Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged and understood.
Thanks to photographer Xin Li and to artist Stephanie Sicore for their respective illustrations and photos.
There are says when I simply can't be the mum Brady needs me to be because I am so awfully dreadfully down. I can lie on the couch wrapped in a throw and wallow away my evening that way. Or I can be playing with him but my mind is a mess and I can't concentrate on being Smurfette or Daisy Duck. I can't find the motivation to play well enough, I cant find the motivation to do anything really? I work, I come home, I sit with Brady, maybe watch a movie with him, draw pictures of those characters he loves, but i feel like I do not do anything meaningful with him. I feel guilty, horrid even. I feel like my hear just isn't in it. I mean here I am missing my other child everyday, wishing she were here with us but is my behaviour not appreciating the time I do have with my child who is here. How do I do this? How do I fix this? How do I drag myself up and be a more fun mum? A more "in it" mum? How have you done it?
Hello Jo-Anne, oh my heart goes out to you. I've just replied to your other post on the 'for one and all' board and I am sorry that you are going through such a difficult time.
I have three living children, my daughter's surviving twin sister (five) and two subsequent children (two and five months) and I identify very strongly with feeling that I cannot be the mother that they need or deserve, that I am not the mother I would have been had my first experience of childbirth and pregnancy given me such a kicking. And, yes, I feel guilty and horrid too. You are not on your own. It is a nasty spiral as I think that, after losing my first child, I promised that I would be the. best. mother. ever. and I always feel like a terrible failure when I fall short of what I hope to be. Which is frequently.
But I try. That is all that any of us can do. I don't believe that there has ever been a perfect parent yet. I think we all just muddle along, we do the best we can and we love them.
The things that help me when I'm struggling are
- making sure that I am getting enough sleep and food (or trying to!) the really basic kind of self care stuff which can easily slide when you have young children to care for and / or grief to contend with.
- can anybody take Brady for you for a little while and give you a chance to recharge? I went through a phase (that lasted for probably about three years) when I was extremely reluctant to let anybody else have care of the children except when I was in paid work. It is very draining if you never give yourself a break or an opportunity to do something that 'feeds' you like read a book, exercise, listen to music, do some knitting or so on. Whatever recharges you?
- I really feel you on the whole 'smurfette / daisy duck' - my eldest lives to play pretend at the moment and I find that my heart just isn't in it. Annoyingly, I used to LOVE playing these sorts of games with my nephews and nieces but exhaustion and grief certainly have knocked my ability to enjoy imaginative play right out of me! Sometimes I find that if I just grit my teeth and keep trying it gets less hideous as I find myself kind of getting into it a bit!
- I use pinterest to collect ideas (I'm totally uncreative and would not think of even the simplest thing left to my own devices) and sometimes find myself getting swept up in the novelty of a project or finding that I enjoy it myself. Something very basic like playdough or small worlds can be fun to make and set up once you get over the initial 'motivation' hump.
- try and get you both outside if the weather is good, somehow walking and pretending to be smurfette seems better than sitting inside pretending to be smurfette?!
- sitting and watching a movie or drawing is perfectly fine in my opinion! I do quite a lot of that with mine. I don't think that children want, or need, adult input all the time. Both of my older have started requesting that they be left alone from time to time - probably in response to all my fever-ish helicoptering over them!
Well there is a load of 'very good advice' which I would (a) to well to try and follow myself and (b) doesn't really help I know. I'm nearly six years out but, even now, I find that I really can't spend ALL my time with my children appreciating and enjoying them. Sometimes I do so very much it feels almost like agony, the love and pleasure and gratitude stabs at me something horrible. At other times it is just an agony in the more mundane sense of the word, an agony of boredom, frustration and guilt (because I swore I would never feel either of the first two!) We are all only human. I often think that no much can be said for my mothering skills but, hopefully, they will all know that I love them very dearly and that my heart is in the right place. I hope that even the one who died knows that somehow or other.
