Love Letter (Capture Your Grief Project - Day 23)

Dear Freddie,

You are my only true love and you are my proudest creation. I know a mother is always biased but you were the most perfect baby I have ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon. 

I love the way your skin was so soft and smelt of that beautiful newborn smell. I love your hair, how the midwife said "it's strawberry blonde!" but really it's a light brown. A perfect blend of mine and Mattie's. I love the way it's tufty on the top but thicker and curly at the back. I love your face. I could write that sentence 1000 times over. Your little button nose, your furry little eyebrows and your chubby cheeks I would have never stopped kissing. Your mouth is my favourite thing about you, it is so perfect and pouty, again it was a gift from your Daddy. I love how grumpy you looked, it always made me laugh. I love your beautiful hands and how perfectly they fit into mine. I love your funny little, well actually not so little, feet and your squashed little toe, I love that it made you special.

I wish I could talk about your eyes, I bet they would be big like mine but blue like Mattie's.

I wish I could have heard your voice, that scream I waited 9 months for but it never came.

I love you so very much Freddie Richard Jenkins. I will never love another more than you and I will never stop loving you.

Grief.

Why I Write My Blog

Initially I started this blog to update about my pregnancy, birth and to track Freddie's milestones as he passed through his childhood. Instead, it's transformed into a blog that documents my struggle through life without a baby, my baby, Freddie. I've lost the direction I'm taking this blog in, I'm not sure what it's going to be in a year from now. Maybe I'll be writing about a how I'm pregnant with a brother or sister for Freddie, maybe I'll have my rainbow baby already with me...I honestly don't know.

Right now, I'm writing this to stay sane. It gives me a purpose. When I lost Freddie I felt like I'd lost all meaning to my life, I drifted without direction. This blog gives me the focus that I'd been craving and that I so desperately needed. This blog gives me something to do...There's only so much dog walking and housework I can do! I'm definitely not ready to go back to work yet, sometimes I'm tempted to go back but then something hits me in the heart and I know it's just not going to happen yet. Some of my fellow angel mum's have gone back to work and I seriously salute them, but for me I'm just not ready yet.

I also like to share my experiences, situations and stories with other people that have experienced the loss of a baby. When I was in the earliest weeks of loss I had no idea if what I was feeling was normal, if how I was acting and reacting was OK. It took my a long time to accept that I was doing the best that I could be. It took a lot of trawling a lot of other blogs, the Sands forum and websites before I felt "normal". I want to be a part of that. If I help another Mum or Dad on their grief journey or if I reassure them they aren't crazy, if I bring people comfort then I'm happy. I've done something good, I've created a tiny legacy for Freddie that I am incredibly proud of. This might only be a little blog but behind it is so much love.

Guilt.

Since as long as I can remember, I've always felt guilt very strongly. I'm one of those people that do something and then think about it after. This is a very silly way to live as I often end up making mistakes and spend a long time after feeling guilty. Maybe it's the Catholic in me or maybe I just have an overactive conscience...either way, when I feel guilt I feel it hard. My first reaction when the midwife put her hand on my leg gently and told me that she was "so sorry" but there was "no heartbeat" was guilt. I remember very vividly wailing that I was "so so sorry" to Mattie. I felt guilt and I still do, very strongly.

It's not even just one solid type of guilt. I feel it in so many different ways and most days it consumes and overwhelms me entirely. Speaking to other mums that have lost their babies due to stillbirth in particular, it seems to be a very common feeling. I think a lot of "outsiders" to our grief really struggle to understand what we are feeling and why. So I'm going to try and explain it, as best I can. Obviously this is my personal experience and my feelings so they aren't necessarily transferable to everyone!

