Nine years since I last held you. Nine years since I saw those tiny little hands. Nine years since I had to say Goodbye.
I have punished myself today; I can’t understand why I feel “okay” and why I haven’t crumbled like I have done so many times in the past 9 years. Jason’s birthday doesn’t come with the huge wave of grief as it normally would; I don’t know if that’s just because I am numb to the pain or whether as a parent we have to be okay for our living children. All I know is as the years have flown by, Jason’s birthday is easier to survive. I hate that!
I don’t want it to be just another normal day, I want to feel the pain and the hurt – to remind myself that he lived and he died, that life is really pretty crappy sometimes and that bad things do happen to people who don’t deserve it. With each year that passes my memories of him fade; I can’t remember what he felt like to hold or how he smelt, I don’t remember what I said to him or whether I even spoke to him at all.
All I have left are regrets; things I wish I knew and things I wish I did differently when I had the chance.
The day Jason died we stayed up all night, neither of us wanting to sleep and wake up without our baby in the house. I remember wondering if we’d get through the night never mind a week, a year…How did it become 9 years so quickly?
What would a 9 year old be like? I look at children Jason’s age and it doesn’t answer my question – nothing ever will.
I am here to tell you that it does get easier, whether you want it to or not. You can find happiness again and life does go on. It sucks but it’s true.
9 years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who for 37 minutes fought for his life and lost. In the past 9 years we have learnt that his death may not have happened if early checks had picked up some health issues but inevitably his death could have been avoided if we’d have known more. As a parent all we want is for our children to live happy, healthy lives and I will always be guilty for not knowing Jason’s was going to end before it ever truly began.
Eight years since I last held you. Eight years since I saw those tiny little hands. Eight years since I had to say Goodbye.
Eight years of missing you. Eight years of hurting. Eight years of what ifs. Eight years of why me.
I’m not sure how 8 years can both fly by and also feel like yesterday at the same time but that’s exactly how this year felt. As birthdays go, it was easier to handle. I didn’t get the huge wave of grief that usually comes on the days before Jason’s birthday.
That was weird.
For years I’ve found the build up much worse than the day but this year was different. The build up didn’t hurt in the same way as it usually does and I was able to get on with the usual hustle and bustle of daily life.
Jason’s birthday came and went quickly. Work is always a distraction and this year I was covering a Year 3 class all day so didn’t have much time to dwell on anything. We then had a takeaway for tea, our birthday tradition and Ellie wanted to buy pudding to celebrate.
Children are so perceptive though, I took Ellie to buy some pudding and while in the bakery aisle she said *LOUDLY* “Mummy, it doesn’t matter that Jason’s dead we can still buy him a birthday cake and eat it” Cue the strange, sympathetic looks from the people in the same aisle and we chose some cookies and left.
Eight years
Eight years for the texts to stop. Eight years for the sympathetic nods and offers of hugs to stop. Eight years for the outside world to forget that I gave birth to a beautiful little boy.
That’s what was different this year. People forgot. Nobody asked me if I was okay. Nobody noticed that inside I wanted to hide away and be on my own.
I’m always grateful to those people who have over the years supported me, helped me and offered an ear to talk about my little boy and I completely understand that unless you’ve been affected by Jason’s death there’s no reason anyone outside of our close circle would remember and I know more than most that LIFE GOES ON.
Seven years since I last held you. Seven years since I saw those tiny little hands. Seven years since I had to say Goodbye.
Seven years of missing you. Seven years of hurting. Seven years of what ifs. Seven years of why me.
I can’t imagine our lives with a 7 year old. I guess that’s what hurts the most; that we never got to have a life with him in it. A day with him was never enough but a day was all we got.
Jason’s birthday came and went in a flash. It was a normal Tuesday, school/work and hardly any time to think about the day itself. People asked me how I was, I was fine I suppose. The days that followed seemed harder. I’m a huge believer that the build up is always worse, the days that led to Jason’s birthday haunt me. I should have known, I could have done more, I should have been able to stop this from happening. So yeah, the actual day felt like any other. We had a cake and told Ellie it was Jason’s birthday cake which she was thrilled about and then the usual routine kept us busy.
