Heartfelt

It's going to be a little quite here for a few weeks now.  My father and his partner, Marilyn are visiting us here for three weeks. I haven't got any expectations as to what it is going to be like, I can draw on old experiences, but this is all new territory for all of us now and can only hope for the best.  I do know that it will be nothing like the visit from my mother and her husband, just six short weeks after Elizabeth's birth - had I known how that would be, I'd have cancelled and bailed.  My fingers are crossed in so many ways for so many outcomes.

*************

I went to the Heartfelt exhibition this morning with A.  This volunteer organisation of photographers in Australia gives the gift of photography to families, not only to those who have experienced the death of their child, but ill, premature infants and terminally or seriously ill children.  This organisation didn't take our photos of Elizabeth, but is the first exhibition I've heard of this kind and will support any and all of them.  We walked around the gallery for an hour drinking in the information separately.  We saw the photographs, we read their stories.  I was fighting the flow of tears and the sizable lump in my throat.  We walked out of there dumbstruck.  I actually walked straight into Hope's Mama who was revisiting the exhibition and managed to fumble a few words.

The exhibition was so powerful.  Reading and seeing those precious photographs, being immersed into their worlds, their pain, their love, their sorrow of the unknown.  It just left me heartbroken for them all.  I felt apart of a bigger 'club'; I'm not the only one who has had to kiss goodbye to their child and that felt oddly comforting to know that I'm walking a very well worn path.  Also reading from the photographers point of view, seeing how they have their own hurdles to overcome, dealing with such an important role with a family.

It took sometime to adjust being back in the living world after being submerged in the sadness, all the while thinking about the children in the pictures and of our Elizabeth.  Something so silly knocked me back into life though - seeing a photo of a fried breakfast in a shop front.  It was a happy plate, eggs for eyes, a tomato nose and a lovely great smiley sausage and I smiled inside and out.  I thought if a plate of food can make me feel better now, then our treasured photographs of our daughter will always bring me close to her.  It was a strange feeling, something just clicked inside and knew that I'm better off not worrying about the future - it'll get here in its own time.

I am still in a strange sort of limbo right now - I can't really feel Elizabeth as powerful as I once did and I can't get close to this new soul yet.  It is just something that I have to accept and work on and going to the exhibition did help me feel that all familiar sadness again.

I carry you in my heart Elizabeth, not in my arms and that is the difficulty I am adjusting to.

Ringing Ears and Whispers

My dearest Elizabeth,

I am finding things hard right now and by 'things', I mean it is hard keeping you close to me.  I always thought it would come as a given that I'd feel you so powerfully, I didn't think I'd have to work so hard.
At the start we were so very close.  Emotions were raw and barely containable, every pore exuded a part of you; that deep sorrow of wanting and missing you, my body aching for you, the mother's love emanated through into my every thought and mental movement of thoughts of what our lives should be.  There was never a moment were I didn't think of you, or have you reminded by something around me.  The raging emotions were so strong and powerful, so loud they were that my ears were ringing and couldn't focus on anything else around me.

And then something happened.  A lot happened, a lot of talking, sharing, planning, writing and working myself towards getting back into my life and it has taken off.  I found myself living that life again and all those strong, raw, loud emotions where slowly getting quieter.  I have been noticing now for awhile that I am missing the 'ringing ears' and I don't like it one bit; I hate it.  Your voice within me is almost a whisper sweet Elizabeth, I have to try hard to listen to it.  It doesn't mean that your not thought of, it has just changed I guess - the Tourette's in my head has settled; the voice in my head that dares me to speck your name out to everyone and anyone is simply gone, and I miss it.

I love you so much baby girl.

I miss our life together, our family unit of you, me and your father.  I will never know what life that one was, but that doesn't stop me from dreaming, wondering and wishing for you to still be here.  I miss getting to know you, finding out who you are.  I miss the fact that I don't know your voice or smile, I don't know where your tickle spots are or your giggles, I don't know your likes or dislikes and I don't know your gaze.  It breaks my heart to know that I don't know anything of who you are Elizabeth.  One day though, I do believe that we will have our time together...