Jo-Anne, I can echo every single thing you say. I have just not been able to pull myself together and enjoy Aahir as much as I used to. Everything I do with him seems dragged, forced. He may not know the difference, but I do! In fact, I believe that this is one other loss I have to endure, the loss of my enjoyment of my living child, as I mourn the one I lost. I wanted and tried for him for years, I went through hell to have him, and now he is growing up and all I can do is watch.
He is not into characters much (except Thomas the tan engine), so I don't even watch anything or draw with him (I cannot draw). Som spends more quality time with him, painting, reading, playing, talking. I often feel like an onlooker. I agree with what you say about not being able to do something meaningful. Yes, that's the word. I don't think either of us don't take care of them. We feed them and put clothes on them and give them medicine when they need. We send them to bed, and we hug them and tell them how much they mean to us. When we criticize ourselves for being awful moms, it is not because we are not tending to their basic needs. It is because we are unable to spend meaningful time with them.
I have often gone to the extent of thinking that Raahi was taken from me since I would not have been able to take care of her. I am overwhelmed with Aahir, I often think I would have been inadequate for the two of them, and when I am in my deep hole of sorrow, I think that is why she left. I come up for a breath and tell myself that I would have been a different person had she lived. The person who lay her life down for her children, the person who never sat, the person who remembered every single detail of every single conversation she had with every single doctor, the person who questioned doctors into admitting they need to run more tests, the person who drove Aahir to school, dropping wet from the broken water, and then drove herself, all alone, to the hospital. The person who made up songs and sang them with her son and enjoyed the sun with him, even as her daughter was in the hospital. Yes, I was strong, and yes, I was meaningful. All because she was here.
I have no advice for you, dear Jo. I will not tell you to think you're being the best Mom you can be. Because if you think you are not, you are not. I will not tell you to stop being so hard on yourself, because I too am that way. When you have faced death in the eye, you value life more. But when you have felt death in your heart, you also lose a lot of life with it. That is how it is.
I am suddenly so aware of Aahir growing up. So fast, so, so fast. Before long, he will no longer need me. I therefore do all that he asks me to. I feed him, I pick him up, I sleep with him at night until he falls asleep. I let him crawl into our bed if he wants to. I know he will not want any of this in a few years. And I don't tell others or care what they think.
Always remember Jo, that you are the best mother Brady knows. He does not know you could be any better. He cherishes this mother he has, and if you make him smile and if you warm his little heart, that is the most meaningful thing you do.
I wish I lived closer to you so our sons could meet and play together. I wish I could sit with you and we could sip tea and talk, and cry and hold hands, while they played in the sun. I miss you, without ever met you.
We will. Meeting you and Brian and Brady is on my bucket list.
Until then, we will always think and feel the same way, and hold hands, across an ocean.
I have three living children, my daughter's surviving twin sister (five) and two subsequent children (two and five months) and I identify very strongly with feeling that I cannot be the mother that they need or deserve, that I am not the mother I would have been had my first experience of childbirth and pregnancy given me such a kicking. And, yes, I feel guilty and horrid too. You are not on your own. It is a nasty spiral as I think that, after losing my first child, I promised that I would be the. best. mother. ever. and I always feel like a terrible failure when I fall short of what I hope to be. Which is frequently.
But I try. That is all that any of us can do. I don't believe that there has ever been a perfect parent yet. I think we all just muddle along, we do the best we can and we love them.
The things that help me when I'm struggling are
- making sure that I am getting enough sleep and food (or trying to!) the really basic kind of self care stuff which can easily slide when you have young children to care for and / or grief to contend with.
- can anybody take Brady for you for a little while and give you a chance to recharge? I went through a phase (that lasted for probably about three years) when I was extremely reluctant to let anybody else have care of the children except when I was in paid work. It is very draining if you never give yourself a break or an opportunity to do something that 'feeds' you like read a book, exercise, listen to music, do some knitting or so on. Whatever recharges you?
