Tag Archives: baby loss

seasonal changes

In the early days after Eddie died, I remember feeling strangely in tune with the weather. It oddly made me feel better when it was grey and miserable outside. We then entered one of the hottest summers on record and I felt annoyed. And aggrieved. How dare the sun shine bright when my life was so sad and gloomy!

Over the past couple of weeks, the weather has shifted and taken on an autumnal feel. It’s still August but winter is looming. In my melancholy state, I should be looking forward to the colder months ahead. But I sit here, dreading the change of season. The heavy rain over the weekend, the anticipation of shorter days and longer nights, simply serves to intensify my grief and my sorrow.

Now I long for Summer and some brightness in my life.


the hangover

Chris feels like he has had an almighty hangover since the bike ride. Before the ride, he felt a sense of purpose and we both got caught up in the emotional dizziness of it all.

We know there is more work to do with the charity but despite this, our lives continue to feel empty and void of purpose. It remains impossibly hard to think of a future when our future is without our darling boy.

The past weekend was particularly difficult. We felt at a loss and not quite sure what to do with ourselves. So we decided to go back to a place that we swore we would never go back to again after an almighty row, 4.5 years ago.

We returned to IKEA.


Always with me

When Eddie was here, it was my responsibility to look after him, to mother him. I am still a mother and will always be Eddie’s mother.

But as I look at where I am today, just over 4 months since my beautiful baby boy was tragically taken from me, I wonder if it’s Eddie that now looks after me. I question how I am here, how I got here, and how I am managing to get through the days. Yet somehow, I am still standing.

I know, in part, it is owed to the unwavering support of family and friends. And of course my rock, Chris. But, maybe somewhere, Eddie is watching over me and is giving me the strength and courage to soldier on. And so it reminds me of a quote that I chose for Eddie’s funeral service – something that no parent should ever have to do. It’s by AA Milne and taken from Winnie the Pooh:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together…

There is something you must always remember.

You are braver than you believe,
stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.

But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart…

I’ll always be with you.”

~ A.A. Milne


The first event

Yesterday was very emotional. Actually, every day is very emotional for us at the moment. But yesterday was particularly emotional as my amazing husband completed the 100 mile cycle Ride London event.  He braved the elements, and nearly retired because of a punctured tyre, but managed to complete the ride in 5 hrs 9 minutes. Chris was interviewed for the BBC straight after the event and spoke about the reasons why he did the cycle. It was, and always will be, for Eddie. I know Eddie will be so proud of his daddy, as I am, a very proud wife.

It has been an overwhelming few weeks. We’ve kickstarted Teddy’s Wish and the support has, quite simply, been phenomenal. And amongst all of this, we are still missing the most important ingredient of our lives. Our darling boy.

But  in Chris’s words “Edward, not only the next 100 miles are for you, but the rest of my life. I will love you forever. Xx”

Chris, you are my inspiration, my strength. You are my hero x

cp

candj


Something You Can Count On

A childhood friend of mine emailed me the other day. We hadn’t spoken for years but we have connected again in the saddest of circumstances.

She was the daughter of my mother’s best friend who died of cancer when we were 14 years old. It was a battle she fought bravely but was tragically taken too early, too young and too soon.

I am grateful she has come back into my life again, despite the reasons why. And I wanted to share a poem, which she shared with me, by her mother’s favourite poet Merritt Malloy. It’s taken from her book ‘The People Who Didn’t Say Goodbye’

Something You Can Count On

I want to tell you
in a few words
what I could not tell you
in too many

I want you to know
that it will be hard
to live without you
again

You will always be the one
I’m thinking about
when somebody asks me
who I’m thinking
about

Eddie, wherever you are, this is something you can always count on.


24 hours

We have been taught about the fragility of life and how life can change instantaneously. Without warning. And I suppose we feel mis-trusting of life.

Chris went to Amsterdam yesterday for work. It was our first night apart since we lost Eddie and it was tough, even though it was for only 24 hrs. I had the support of a good friend and family who stayed with me but I missed Chris in a different way to how I used to miss him.

Back then, it was taken for granted that he would be home safely. But yesterday was different and we both felt it. We said goodbye like it was the final goodbye.


The mask

There is an expectation by others that grief has some form of an expiry date. We should be moving on, getting on and embracing life. But how do you learn to enjoy life again without the most important person in it?

I have 2 masks. My mask of normalcy and the mask beneath the mask. My mask of normalcy can get up in the morning and function. We moved house 6 weeks after Eddie was born and there are rooms that are still unfinished, that were meant to stay unfinished as we were too busy juggling life with a new baby. Since we now have so much time on our hands, we have embarked on a new house project. Our weekends which were meant to be reserved for family outings have now been replaced with outings to furniture and kitchen stores.

My mask of normalcy allows me to speak to builders, research paints and colours and such. I can now hold normal conversations with people I know, and strangers, without immediately bursting into floods of tears. There are times that I can smile and even laugh. And in those moments, I catch glimpses of my old self.

But even though I have the ability to function, it does not lessen my grief and my sadness. It does not mean that I am enjoying life. It means I am functioning, coping and existing. There is a mask beneath the mask that is the new me. The person who questions whether they will ever experience happiness again and who desperately wants her old life back. A life which was full of hope and optimism. A life where I held my baby boy in my arms and not just in my heart.


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