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Coping with other’s pregnancies and new borns

Posted on by Stacey Clements

There is 1 inevitability; pregnancy and child birth will be around you through your journey with grief. I assure you there is no ‘correct’ way of feeling or dealing with other people’s pregnancies or the new babies. I have heard polar opposite coping strategies from bereaved parents, from cutting pregnant family members and new borns out of their lives completely because it is too painful, while others fully embrace it as it brings hope and comfort.

I can only comment and give reason for my own experience and coping strategies.  Dennis and I agreed very early on in the hospital that we are and would continue to be happy for other expecting parents. After all, we had already experienced the excitement and magic of 2 pregnancies and the euphoria of meeting both of our children. At that time, I didn’t know it was easier said then done (in regards to the internal feelings I would have).

Seeing pregnant women didn’t bother my partner at all. He didn’t even give it a second thought. Me on the other hand, every time I would see a pregnant woman I would silently die on the inside. I had no negative feelings towards them nor was I jealous, it was a feeling of life being so unfair. My heart would sink and I would find myself just staring at them and my thoughts wondering to “I hope her baby survives, oh wow, she is going to be holding her new born with so much love soon, and why wasn’t I able to keep my son”. I suppose it was a constant reminder of the precious but short time I had with my son. I felt as though the universe wanted to twist the knife into my wound for another time. Whilst I felt like a thousand knives through my chest and stomach when I saw a pregnant woman, at not one time did I ever wish negative for them. I would always silently whisper to heaven that I wish they never experience what I did. Although I may not have been able to show it all the time, I  would always feel an excitement for them, because truth be told having a baby is so very exciting.

I found as time went on (probably after 5 months or so), I no longer felt those deep painful reminders cutting at my heart. Perhaps it was due to the fact I had been exposed to so many pregnant women and announcements by this stage, or maybe I had reached a point in my grief journey that I had accepted pregnancies will be all around me and had become more resilient.
I will admit though, that even to this day I still fear for those pregnant women and I still say quietly to the heavens “please let their baby live, please let everything run smoothly for them. Please let them feel the joy of having their baby safely in their arms”.

As for the living newborns or the little babies around our sons age – that was completely excruciating for me. Newborn / little girls, I was completely fine with, they didn’t illicit any emotional reaction from me. Perhaps because I already had my healthy living daughter. Boys on the other hand, oh my god was that a challenge. They were a constant reminder of what I had just lost, and what could have been. I would literally want to die (I wasn’t suicidal), but I wanted the excruciating pain in my heart to end. This was amplified whenever I was around another baby boy. My partner had an amazing ability to continue to interact with them. I just couldn’t do it.

One night (I would say maybe week 3 or 4 of grief), I asked my partner, “babe how do you do it? I just can’t do it, I cannot bare to hold another baby boy if I can’t hold my own”. He replied that sometimes we just need to bite the bullet and do it. It hurts, it even hurts him but he does it because he knows its going to be all around us, and the love he has for these babies hasn’t changed because we couldn’t keep ours. My partner supported me in every way, and reassured me there will never be “the right time” but when I’m ready I will know. I sat on this conversation for a couple of days, and as painful as it felt, I knew he was right. I had to face it. I can tell you I was so nervous and the whole time I was trying to build up the courage to ask if I could hold my nephew, I was also trying to frantically talk myself out of it.
I wanted my son and only him in my arms, so I felt I was betraying my boy. I was terrified my deep pain would bring me to my knees.
When I finally asked, something strange happened. It felt good, I had achieved a tremendous self growth, and this little person I held on my lap made that happen for me. I will forever be grateful to my nephew for that, for showing me innocence with no judgement and for affecting me in such a positive way.

For me, I felt I had to take this step forward or else it may have held me back on my journey with grief. Some days I still struggle with being around boys my son’s age, but it is not an overwhelming feeling of grief, it’s more of a wondering what my son may look like or would he be doing this by now or how would his laugh sound. The answer to those questions can only be found in our dreams and I have to learn to accept that in time. If that feeling will ever go away, I am unsure. I don’t jump to cuddle babies like I once did, but I know for certain I watch them like a hawk more now then I ever did and I will protect them because I do love them and I want them to be safe.