The days that followed were hard on Ellie, I’ve never sheltered her from Jason’s death – of course she doesn’t know the full extent of what happened but she does know he’s dead and it’s a tough thing for a 5 year old to comprehend. Her teacher brought her new baby in to school to meet everyone and usually Ellie would have been all over her but she looked at the baby and just said it reminded her of baby Jason. She has talked to her new teacher and her amazing TA about him and why she got upset that day. She asked me if he could just come and play with her, just for his birthday. It breaks my heart to know she grieves in her own way for a sibling she never got to see.
They’ve also been learning the Easter story at school which has confused her a little. Why shouldn’t her big brother be able to come back to life if a man who lived thousands of years ago was able to do it. Why can’t we put his body in a cave and wait for the angel to revive him. Why was Jesus special enough to be allowed to live again and not Jason? These are just some of the questions we’ve had to try and answer for her. I’m not a Christian, I never was and I love that she’s so inquisitive when it comes to religion but jeez they were tough! I don’t believe in God – if there is some almighty being then making me live without my child is pretty crappy of them don’t you think?
Thankfully, Ellie has been more settled again this weekend. Jason’s birthday is a memory and in the eyes of a child she’s done with it all. She does still have moments where she talks about him and I will always encourage her to do so, he is her big brother, he is my son and he will always be apart of our family.
Ellie went for her first ever sleepover last night. She has been asking to stay at both her grandparents houses for a little while and I knew we needed to let her. She packed everything she needed; pyjamas, clothes,hair brush, toothbrush, DVD player, night light, 2 teddies and she was ready. She also wanted to take her curtains (i don’t know why) but with a little persuasion she realised she didn’t need them.
You see, my anxiety over her not being here has always stopped us from letting her stay over anywhere for the night. I know she is safe with both our parents, that’s not the issue, I just knew I would find it hard. I’m sure most, if not all parents, find it difficult leaving their children for the night for the first time but for me it felt like a repeat of history and I’m still not sure I’ll ever be prepared for her to not be here.
Whenever I think of waking up and Ellie not being here it takes me back to the first night after having Jason. Neither of us could sleep, of cause, so we sat on the sofa and watched awful comedy shows. We stayed up until the station turned off and even then sleep was hit and miss. I couldn’t go upstairs, knowing my son should be lying in his Moses Basket or his cot sleeping away. I was very aware that I should have still been pregnant but I wasn’t and the reality hit like a tonne of bricks that I was at home while my baby lay on his own in the hospital. That feeling is awful, unless you’ve been there you’ll never be able to fully grasp what it feels like being at home and knowing your life should have been so different.
Of cause, being a parent after you’ve lost your child is really tough, I’ve never really been an anxious person but where Ellie is concerned I worry about losing her more than is really healthy. I’m so unbelievably grateful that we were given a second chance at being “normal” parents but with each day that Ellie grows and becomes more independent the more I wonder what Jason would have been like now and the reality is I will never know. Due to Jason’s health complications I will never know what it would have been like to parent a 5 year old right now.
Anyway, Ellie absolutely loved her sleepover and has already decided she is staying at my inlaws next week. Mummy really struggled but fought back the tears and the urge to sit in her bedroom and cry those really ugly tears I get when I think about death and what my children would have been like together now. We slept, I woke up and it didn’t feel the same as when Jason died, I didn’t get that gut-wrenching feeling that she was gone, I knew she was safe. I may have cried a little once I’d picked her up and she was back in my little bubble but that’s allowed right?
Life is unfair and our lives should be different however I made a promise to my daughter that she would never be second best or miss out on anything because her big brother isn’t here and a sleepover (as little as it seems) is something she shouldn’t miss out on no matter how difficult it is for me.
I feel proud. Proud of myself for not letting my fears take over and proud of Ellie for being so grown up, spending a night away from us and not being bothered at all.
What age did your little one have their first sleepover? If they haven’t yet, i’d love to know why you haven’t done it yet (if you feel like sharing of cause).
Our door remains empty, on the first day of school. No awkward photographs. No fussing over a clean uniform. The first day of school but you are missing.
The first day of school.