Failure - As awful as it sounds, I felt a failure the day I discovered I was pregnant with Freddie. If you know me personally, you'll know that Mattie and I had only been together for 3 months when I fell pregnant. It was a massive shock as I was using birth control and obviously we were in the very early stages of our relationship. I thought he would leave me, I mean you're lucky if you find someone that wants a relationship, let alone a relationship and a baby! As it turned out, when I told him he replied "oh thank god, I thought you'd cheated on me". And that, was that, I also felt like I was a failure to my parents. I didn't work at my A Levels, I didn't go to Uni (I did get in, I just preferred to work), I didn't do driving lessons... I wasn't the golden daughter I could have been in short and now I was pregnant to add to my list of failures. My parents were far from impressed initially. My conservative father refused to speak to me for a week and my mum was convinced Mattie and I would never last. However, towards the end of my pregnancy my dad had made us a crib and my mum was buying bits for Freddie left, right and centre. When I was told Freddie had died I felt a failure all over again. I'd taken their grandchild from them and I'd taken Mattie's son from him.

Blame - I blame myself, entirely. So many people have told me "It's not your fault, you can't blame yourself". But I do, I think I always will. To me, a mother should always protect and care for their child and I can't shake the feeling that I let him die. It was my body that should have protected him and it was my body he died in. I did everything I was supposed to, took my vitamins, stayed healthy, ate well (mostly), cut out alcohol, avoided no-no foods, attended all my appointments diligently...I did everything right. But, somewhere along the line I must have slipped up. Maybe I didn't notice something, maybe I should have asked more questions, pushed for better care? I don't know. The whole nine months drift through my mind as I desperately try to think of something, anything that I could have done. And I can't think of anything, which makes me feel worse. I must  have missed something fundamental and as a result my beautiful little boy died.

Anger and jealousy - I feel so, so guilty about the feelings of anger and jealousy that sometimes hit me. I look at pregnant mothers with a cigarette or drink in their hand and I have to restrain myself from slapping them across their face and shouting "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" I spent my whole pregnancy protecting and shielding my unborn child from every possible danger and yet there are mothers who seem to not care about their baby, all they care about is themselves. I mean really, how hard is it to sacrifice getting drunk for nine months? I also see mothers whine and complain at every opportunity about their baby. I would do anything to have a wild toddler running circles around me, to change a dirty nappy, to spend all night without sleep nursing my child. I understand that looking after a baby is difficult and stressful, I really do. But when I see people that only complain, it kills me. Don't you know how lucky you are? Treasure every second. Because that's a second I never got and never will get with Freddie.

I had no idea that I would lose my baby and I had no idea how much it would hurt. Guilt is only one tiny part of losing your child, I feel so many other emotions daily. It's torture. But it is easing very slowly, especially the anger and jealousy.

What types of guilt have you experienced?

The New Normal Project

The new normal is a phrase widely used by those who have lost a baby. It's a completely different way of life, like nothing you'll have ever experienced before. You can break up with a partner and it hurts but, eventually, things just go back to normal. You lose a baby and the entire trajectory of your life is altered in one, swift and devastating blow. Everything you were certain about, everyone you were certain about are smashed into tiny pieces. The house you planned to raise your child in? Tainted. That friend you've known for years? Gone. That TV show (One Born Every Minute) you used to love? Ha. Forget it. Your whole world is turned upside down and you're left in an emotional, painful state and before long you realise, this is how it is now. This is my life, this is my "new normal". 

It's so very unfair. We have to rebuild our crushed world that we lovingly created and we have to rebuild it with key pieces missing. It's an impossible task and so we have to make a new world. It's not as good and we miss our old world but it does the job (just) nonetheless.

The New Normal Project is nothing fancy, nothing groundbreaking and it's not going to make the pain you're feeling go away. It's just a simple concept. It's a platform to tell your story and how your life has been altered. For example: I've moved house because our old one held to many painful memories, I've got a puppy instead of a baby now, I'm debating changing career as I don't know if I'll be able to return to childrenswear...

If you want to tell your story and how your life has been changed just go to the Contact Me page and send me an email containing:

- Your name

- Your baby's/babies' name(s)

- Your blog name/website address

- Your story (it can be as detailed or as brief as you like)

- What's changed in your life.

I'm really want gain a collection of stories to show parents that they aren't alone. If I could describe how I felt after the first initial few weeks it would be isolated and confused. I was constantly questioning if what I was feeling was normal and left wondering if anyone else had been through this and survived. I also want to use this as a legacy for our babies, so that their names are out there in black and white because they exist and their stories deserve to be told.