I would say to bereaved parents in similar situations to set boundaries but don’t be afraid to take steps forward because as painful as it is going to be, sometimes when things seem the darkest, moments of beauty present themselves in the most unexpected ways.

I am not a helicopter mum, I am just a mum trying to cope.

Posted on by Stacey Clements

Since the death of our son Dennis, it has become clear to others that I have become somewhat of a ‘helicopter’ mum to my living daughter.  I have been called a ‘hellie mum’, heard the words “oh you’re just hellying on”, “you need to relax, she’ll be fine”, “there are other people here watching her too”. I laugh when these comments are made because I do see the humour in them, and I know this is NOT a personal attack on my parenting, my standard response is “oh yeah I know, it’s just….yeah, you know” leaving a long enough pause for the subject to change and then my internal battle with fear begins.

You see, I know I have become so aware of the fragility of a child’s life. As I laugh when these comments are made, my chest is also extremely tight and I am silently struggling to breath. I am trying my hardest not to blurt out the words “yeah I know, I just don’t want her to die”. Even though the odds for that are so very minimal and she may only be running around someone’s yard or at the play ground enjoying a birthday party. It is so hard to control my mind from jumping to the worst possible scenario that would just never happen. But for me, it could just happen, anything and everything is possible now. I know first hand that children can just…. die, for no reason, with no explanation it does ‘just happen’.

An insight into my thought process when my daughter is simply running around someone’s yard. “Where is she? What if a car drives into the driveway right now and they don’t see her and she gets hit? Where is she? What if she is jumping on a bed and falls off and bangs her head and doesn’t recover? Where is she? What if she has slipped on a wet floor, and the worst has happened again?
And the list literally goes on. I know these thoughts are ludicrous at times, still yet, my mind is constantly torturing my soul.

Don’t get me wrong, my daughter can and still does participate in everything she did before Dennis passed. I would never deny her a fun and magical childhood because of my fears. It has just caused me to be 1000 times more vigilant (if that was even possible) and my mind is a constant battlefield of allowing her to be an adventurer and reminding myself that death isn’t a consequence of all her activities.

So if you see me frantically looking for my child, I’ve probably not seen her in the last 30 seconds and I am panicking haha.
I am concious of my irratic thought process and I am working on it every time we step out of the house.  Sometimes I see the humour, other times not (when I have reached my coping threshold). I just ask for patience, awareness and understanding.

I’m not a helicopter mum, I am a mum who has experienced the death of a child and will do everything in my control to never experience this again.

Please stop with the expectations and assumptions

Posted on by Stacey Clements

Why is it that grieving parents are expected to maintain ‘social norms’? Or ‘pre death of child’ life?

Why do grieving parents have to try and defend their experience and their decisions from others’ assumptions?

The assumption that these grieving parents are desperate to have another child or the comments from a persistent person whom assumes you’re in desperate need of another child, “don’t worry it’s going to happen” or “you’ll have another one when the time is right”! Like seriously, these assumptions and expectations that another child MUST follow after the death of a child need to STOP.

Some parents may want another child right away, others in the future, and some not at all. These are all perfectly fine options. It’s completely up to the grieving parents. Perhaps ask the parents what their thoughts are, use the question “how do you feel about having more children, have you both discussed that yet”? And once you have heard their answer, LEAVE IT AT THAT. You don’t need to continue implying or asking if they are pregnant on a regular basis or try to convince them to have another one. The impact this can have on grieving parents can sit within their bones. A comment may stay with them, may trigger them or may just make them feel pressured by expectations and assumptions.

You need to start thinking about going back to work, or why haven’t you done this or why haven’t you done that. The expectations of others not lived to see their child die are inappropriate.