Right now, I am just so scared of leaving you behind Elizabeth, of living my life and just placing you in the background of it.  I don't want to just see your photos around the house, I need to feel you.  I recognise this and will be working harder, writing a new journal just for you, getting on with your tree tapestry and striving to keep you with me always and not just locked up in my heart to feel sad about...

Because that is the crux of it I think; I am lost without all the powerful sadness surrounding me, I don't know this part of grief without it all.  I have to listen carefully to your subtle voice and I don't have to block it out in order to live.

I am loving you Elizabeth and I am listening...

All Is Well

I don't have much to add to that really.
This good news has yet to fully sink in, but we're so very, very relieved.

If anyone is interested I have another page of information about this pregnancy.  It is called the Pumpkin Pages on the left under my profile bit and is where I'll be keeping photos, stats and the like.

**************************

I am also very saddened to hear of a number of other new pregnancies have ended.  My heart goes out to those mothers, I am just so very sorry that they have to go through another loss.  I can only imagine the utter devastation and send so much love and strength to them.

La-la Land & Limbo

Hmm, I'm not sure how to start, but know I need to keep writing here. The longer I leave it, the more tangled and messy the web becomes.

I've been away up country for a getaway with A; it has been lovely. Visiting the wine region, the rain forest, spa treatments and just indulging has been wonderful for us - not to mention very little contact with the outside world.  The fresh cool air, rolling green hills and mountains to make us feel as if we're back in Devon, UK...  To a time of innocence were we didn't know grief - isn't it strange how the feel of a place can conjure all those feelings?

Returning brought me back down with a bump; feeling numb about everything now - Tuesday's scan feels like it'll never get here.  All has been quite in reference to the bleeding, but it is still to be seen how it has, or hasn't effected things.  Trying not to even think about all the pg. related things - its just not happening to me, I have no control.

With this limbo land of not planning ahead (not for this soul or TTC again) I have had other concerns to keep my head awake at night.  Mainly I'm worried about losing all closeness to Elizabeth.  I have only known this grief; this meshed together deep sorrow/hurt/pain and the all encompassing love I have for her. Now what do I do when that slips from my grasp?  Yes, it does become easier to function in the day to day, I can smile, laugh and enjoy things.  I can see bumps and babies (no way newborns and that gives me little comfort) and not be sent into a tailspin....
But with all of that, I have lost touch of all that love I have for my daughter.  It is so tightly woven together this grief - lose one and the other goes too?

There is not an hour that passes that I do not think and miss Elizabeth. Many tears do not reach my eyes, but are ever present in my heart. There is nothing I wouldn't give to have her back in my arms again, alive, fit and well. BUT I know it is just futile thinking about it all like that - she died and she isn't coming back to life. I don't know who I'm missing right now.  I haven't a clue what sort of things an almost 7 month old can do - I am missing the thoughts of who she might be; my perception of my daughter.

As I realise this, I seem to have moved away from her again and that just hurts me more.  I am scared that I'll never feel that love...

Or is that love buried beneath the guilt from living my life still?

I want to live.
I really want to live and feel happiness.
I want and need to feel that mother's love again.
I want to feel my husbands love and return it two fold.
I always want to feel my love outpouring for Elizabeth; her place in my heart secured.

I read Carly's recent post; 'What helped me the most on my journey with grief' and was so speechless with the last paragraph - it just spoke volumes to me and made me realise that this is my uncharted path, and its okay.  Its okay to laugh and find joy again; its not taking anything away from Elizabeth.  I've yet to see how that can be seen as honouring them - I doubt I have that place of mind just yet, but I'm willing to try and not feel guilty for it. Thank you Carly, I really needed to read and feel that today.

And so I wait for Tuesday morning; fingers and toes crossed, a little lighter in the heart too.

May You Always Feel Her Rainbows

After seeing, reading and feeling Leslie's Poem here, I contacted Silvi myself and asked her to write a poem for me and Elizabeth.  I too gave her my blog address and this is what I read and cried to this morning...