Jason should be starting Reception this year. I should be rushing around buying his new shoes, the uniform I had forgotten about and preparing him for what school is like. Our lives would be filled with excitement, our little boy growing up so fast.
School starts and the internet is flooded with those first day photos, standing so smartly in the new, clean uniform in front of the door. Their book bags, water bottles, lunch boxes and PE kit piled in to their hands, promising yourself you won’t cry but knowing you will when they step through the doorway in to this whole new world.
This year, instead of watching Jason on his first day of school, I will be working in a reception class. I’ll be right there in the thick of it, watching the parents on the playground, the children excited/nervous for their first day. It’s going to be so hard knowing I should be one of them. Oh how I wish I was one of them.
When an adult dies, you grieve for the memories and the lives you shared. When a baby or a child dies, you grieve for all the memories you don’t get to have. Everything, for the rest of our lives, is tinged with sadness, there is always someone missing. I don’t know how Jason’s first day at school would have gone, due to his Down Syndrome and other health issues I don’t even know if he’d have been able to go to a mainstream school or whether he’d have needed extra support. It’s hard being a mother and not knowing your child. Not having the chance to know them or even be able to imagine the child they would be.
A huge milestone that has been taken away from us again.
To all those parents who are struggling at the beginning of the school year, I am with you, I hear you and I am there for you.
One definition of Hope: to want something to happen or to be true, and usually have a good reason to think that it might
19th August in the baby loss community is A Day of Hope. A day to remember all those babies and children who died. A day where people are encouraged to break the silence around baby loss. Whether that is a miscarriage, a stillbirth, neonatal or infant loss, they all matter.
Hope is a strange emotion after loss, for me I found it hard to hope for anything that couldn’t be guaranteed. I didn’t want to feel excited about things if they weren’t going to happen. The hope of meeting your baby during pregnancy is the best feeling in the world but once my eyes were opened to the fact that babies can and do die, having hope wasn’t something I found easy to do. I hoped for my Son, I was so excited to meet the little person growing inside me and although I did meet him, it certainly wasn’t in the way I was expecting and all my hopes were shattered.
Today, I hope that someone is given the courage to talk about their loss, their baby or child. I hope that someone reading this knows that their children matter.
I am not afraid to openly talk about my son who was born, lived and died on the same day nor am I afraid to talk about my loss. Jason’s story is still one of my favourite stories to tell, the ending isn’t happy but, as most of us know, not all stories have a happy ending. I will say his name and share his story for as long as I live. I will break down those barriers that stop parents and others talking about the loss of their own babies.
First of all I want to wish all the fathers out there a happy fathers day.
I have always known how lucky I am to have a Dad who has always put our family first; a dad who has always been my hero; a dad who taught me to be proud of myself; a dad who has always put a roof over our heads and food on the table and never let us go without; a dad who gave me a love for music and for lyrics; a dad who always gave me a reason to be the best person I could possibly be. We aren’t good at telling each other how we feel, it’s not how we roll. I know which songs remind him of me and the songs that remind me of him. I know that he’s a pretty amazing dad because I’ve seen what a fantastic grandad he is to Jason and Ellie.
To all those fathers finding Father’s Day difficult for ANY reason… I get it. Wishing you a gentle day.
My husband is one of the best dad’s I could have wished for for my children. His start to fatherhood wasn’t easy but even then he stepped up and did more in a morning for his son than most parents do their entire lives. He gave everything that morning to bring Jason in to this world and I will never forget how amazing he was that morning. Losing Jason was so hard on him, the outside world seems to forget that Father’s grieve too, he was looked upon to go back to work after 2 weeks, to return to normal and forget that his son was born and died all on the same day. That’s tough. He carried on being the best dad to Jason, the love he has is undeniable. When Ellie arrived I finally got to see the Dad I knew he could be and was robbed of being. Day after day he is become Ellie’s number one. He is her favourite parent, he’s the one she asks to play, the one she demands take her to bed every night. The dad she has got wrapped around her little finger. He is the one making sure we both have a future and keeping us both sane. The look she gives him when he comes home from work is the cutest thing I have ever seen and she squeals with excitement when he wakes up in a morning. He’s not perfect (nobody is) but to her he is her world and I’m pretty sure she’s replaced me as his number one.