And the returning to ‘normal’ once a child has died? I can’t express this enough, there is no more normal. Everything about life up until the second that child dies, dies with the child. The talk about the greiving parents weight gain, or they don’t do this any more or they aren’t the same people. That’s exactly right, grieving parents are never going to be the same people they once were. That’s not saying they won’t be those things again, it’s just that they have experienced the greatest loss this world has to offer and they live with this loss every day. Trying to move forward, trying to do the impossible; learning to live when their child was denied that right.

To those precious people out there who hold no expectations or assumptions, you are so very wonderful and grieving parents thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

How do I parent a child no longer alive?

Posted on by Stacey Clements

“2 KIDS”, I bark at someone who only mentioned I have one. A completely innocent mistake on their behalf, but I am trying to navigate parenting both a living child and one that has died.
Parenting doesn’t stop because they are no longer here. As Dennis’ mother, I have a deep rooted maternal instinct to look after my child; to care for him, bath him, smother him with kisses and cuddles and provide essential love to a happy 5 month old baby. While I know the physical duties of caring for my son whom I will never get to touch again have stopped, the parenting still continues. I have never had to parent a child no longer alive and it’s hard, it is so damn hard. It’s an overwhelming feeling that I must ensure people know he existed, I NEED to make sure he is remembered, I am driven to have him included in everything about our family. My parenting of him these days is a constant battle of how do I do this, or should I do that, how did other parents do it. When writing on birthday or Christmas cards do you include their names too? When taking family photos can you acknowledge that it’s actually a family photo when our baby boy is missing from it? How do you caption a family photo without feeling guilty that he isn’t in it? It makes me feel like a terrible mother, what if he thinks we don’t love him enough to acknowledge him in our photos and new memories created from here on out? I suppose I will scramble finding my feet and what works for our family from here on out, and over the lifetime he will not be with us. For now I always add his initials somewhere special on a birthday or Christmas card and I always tell people we have 2 kids. When talking about my children I tell people about baby Dennis, not to get sympathy but to fill the overwhelming urge I have as a parent to ensure people know he existed and he will not be forgotten.
Parenting any child is never always easy, and parenting a child who is no longer alive doesn’t come with instructions, it comes with immense confusion, silence from others, awkwardness when you talk about your child, broken hearts, broken dreams and more pain then could ever be described. I love both of my children and will continue parenting both of them, my daughter here earth side and my son in the sky.

A Sad Farewell to 2021

Posted on by Stacey Clements

Our first new years without you son.
I thought I’d want to wish away 2021, but the truth is I don’t. A new year means time is continuing on without you, forcing our lives to move forward. It only intensifies my deep craving to turn back the hands of time and be in a moment with your hand in mine and you wrapped safely in my arms. I have never known a pain then what I experienced in 2021. I cried more this year then I ever have, my heart broke beyond repair this year, our odin boy went to the sky with our son, I kissed death from my own lips almost dying giving birth to my son, and I sat at the table with the grim reaper as he cut ties for my son to pass safely into the after life.
2021, also brought me so many blessings. I experienced 9 beautiful months with my son growing, we laughed as a family, had many fun adventures together, I beat death and got to stay with my beautiful family, partner and daughter. I got to meet my son and hold a real life angel in my arms. My daughter and partner had good health along with my family and we are so much more closer to each other then ever before. For this I am grateful.
I speak to the universe, my son and family beyond the sky and ask that 2022 is kind to me and my little family.
With tears falling from my eyes I sit quietly and remember my son and everything he could have been. I bid a very sad farewell to 2021 and hold my dearest and most sacred memories as time forces us to keep moving without you.