I am just speechless really, but so overwhelmingly thankful for these words to me right now - it is what I needed to read and to really feel.  It tells me my words back to me, to keep reminding me that I am not alone, no matter how distant I feel.  To keep on striving to keep Elizabeth with me, to write her name everywhere and see her in the colours around me.  To know she is always with me in my quite stillness, in my laughter and in the whispers of the wind; we are together.

Thank you Silvi, I really did need to feel this right now - Thank you.

The picture behind the poem is 'The Promise', a great double rainbow that was shot just down the Great Ocean Road; this is where A. and I had our sort-of Christmas time.  The significance is heart felt.
Silvi also mentioned a song 'Someone Great' by LCD Sound.system, that I'd not heard of before.  I've listened to it and can see what she means, 'it has the best description of grief'.  It is a powerful song, the more I read those words, the more it sinks in - look to the last verse and words...

For someone who hasn't had to walked this path, Silvi has put on these shoes and walked with me - that is no easy feat.  I am greatly hearted to know that Elizabeth, Taggpole, A. and I will be remembered all the way over in San Francisco.  Thank you Silvi

Pause

Things have ground to a halt here.  I am resting up and recuperating.
I have a wicked head cold that A. had mutated and passed onto me - thanks darling!
It has also started to get cooler and wetter and so being wrapped up in a quilt on the sofa has been preferable to venturing out.  Plans have been changed/cancelled and the slobbing has continued in ernest.

We also had a scare.  There was blood in the toilet bowl, last thing Monday night - not a lot, but too much to ignore; I have a negative blood group and so would need the Anti D (only after 12 weeks it turns out, I was 6 weeks and a day).  So we made the command decision to wait it out until the morning and head to the hospital first thing.  That was after A. (being an emergency doctor) was scouring through the hospital website finding out courses of action to our situation (very handy having that website and him who could understand it all).  We didn't sleep a wink that night, we talked of Elizabeth a lot and we talked of our hopes and dreams for this new soul and just tired to comfort each other.

It was horrid going back to that hospital, going through the emergency entrance, waiting in those same uncomfortable chairs with all those other expectant parents - the last time I was right there, Elizabeth was alive and healthy inside...

We called ahead and they already had my notes, they took a short history and were sad for us - I just wanted to scream at them 'you can't do anything for Elizabeth now, but get your arses into gear now, there is still time to act with this one!'.  I know there is nothing you can do to prevent a miscarriage if its going to happen; it was just the look of pity she gave us and her inactivity - 'Do Something!'

More waiting.  Beta hCG was good so we went off for an ultrasound. There was no flashbacks to Taggpole's ultrasound, there was no real conscious thought or worries about molar or ectopic pregnancies - just a holding of breath, waiting.  Of course you can't see a thing from the position we're in and had to judge by the looks on the sonographer and A's faces.

After some clicking of buttons and moving the probe about, Viv said 'today, everything looks good'.  She turned the monitor around and began showing us what was what; the gestational sac, the yolk sac, the fetal pole and to our amazement the flickering of a heartbeat.  Our new soul was just 3mm and it's heart was beating 95 beats per minute; all bang on for just over 6 weeks.   She checked my tubes and ovaries (I ovulated from the right side this time and saw the corpus luteum), but there was no evidence to say where the blood had originated from; there was a lot of it pooled around the gestational sac.  While she said everything looked good today, she couldn't say how all that extra blood would act on the pregnancy - it might get reabsorbed, or not...
All being well, we are to go back for a follow up scan in two weeks.

I wanted to get this all down here, as I can't really talk about this in real life.  We're not telling anyone, especially our families before we have to and that won't be until my father comes out to visit next month - might be able to keep it secret still?  I'm sure many don't want to know about all the ins and outs of this pregnancy, but this is for me; this is My Space.

I must admit that now I am seeing things in daylight again - the greys and shades of twilight have been banished.  When I saw all that blood, I just thought 'game over' and was back to a place of dark desperation.  We huddled together and talked openly about Elizabeth, something that doesn't happen all that often really and it was good.  Since having seen all that we have now and having reached and opened up in the darkness again, I can only conclude there is only an upward motion to go in now.
 
