Monday, April 14, 2014

the three me's

Details and things run through my mind everyday, as I process the loss of my daughter.

I find it best to write it down. While I continually ask the big empty space in the sky these questions, perhaps if I write them down, there is a degree of accountability. Or maybe someone with universal power will read these. ("Are you there God? It's me, Margaret.")

 I probably think about Molly 40% of any given day. I'm not in tears all day, everyday. I couldn't possibly be when I am bowled over by my little boy, deeply entrenched in dedicating the offering of my udders to him every three hours.

But when I do think about her, it's a fleeting pang of white hot pain, a big gaping hole that I can only fill with thoughts and anger.

This is where I am at:

I had a boy and I had a girl.

Had I had two boys or two girls would I have felt differently about the loss? Perhaps. But the fact was I had a perfect pigeon pair, and I only had one of each. I lost my daughter, and I may never have a daughter again.

I also knew deep down that I was having a boy and a girl. I knew it wasn't two boys (we never had a second boys name confirmed, mainly because I knew we wouldn't need it).
I knew he was my feisty bigger boy, and she was my smaller, little girl.

So when I was wheeled into theatre and they finally pulled him out, when I asked them "What is the sex?" and they said boy, I knew. And when she was pulled out, and I asked the same thing, I knew they would say "girl."

There are three me's

There was the me before I got pregnant. The me that had no idea about twins, what it would mean to have them, how chaotic, scary and exciting our lives would be for 8 months once we found out.
This me is someone I can't relate to at all anymore.

Then there was the pregnant me. The me who didn't enjoy being so heavily huge, while grappling with the reality that I'd have two babies, and learning. Learning so much about ourselves, gearing up for the biggest event of our lives, fixing a house, joining twins clubs, buying two of everything, getting ready. Being so scared, but so excited. Smug even. "There are two in here, have you know."

Then there's post-18 March me. The one who looks at a family photo of me, the Brit and Seb, and I still see a massive hole where Molly should be. Where I hold and kiss my son and wonder what it would be like to shower her with love too.

Losing a child is something that happens to other people, and yet here I am.

I see twins everywhere

There are  lot of twins around. With IVF being very popular here, the UK has a lot of twins. And it seems they've all decided to move into our area. I see twins on the streets, in movies, on ads, I can't escape it. It hurts to see twins. I feel resentful and it makes me imagine how our life was meant to be.

Twins were so special 
I had twins naturally. My mother's cousins had twins, so it runs in my family somewhat. As I only later discovered. At first we were overwhelmed. But by the time 35 weeks rolled around, I realised having twins was the BEST thing. So many perks with having twins. Get it over and done with in one swoop. Could go back to work and salvage my career. They'd look after each other. They would protect each other. Learn to share. Entertain each other.
To the point where I preferred the concept. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. The benefits far outweighed everything else.

Bath time

My 'just me' time in my day is when I have a bath. For twenty minutes, I light a candle, sit in total darkness, and just cry. It's when I can think and grieve. I have a cry everyday. I wonder whether it'll ever not be the case again.

Molly's funeral

Molly's post mortem is finished and we will get the results (or non-results) in a few weeks. For now, we are organising her cremation and memorial service.  Having to choose caskets, flowers, the minister - is all so intense. Again, how is this happening?

Hopefully we will have some closure. Her memorial is due to take place on 23 May.

Two things that touched me more than they would've before

You can't help but commiserate and feel for those who have also lost children. I also seem to be noticing more stories like this.

Help Me Find Isobel's Hat  - here.
Lily Allen opens up about losing a child before birth - here.

 And my everything.....Sebastian in his bouncer chair. It's true. You just cannot possibly love anything more than your own child.


Katinafrica said...

For an 90 minutes on Saturday I thought my son was dead. I walked to where he was playing two minutes before and he was gone. His 5th birthday is in June and all I could think was that he would never see it. Our holiday spot was next to a lagoon and I was sure he had drowned. In those 90 minutes I became that person I never thought I would be. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt. I just hoped his lastday was a good one. We found him hiding near the restaurant but I still can't shake that feeling. I know mine was only tempory but now I know that pain and I can't even begin to understand living with it everyday. I hope the memorial brings you a sense of peace. Give your little boy lots of cuddles.

MeeA said...

Love & strength to you and your family, Peas.

Val said...

I am at a loss for words these days, Peas. I so feel for your loss, but am so unable to express what I feel. Never having had to experience that loss, thank God, it is difficult. All I can say is hold on tight to the wonderful family you have and love them both dearly. I hope, too, that the memorial will bring you and your Brit a sense of peace and thankfulness for what you have. x

Flarkit said...

Hugs all 3 of you