Happy New year my sweet boy, I wish you were here with us earth side more then words could ever express. Play safely with odin and the other angel babies in the sky while we remember you always, with every breath we take 💜💜💜💜💜

The goodbye that will haunt me for a lifetime

Posted on by Stacey Clements

Nothing, and I mean nothing could have prepared me for the night I had to leave the hospital without my son. Day 4, and he was no longer able to stay with us. They wanted me to stay in hospital given my health was not improving – my straight answer every time was “NO, not without my son”. I couldn’t bare the thought of staying in a room I had spent 4 of the most glorious yet heartbreaking days of my life with my son – without him. As the evening drew on Dennis, myself and our daughter spent our last few hours with baby Dennis together, alone as a family. We played our favourite songs, we laughed, we cried, took photos and videos, cuddled, kissed and relived happy memories of us as a family while I was still pregnant, and we spoke about all the dreams and hopes we had for our family if he had survived. I changed his nappy for the final time and we dressed him together. I used every excuse to stall this inevitable goodbye. I needed my son, I needed to walk out of that hospital with my partner and 2 living children the way it was supposed to be. It was 10pm by the time I had no more stall tactics left. We made the long, silent, heartbreaking journey from our room to the car with our daughter excitedly pushing her baby brother in his crib to our final goodbye. On the way out a man rushed past us on his phone with so much excitement congratulating us on our new arrival saying his baby had just been born too. I managed a half smile as Dennis congratulated him. He was not to know we were on our way to our hardest goodbye. My chest tightened and I tried to hold back the tears as they forced their way down my face.

We showed baby Dennis our family car and reminded our daughter that her baby brother had to stay and wasn’t able to come home with us – so she showered him with cuddles and kisses and a nose “boop” with a giggle. Dennis held our son, admiring him, kissing him and spoke his last words from a father to a son before passing him to me. I stood their rocking my baby boy backwards and forwards as if he were alive and I was making sure he didn’t wake. I squeezed him tight and kissed his little nose and lips more times then I could even remember. My tears fell on his precious little porcelain face as I thought to myself “I can’t do this”. It’s unnatural for a mother to be leaving her newborn alone, at the hospital while she leaves with the rest of the family. I looked at Dennis and said the words out aloud “I can’t do this” with a deep groan of complete agony in my soul. “Please, please, I can’t do this”, I begged to him as if begging for my own life, knowing I had no choice but to put him back in his crib for the midwife to take him to the morgue. I held him in my arms staring at him, adoring everything about him, remembering everything about this beautiful boy that was mine. Dennis reminded me it was time to go, we had been in the car park for about half an hour. To be honest if he hadn’t supported me in uttering this final goodbye, I would probably still be sitting in the car park with him to this day. I gave him a final kiss and put him back in his crib with Dennis holding me and reassuring me that it had to be done. My tears leaked onto his face and cheeks. I smelt him and kissed him again, and again until I said “ok just one more”. The midwife gave us a nod with a caring smile and started to walk him away. The further he got from us the more my heart broke which I didn’t think there was any more heart left to break at that time. I sat in the car with silent tears streaming down my face, no energy to make noise, just completely broken, completely incomplete, and feeling complete despair.

This goodbye haunts me often. I think to myself what parent just leaves their newborn, how did I fail him as a mother so early on, why didn’t I just live in the car park with him, was he looking for me after we left, was he wondering why we were leaving him. I know all of these thoughts are outlandish, I know he couldn’t stay with us and in his infinite wisdom chose this outcome before arriving here on earth – It’s just the grief and parental guilt that so many grieving parents feel. I know we had no other choice and we did everything we needed to do and we did everything right – its only on my bad days the negative self-talk and doubts creep in. While it was a goodbye that will haunt me for my life time, I know it is one of the most purest experiences Dennis, myself, our daughter and our son have had and we will treasure our last couple of hours together as a family for the rest of our lives.

The dance with grief

Posted on by Stacey Clements

In the beginning the grief was overwhelming. I couldn’t function, I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t eat for over 8 days afterwards. I cried more then a million tears over a thousand times. I would spend most days crying, and if I wasn’t crying I was questioning everything I know about my belief system, life, god, angels, the spiritual realm. The endless how’s and why’s of the situation. Why didn’t I die if this pain is all I am going to be living with. Why didn’t he survive, what if we magically knew this was going to happen and I got to the hospital in time. How would I convince the Drs something is wrong. I was so overcome with devastation. I found it hard to interact with my daughter because I was still so unwell and sore and was not able to hold her or pick her up. She is a demanding 2 year old who relied upon me for everything and I couldn’t function enough to deal with her every day needs. My partner and my family were incredible with my daughter and with me actually. My daughter was my saving grace, but also brought me the greatest guilt. I felt guilty I couldn’t interact with her, or bring her little brother home to her, or that my constant crying may have left her feeling confused. I felt and still feel guilty that my patience is still limited.

