talk to: 1300 0 SANDS

Nicole Garcia

Nicola is a qualified social scientist, intent on studying the human race and finding out the truth about life. Her gift is passing on the information and helping others become the best versions of themselves. Her degree in creative writing makes her writing, your reading pleasure. Her passion for health ensures that you have up to date information on the latest and greatest ways to nourish you. She is a Mother, a Wife, a Daughter a Sister, A Friend and a beautiful human being intent on being the best person she can be.  A green -juice drinking, yoga positioning, meditation junkie who loves her life with a fierce passion.

Nicola’s first book, How To Become One Healthy Mama is available from here. You can also read her posts on motherhood over at her blog The Yogic Housewife 

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