Sending special thoughts to those who don’t have their own dads to celebrate with today too. ❤️
Unpopular opinion I know but as much as I imagine being a single parent is (and I know I would struggle to do it so I’m not judging or criticising) but I don’t understand why people feel the need to make Father’s Day all about the mums who are doing it alone. We have mothers day and I’m pretty sure I have never seen a single dad moan or celebrate mothers day. Society is too quick to judge and this is specific thing really bugs me. I just don’t get it.
In an ideal world I’d have been one of those nervous parents waiting to find out what school my boy had gotten in to. In an ideal world he’d have been accepted to the primary school where I work! In an idealworld I’d already have his uniform, or parts of it in preparation and be excitedly making him try it on for pictures. In an ideal world we probably would have had to put Jason in to the special needs school because that is where he’d have the support he needed. In a less ideal world we’d have to settle or appeal the decision.
I would give so much to be able to take that less ideal world. To be one of those excired/nervous parents dying to know.
Things like this shouldn’t cause me grief, I probably wouldn’t even acknowledge it if I didn’t work in a school however when September comes and I see all those parents and little reception newbies on their first day I know it should be me there too. I will see their anxiousness and wonder whether I’d have felt the same or whether we would both be ready for him to start school. I feel like Ellie is ready to start nursery so I know she will be fine but I will never know what Jason would have been like.
My life with him seems further and further away with every milestone that we don’t hit together. I’ve missed his first words, first steps, first hug, first smile and now ill be missing his first day at school too.
Of cause I miss him constantly and the ache I have to have both of my children here is never ending but sometimes days are harder to deal with than others and there are some days where you just can’t help but think how fucking cruel the world is.
Wow, as always, the final few days of March were horrendous. I have said for a while now that for me, the build up to an anniversary is always harder than the day. This has been the case for all of Jason’s birthdays. I find the days leading to his birth/death hit me far harder because I carry so much guilt with those days; what if I’d have gotten checked out earlier, what if i’d have known I was in labour, what if I could have done something and I didn’t. Those who have lost a baby/child will understand what I mean by all this. The guilt seems harder every year too, i force myself (more like torture myself) to read past status’ complaining of feeling tired, having swollen ankles, feeling sick, I can’t help myself. I only ever activate my old facebook account on the build up to his birthday, knowing I will see these past status’ and knowing it will feel like a knife to the heart the closer it gets to his birthday.
This year as many of you know, Jason should have been turning 4. He should have been having a party with our family, friends, possibly even some nursery friends and I should have been knee deep in cake, balloons and presents! I wasn’t. I went to work, I pretended I was fine, I sat through a meeting about the mental health and wellbeing of our pupils which then turned into a discussion on a bereavement course our SENCO had recently been on and I just sat there. I wanted to storm out, I wanted to sob, I wanted to scream that Jason wasn’t just a bereavement, he was/is my Son. I didn’t do anything of those things, I welled up at times but composed myself. I decided I was going to ask to leave early, only half an hour so I could see Ellie. I needed to be with her. While I was waiting to speak to my boss, a male teacher got a call, his wife was in labour. I knew it was going to happen. I knew it would be that day. I just knew it. I felt like I was right back in the thick of my grief, the first days where the world kept on turning, everyone’s lives carried on but mine seemed to stop. I felt like I was watching everything in slow motion and it hurt. I did manage to finish early and in the end spent a really nice afternoon with Ellie, in our favourite garden, where I have taken her every year since she was born on Jason’s birthday.
A little garden in Ironbridge, with beautiful flowers, a little wooden park and a cafe that sells the most amazing cake which I treated Ellie too because I couldn’t treat her brother.
The weekend was pretty okay, we took Ellie to Chester Zoo, another tradition we have started since Jason was born. We have gone every year to celebrate his birthday as close to the date as we can. We had such an amazing day, Ellie was really well behaved and walked around most of the day. We walked 6 miles around the zoo, saw loads of animals and thought about Jason all day.