My partner and I grieve differently, my partner wanted us to be around people to show me how loved we were, how loved our son was and that we were not alone. I, on the other hand wanted to lay in the room cry and be exhausted on my own, be completely vulnerable around only my immediate family. The key to us becoming closer through this experience is being gentle with each other being each others number 1 supporter and allowing us to grieve in our own way. I am so very grateful that Dennis allowed me to grieve how I wanted and encouraged me to welcome his grieving style. I didn’t know I needed what he wanted (to be around friends and family) but I did, and by engaging in Dennis’ grief style it helped me remarkably. The support was overwhelming and somewhat comforting. I will be forever grateful for those who came to see us, meet our son and for those who cried with us, or just hugged us. I found that by people reaching out to me brought a warmth to my heart , even if I was not able to respond to them it helped me so much when I would receive a ‘thinking of you message’. I didn’t want to be alone but I didn’t want to be around people having general conversation. I literally only wanted to talk about what happened and my son. This is when I started experiencing the silence with my stillbirth.

I am still so early in my grief process, however I am able to function these days. Functioning and being in complete pain are 2 very different things. My heart is still aching and I still cry often, I am still so confused and heartbroken, I still see a counselor, I still do everything a grieving person does, only I can function better with every day life. I am not always in such a debilitated state 24/7. My blogs will continue to talk about my grief and my journey of discovering how to dance with the price of love; grief.

The question that made me want to scream

Posted on by Stacey Clements

“Hey, how are you”….. the 4 words that made me want to SCREAM every time I heard them. I know people didn’t and still don’t know what to say to me, but that question is so frustrating. What could I say when I was asked that? My response become a short half smile with a shoulder shrug met with silence. The truth is when I was asked this question I wanted to say “How am I? I am devastated, broken, wanting to die (but not suicidal), hating the world, confused, not hungry but pressured to eat, exhausted, not functioning, not coping, questioning what I did in this lifetime that was so bad to deserve this, wondering if my son is in heaven – I was not even sure at that point if heaven existed, panicking that my son was crying and looking for me and the list goes on.

I would have preferred to be asked “how are you feeling”, that way I could have answered honestly with a “not good, or I am struggling”. This question would allow me to be honest and reassure me that my feelings are validated. This question allows my feelings to be acknowledged and I can actually respond with words. This question made me feel like my feelings mattered and the person asking was genuinely wanting to know how I felt. I felt like I had so much I wanted to say in the earlier days but no one would ask. I didn’t feel like I wanted to initiate the conversation because I would be met with an uncomfortable silence as the person in front of me tries to fathom the loss of a child or what to say to parents who have lost a child.

I am not having a dig at those who asked “how are you”, because I completely understand there seems to be no words to say to grieving parents, I wouldn’t know what to say if the shoe was on the other foot. If you are unsure about what to say, just use gentle words or a simple “I am so sorry”, maybe a warm hug, or even say you will remember their child.

My son’s funeral

Posted on by Stacey Clements

We waited 6 weeks to have our son’s funeral. This was in part that we wanted it planned to perfection, and a big part was that I didn’t want to have to say the final goodbye. I wanted him on earth as long as I could. I am glad we waited though, I was at a place in time where I could focus completely on his funeral and have a clear enough mind to be meticulous with speeches, the proceedings, songs and tributes we wanted our son to have.