About Last Night

About last night. I feel like I've been in a car crash and I'm still trying to recover from it. I don't even know why it was so bad. I've been in a similar situation before and breezed through it but last night I just couldn't do it.

I couldn't listen to people's bullshit small talk. I don't care that your children are getting married (two days after the anniversary of Freddie's death. Not that anyone mentioned it. God forbid we actually speak about him), I don't care that your children are "doing it properly" (shame on me for having sex before marriage), I don't care that you're moving to Chelsea to live the fantastic life I'll never have. I don't fucking care.

Then the cherry on the cake came. Don't get me wrong, I still love children. I love being around them. It's one of the few things in life that still makes me happy. It's the conversation that follows that I hate. Every comment stabs me like a knife. It's like I'm starving to the point where I'm almost gone and people are tormenting me with food...waving it in my face to remind me what I don't have.

"Look at his hair, I can't believe he's so blonde!" No one is ever going to talk about Freddie's hair, no one would ever think to ask what it was like. For the record I remember it distinctly. We were shocked when he came out as when mixed with blood (yeah, yeah it's gross. I know) he looked ginger. Chloe, the midwife even commented "looks a bit strawberry blonde to me!". After he was cleaned up though it was apparent it was a very light, mousy brown. Still a shock as I was very dark and very hairy when I was born. So much so that my mum asked the doctor if there was something wrong with me. She was swiftly informed "no, she's just very hairy". I also remember visiting him in the chapel of rest. He had a thicker patch of hair to the back of his head in tiny, intricate curls. They were perfect. He is perfect. Anyway, I'm just angry that Freddie's hair will never be discussed. I could talk for hours about every inch of him but no one cares about the dead baby. An alive one is always better for a topic of conversation.

"Last time we saw him, he was just a baby!" Freddie should have been there. He should have been the baby this time. He should have been there, stealing all the attention but he's not. Just the awkwardness of his absence. A great big empty whole. Ironically there was an empty chair as someone got the numbers wrong but that cut me even deeper. To me it represented Freddie.

I just sat and watched Mattie's dad play and engage with his nephew and I couldn't take it anymore. Everywhere I looked I felt anger. How am I supposed to be happy and join in with meaningless and boring conversation? How am I supposed to just not talk about Freddie because I might make other people feel awkward?

I'm tired of pretending I'm OK. Pretending my son didn't exist. Pretending I didn't spend 15 hours in hospital in agony. Pretending I'm coping. Just pretending.

How does anyone live through this? It's honestly beyond me.

What We Wish Others Would Understand

I was inspired to write this post after I saw this question posed on the facebook page of  Still Standing Magazine.

"What do you wish the world would understand about the reality of being a bereaved parent?"

I started reading some of the replies, shouting "YES" and nodding furiously in agreement with what I've read. Sometimes it's just so comforting to know that you aren't alone...other people feel the same way and no, you aren't going mad. So I've decided to summarise some of the most accurate and applicable to me.

"Living a new normal isn't comfortable and you're not the same" - Sometimes you just want to cancel plans and curl up in a ball. Some people, close family and close friends may understand but others just don't get it. It's only been months for me but I find people treating it as if it's been years and they don't understand why I'm not over it.

"It's OK to speak his name" - It's not a dirty word, it won't kill me. My son has a name, just SAY it. I wan't to always acknowledge his existence. He's a real person and I don't want to ever, ever forget him and by not saying his name you're letting his memory fade.

"It STILL hurts. Everyday" - I still cry at baby adverts, I still see the day vividly every time I close my eyes, I still feel the pain of giving birth to him, daily. I miss him and that fucking hurts. Just because you've seen me smile, or because I can put on make up and function, it doesn't mean I'm not hurting.

"We have never been prepped for having our child die" We are learning as we go. We don't know what we are doing or where we are going. We are lost with empty arms. I hate being pestered about when I'm going back to work or when am I having another etc. I don't know, I'm just making it up as I go.

"Having another baby makes loss easier but also harder at the same time" - This one really hits me. I'm desperate for another baby to fill my arms but it'll never fill the gaping, Freddie shaped hole in my heart. My next baby will be a constant reminder of what could of been and the life that was stolen from Freddie. It's going to be so healing but so hard.

What do you wish that others would understand?