stillbornstillloved

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.

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.

“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.

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 💜💜💜💜💜