Our funeral directors (Simplicity Funerals NT), were absolutely AMAZING. They let us do everything we wanted. Our son joined us in our family car for his ‘last ride’ to his nanny’s house before heading back to our house where we brought him inside and got to experience him here with us, and finally to his nanny and grandad’s house before heading to the chapel. We went all out, we had his family from Dennis’ side traditional dance for him, we had multiple slideshows of him, songs, speeches from myself, his dad, his grandparents and 2 close friends. Over 300 people attended our son’s funeral, this blew me away. I felt so much comfort that my son was so loved before he even got a chance to walk this earth. I will forever be grateful for each single person who came to wish my baby boy a farewell.

We had the service filmed so our family in different states could watch it, and so we could always look back at that day and remember. If I could provide any advice, I would say wait until you’re ready to plan the funeral, don’t rush it if you don’t want to. Sit down with your partner or family and discuss all options, wishes and desires for the service and find a funeral company that will allow you do to what you want (within reason). I chose to do a speech at my son’s funeral. I didn’t know if I’d be able to but I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to let everyone there know how much I adored my baby boy. He is my son and my son deserved his mother getting up and speaking about him. I didn’t want ‘not speaking’ to become a regret in the future. Dennis and I had said that from the beginning ‘no regrets’ for his special day.

I will blog about how I felt on the day of the funeral in the near future. Trying to articulate how I really felt/feel takes a lot of inner strength, and I need to be in a ‘good’ mind frame in order to go back to particular days or events without the emotions overwhelming me for the day.

Meeting my beautiful baby boy

Posted on by Stacey Clements

As I am getting set up in ICU and connected to the machines, I have no thoughts particularly, just trying to digest the situation…… I was numb. I was in survival mode for myself, however couldn’t imagine continuing life without my son. Once I was set up medically I said to Dennis “I am ready to meet him, I want to see him”. My parents brought baby Dennis down from the maternity ward, I saw them arrive outside the window. My mum was carrying him. I looked up to Dennis with complete terror in my eyes, is this really happening, is this really true, am I about to meet my baby boy who was no longer alive? I was craving to see him, I wanted to lay eyes upon my beautiful child, I wanted him in my arms but I was terrified to accept the situation. I asked my parents to stay outside of the room when I met him for the first time. I did this purely because I had no idea how I was going to react, and I wanted to be able to absolutely fall apart (without breaking my parents already broken hearts). I wanted to just, be. Dennis walked our son into the room, he was all wrapped in blankets looking snug and warm, and to be honest…alive. As Dennis placed him in my arms and I laid eyes upon my handsome baby boy, my body shook, and I just exhaled all the life I had left in me with a deep soul shattering groan. Every cell, every nerve, every fibre throbbed in pain. All air left my lungs and time stood completely still. It was at this point my world completely stopped turning and life will never be the same as we know it. I will never be the same. “My god, you are so beautiful my son, beyond perfect” I thought to myself. He was so beautiful, I couldn’t believe how handsome my boy was, I was so in love all over again. “You are perfect in every way, oh my boy I absolutely love you” I thought to myself. I was filled with the deepest love and the deepest heartache at the same time. I just held onto my boy and cried. I admired him in every way, I couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t stop kissing him and I couldn’t stop repeating over and over “my son, I am so sorry”. “My god, my son I love you, I love you, I love you”. I didn’t sleep at all that night, and have not really slept ever since. Our son Dennis stayed with us for the remainder of our 4-5 days spent in hospital. I will forever cherish those days and be grateful that we got that time with him, most families only get a couple of hours or a day or 2. I needed to be with him, I needed that time to ‘be his mother’ in the living realm. I needed to tend to my babies needs, to change him, cuddle him, dress him. That’s my baby, I just needed him to be with me and his daddy. I needed to imprint him on my body and in my memory (free from the trauma) so I can remember everything about him, his hands, his feet, his nose, his smell, everything. Forever is a long time to miss someone, and I wanted to make sure as the years pass and I wait this lifetime to meet my sweet boy again I can hold onto him not only in the spiritual realm but in our physical one as well.

Dennis Bruce Cooper, I am so privileged you chose me. I am so blessed to have been given the title of being your mother. My son, too beautiful for this earth – I love you.