I have put the book (Finding Hope When a Child Dies - what other cultures can teach us) that you have suggested on to a wish list - A. will order that for me with in the next week or so - thank you. I am curious to know what you believe in yourself; being a Baptist. I'm afraid that I am a bit closed minded to all religions - but would truly like to know what beliefs a Baptist has, how does it compare to Christianity? How have you found the Buddhist teachings, has that worked out with the Baptist teachings?
I hope its raining for you where ever you are - where are you? Why have I got South Carolina in my head? Anyway, I know completely how you feel for the rain, rainbows hold that closeness for me to Elizabeth. It doesn't even have to rain for them as the bedroom window has cut glass in it; as the sun rises we find lots of rainbows playing on our pillows and walls - same in the afternoon sun now, we have lots of little rainbows lighting up our living area.
I believe Cullen is with you when it rains, even if he isn't physically. He is with you always, you have a huge piece of him in your heart, all that love you have for your little boy is that part and no one can take that away from you. Carol (Happy Sad Mama) said something really comforting to me - she said that our memories will never fade of our little ones; never, and our love for them will only grow. She spoke from experience; 7 years down the line, that is heartening to me - I have a very real fear of that.
I was quite fortunate to realise what I had and get the chance to grab with both hands again, what I missed when I joined the army. I'm talking family-wise, I have something like 50 cousins on my Father's side alone (I did mention they are very religious?) and the family is very tight-knitted. I think my Grandmother had a baby that died shortly after birth - it wasn't talked of a lot back then, but all my family have rallied around us. In some ways I hate the fact that we are half a world away... but there is no wishing things were different - that comes under the wretched 'what-ifs'!! Does it make us want to high tail it back to the UK now? When the 'strong-head' slips - yes, but most of the time, no. We came here to realise a dream and no matter what; its not going to bring our Elizabeth back to us. I do miss Kayla so very much, my Ma and Dad too.
I have, like you only written Elizabeth's birth story out in my paper journal, once. I had an emergency c-section under a general anaesthetic; Elizabeth was 39 weeks and 3 days... I can feel my anxiety raising now; heart racing, hands shaking. Elizabeth's birth and events surrounding it were traumatic for us both and I'm not ready to go there again just now. I need a time and place to let the 'strong-head' go - namely without Andy being around; it really upsets him to see me like that and I know that I need to feel uninhibited to get it all out. Elizabeth was born on a Sunday morning at 07:48 - the sun wasn't even up at that point.....
I've calmed down now.
I too have been concentrating getting my body ready for another pregnancy. Still taking the prenatal vitamins, my thyroxine and trying to eat properly too. My body has only just realised that I've not got Elizabeth here to feed and has settled back into a cycle of sorts. My Ob said there is no reason to wait, your body will get pregnant when its ready and not before, she also said some women never have a period in between pregnancies.
I am glad to have someone else to talk to about this - Andy is in total agreement with trying again, but I feel he lacks the awareness that I have a need and a want, that is so strong for a baby - I guess its almost instinctual. Along with Elizabeth, we lost our status of parents. I know Andy doesn't define himself as his job (a doctor), but I would have done so if Elizabeth lived - I would have been Elizabeth's stay at home Ma...
I had a baby, I did, I did.
I stand before the mirror examining the sunrise of stretch marks on my belly, the droop to my breasts. I am still able to squeeze a few drops of milk out, but they don't hurt anymore.
I have a mother's body, I think.
If I died on the highway, and I became a Jane Doe. They could look at me and say, She is somebodies mother.
They would feel sad, looking at me, white and cold on the table. She's so young, with a child out there somewhere.
little would they know, would they.
What is it that makes it so hard for us?
Why don't we believe that we ever had that baby, that we ever were mothers?
I would hunt for evidence all day long; the physical evidence of my body would keep me convinced for only so long. Then I would turn to the drawers of neatly folded diapers, of cotton oneies and hand-knitted sweaters. I would run my fingers along the smoothness of the maple crib rail; the rocking chair. I have these things, I would murmur to myself under my breath, because I had a baby, I did, I did.
From that I wrote this:
I stand before the mirror examining the sunrise of stretch marks on my belly, the droop to my breasts. I am still able to squeeze a few drops of milk out, but they don't hurt anymore.
I have a mother's body, I think.
If I died on the highway, and I became a Jane Doe. They could look at me and say, She is somebodies mother.
They would feel sad, looking at me, white and cold on the table. She's so young, with a child out there somewhere.
little would they know, would they.
What is it that makes it so hard for us?
Why don't we believe that we ever had that baby, that we ever were mothers?
I would hunt for evidence all day long; the physical evidence of my body would keep me convinced for only so long. Then I would turn to the drawers of neatly folded diapers, of cotton oneies and hand-knitted sweaters. I would run my fingers along the smoothness of the maple crib rail; the rocking chair. I have these things, I would murmur to myself under my breath, because I had a baby, I did, I did.
From that I wrote this:
It doesn't seem real to me most days - that yes, I did have a baby.
I had the baby seat in the car, I had the cot and bassinet there with fresh, sweet smelling linen prepared.
I have the draws for the change table filled with soft, tagg-less oneies and hand knitted cardigans.
I have the soft sheep skin teddy bear, the big monkey I'd taken months to knit and put together....
They all stand there waiting, waiting for someone who never came home.
I don't have the stretch marks, but I have the scar; the long lopsided smile that stretches from hip to hip.
6 weeks on and my breasts are still leaking, after they gave me the 'magic' pill to supposedly stop that.
I cringe at my mothers body and I am the Jane Doe you spoke of...
I am no one.
I have no name.
I have no definition.
I am no mother to a child.
I have no purpose, no job or baby to nurture.
I have no want or need to live.
I have no want or need to die.
I am marking time, my world has shuddered to a full-stop.
I am lost, broken and shattered without my dear, sweet Elizabeth.
Nothing makes sense.
------
As the sun sets on this side of the world, my mind turns to the West and to Christian's beach - where our babies are running up and down the store, jumping in and out of the surf - I can almost hear their gleeful exclamations and giggles while crunching on mouthfuls of sand....
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