I was gutted that the elephants weren’t out of their house due to illness, I always feel closer to Jason when I see an elephant. Ellie loved watching the baby animals, her favourites being the Meerkats and I enjoyed seeing the animals we have watched on The Secret Life of The Zoo with her. We spent all day there, not getting home until late but it was worth it. Ellie was happy, so we were happy.
Sunday was Mother’s Day. Those mums in our baby loss community know how difficult mothers day is. Regardless of how many children are living, there will always be one missing. I’ll never get a card made at nursery from him. I’ll never have a mothers day hug from him. I’ll never get to spend a mothers day with him. It doesn’t matter how many living children you have, when one is missing it tarnishes the day. I found not acknowledging it helped, I spent the day cleaning, washing, doing our usual Sunday chores. Luke struggled more so I naturally took on the strong role to help make his day seem easier. The Sunday after Jason’s birthday is always difficult for him and this one being Mothers Day made it harder this year. It sucks.
The following day I found the hardest, I couldn’t function. I couldn’t get out of bed. I didn’t want to either. I spent an hour in bed crying, my alarm went off and I just didn’t want the day to start. I didn’t go to work, I couldn’t. My head wasn’t in the right place at all. I felt just like I did when Jason first died, the world was once again moving on and I wasn’t ready to carry on. I needed another day to grieve for what should have been, for the life that was taken away from us and from him. I needed another day to feel sorry for myself because this year felt like more and more people weren’t that bothered. “It was 4 years ago, surely they should have let it go by now” It’s exactly what I would have thought before Jason so in my own mind this is what people would be thinking too. It’s okay. I get it because unless you have held a dead baby, sat and cried looking at their tiny coffin, knowing they are in there and there is nothing you can do to turn back time and make it all better, then of cause you aren’t going to understand.
Of cause, I have had 4 years of practise now at pretending I am okay with how my life is, pretending that his loss hasn’t left a giant hole in my heart where he should be. For the most part I’m not even pretending any more. Life does get easier to manage, you start moving forward because you can’t stay stuck in the same loop forever. Except when you do find yourself with anniversaries, celebrations, it’s hard to give yourself time to readjust and if you are like me, you burn out. I have felt pretty drained all week however already I am feeling that glimpse of happiness return, the anniversary is over and although I NEVER stop thinking about Jason, missing him, loving him, each day becomes easier to carry on as if i’m not broken slightly.
I can’t help but wonder whether that day was when everything started going wrong.
Illness had struck, I worked in a nursery at the time and the sickness bug had hit the kids. The day I was due to finish for my maternity I ended up having off as I was being sick and I felt so bad for not working my last day.
I hadn’t thought much of being sick, other than being grateful I didn’t suffer from morning sickness as I just wouldn’t have coped. I’m not a good sick person at all. I spent the day on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket feeling baby kicks (or so I thought… More like flutters with him being so tiny!) and generally feeling dreadful. I had a constant smell of cigarette smoke around me which was odd as I have never smoked and no one was near the house. To this day I wonder whether someone was trying to tell me something was wrong. That in just 2 days my baby would be gone.
I have since learnt that being sick can be a sign of labour starting and I wonder whether I had signs but was too naive to recognise them. I had just turned 35 weeks pregnant and was innocent in thinking I had 5 weeks to go before we’d meet him. I was unaware that babies were born so early and it’s not something midwives tell you is a possibility either. I feel that the information you are given is just what they think you want to hear not what you should actually know.
The next day I felt perfectly fine, I’d cancelled plans with friends because I had been ill but actually thought about uncancelling due to how much better I felt. I’d taken a picture of my growing bump in a summery dress, we took a stroll to Tesco for pizza as it was what “baby wanted” and while walking around I had started to feel some pains in my tummy that felt a bit like constipation pains… Of cause I know now that they weren’t at all and I should have taken them more seriously and got checked out. Maybe if I had have been checked we’d have been able to save him, we’d have had a chance of saving him.
I think every grieving parent goes through life finding ways to blame themselves for the loss of their baby/child. Those “what ifs” haunt me 4 years later and they always will. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel like I should have known something was wrong and done something.
Mothering A Rainbow 