I feel closer to this new soul, its not just something happening to me and I feel some what connected.  This is not Elizabeth; this is her little brother or sister and I'm so in love with him/her already.  I think this is as good as its going to get, I've not got either on my mind all the time - dare I say it, but I feel this is a 'normal' for me now.  Elizabeth will always be in my heart, she will always be in my past, my present and future - but she is not here physically.  Neither is this new soul yet and life strides onward.

So here I will sit, cozy in blankets with a big box of tissues and a hot black current juice, keeping my fingers crossed and hoping.

Shades Of Grey

I am unclear of what to write here, I am without many words, many thoughts and emotions

I am a grieving mother, six and a half months out from the death of her first born daughter
I am an expectant mother, seven and a half months from birthing another precious soul.  The latter said with an air of wishful thinking...

Here right now, I'm surrounded with all the shadows and shades of grey
There is no thorough darkness to hide in my grief and sorrow
There is no bright light of hope and confidence in my body or this new soul
There is no balance, no equilibrium, no easy middle ground

I am still
I am calm
I am just waiting with a heavy heart

Not for the shit to hit the fan
Not for the next hurdle to jump
Not even for the months and weeks to zoom by

I am waiting to feel again and that is what is unsettling, unnerving me now.  It is by no means a conscious effort to push these things from my head and heart.  It just hasn't been realised yet, that things have changed so drastically

Life is still in action mode
I am still in action mode
I'm not ready to think about all this too deeply yet

When ever I do think of Elizabeth, it comes with the knowledge that I am carrying her sibling. One isn't separated from the other and I want to give myself over to just memories and remembrances of Elizabeth, or just wishes and dreams for this new soul - to either have that all consuming darkness of grief, or the shining hope that I can feed from and rest assured by it.  I am not ready for the opposite poles of emotion; to split myself, and I'm not wanting to get my babies mixed up in each others places within my heart...  They are different souls.

I am confused and I am left feeling numb in a place of varying shades of grey.  I know I have to relax into this place, not to fight it and things will change on its own.  But I am afraid of growing further away from my precious girl; my Elizabeth Layne.  I am scared that I'll not realise and know the joy of the here and now - I am so scared of not feeling.

Smell Association

I brought the wrong body wash.
The one I did buy was the old one I'd used 'before'.
There I was in the shower with my scratchy mitts on, the next moment I was transported backward in time...

Having carefully undressed my mother's body, I'd set the temperature to just bearable; not too hot for my empty, swollen body.  I was still so raw, so numb, so sore and I'd have to be so careful around that red and angry scar.  The hole where the drain came out and the knot of that long, single disposable stitch - maybe if I'd knocked it, I would unravel entirely?

I'd wash myself on autopilot almost with my eyes closed and startling myself when something hurt - everything hurt!  The scar.  My whole chest with the delayed milk that came in the week after that pill. My face and eyes from all the tissues, tears and sleepless nights.  But mainly it was my heart that I was so wary of in the shower - you see there is a huge mirror in our bathroom; it takes up most of a wall and that makes it very difficult not to see oneself.  While in there my eyes were always averted; always looking downward or closed - I couldn't look at myself.

To physically see the pain in my broken and ripped apart body, to see how the look of grief distorted my face, to see what was felt on the inside starring at back me; that was more than I could bare and made it only more real.  The hunted, empty, pained look in my eyes, it was worse seeing that same look in A's...

From the inside I could shut it all out, fool myself for a few seconds of relief and feel I could deal with the full horror - if only I didn't look in that damned mirror.  Maybe I could get away with thinking that it all happened to someone else and my precious baby girl was still within me and thriving?

And I guess she is in a way too.  My Elizabeth isn't gone from me now and never will be.  She will forever reside in my heart safe and sound, protected and knowing such powerful love I have for her.

So I've not charged out to buy new body wash, now that I've explored these feelings.  I am glad to have remembered them.  It seems very strange for me to say that, but Elizabeth seems so far away from me now and these reminders of the raw times brings me closer to her again, along with all that heartache and pain.  While I don't associate this particular body wash with 'before' Elizabeth's birth and all its excitement, I know and recall those first early memories/emotions from just 'after'.