- I really feel you on the whole 'smurfette / daisy duck' - my eldest lives to play pretend at the moment and I find that my heart just isn't in it. Annoyingly, I used to LOVE playing these sorts of games with my nephews and nieces but exhaustion and grief certainly have knocked my ability to enjoy imaginative play right out of me! Sometimes I find that if I just grit my teeth and keep trying it gets less hideous as I find myself kind of getting into it a bit!
- I use pinterest to collect ideas (I'm totally uncreative and would not think of even the simplest thing left to my own devices) and sometimes find myself getting swept up in the novelty of a project or finding that I enjoy it myself. Something very basic like playdough or small worlds can be fun to make and set up once you get over the initial 'motivation' hump.
- try and get you both outside if the weather is good, somehow walking and pretending to be smurfette seems better than sitting inside pretending to be smurfette?!
- sitting and watching a movie or drawing is perfectly fine in my opinion! I do quite a lot of that with mine. I don't think that children want, or need, adult input all the time. Both of my older have started requesting that they be left alone from time to time - probably in response to all my fever-ish helicoptering over them!
Well there is a load of 'very good advice' which I would (a) to well to try and follow myself and (b) doesn't really help I know. I'm nearly six years out but, even now, I find that I really can't spend ALL my time with my children appreciating and enjoying them. Sometimes I do so very much it feels almost like agony, the love and pleasure and gratitude stabs at me something horrible. At other times it is just an agony in the more mundane sense of the word, an agony of boredom, frustration and guilt (because I swore I would never feel either of the first two!) We are all only human. I often think that no much can be said for my mothering skills but, hopefully, they will all know that I love them very dearly and that my heart is in the right place. I hope that even the one who died knows that somehow or other.
Thought you might like this post from Franchesca too http://www.wildfeathersvintage.com/2014/04/every-kind-of-mother/
Hang on in there. From another constantly attempting to be a more 'in it' and fun mum xo
He is not into characters much (except Thomas the tan engine), so I don't even watch anything or draw with him (I cannot draw). Som spends more quality time with him, painting, reading, playing, talking. I often feel like an onlooker. I agree with what you say about not being able to do something meaningful. Yes, that's the word. I don't think either of us don't take care of them. We feed them and put clothes on them and give them medicine when they need. We send them to bed, and we hug them and tell them how much they mean to us. When we criticize ourselves for being awful moms, it is not because we are not tending to their basic needs. It is because we are unable to spend meaningful time with them.
I have often gone to the extent of thinking that Raahi was taken from me since I would not have been able to take care of her. I am overwhelmed with Aahir, I often think I would have been inadequate for the two of them, and when I am in my deep hole of sorrow, I think that is why she left. I come up for a breath and tell myself that I would have been a different person had she lived. The person who lay her life down for her children, the person who never sat, the person who remembered every single detail of every single conversation she had with every single doctor, the person who questioned doctors into admitting they need to run more tests, the person who drove Aahir to school, dropping wet from the broken water, and then drove herself, all alone, to the hospital. The person who made up songs and sang them with her son and enjoyed the sun with him, even as her daughter was in the hospital. Yes, I was strong, and yes, I was meaningful. All because she was here.
I have no advice for you, dear Jo. I will not tell you to think you're being the best Mom you can be. Because if you think you are not, you are not. I will not tell you to stop being so hard on yourself, because I too am that way. When you have faced death in the eye, you value life more. But when you have felt death in your heart, you also lose a lot of life with it. That is how it is.
I am suddenly so aware of Aahir growing up. So fast, so, so fast. Before long, he will no longer need me. I therefore do all that he asks me to. I feed him, I pick him up, I sleep with him at night until he falls asleep. I let him crawl into our bed if he wants to. I know he will not want any of this in a few years. And I don't tell others or care what they think.
Always remember Jo, that you are the best mother Brady knows. He does not know you could be any better. He cherishes this mother he has, and if you make him smile and if you warm his little heart, that is the most meaningful thing you do.
I wish I lived closer to you so our sons could meet and play together. I wish I could sit with you and we could sip tea and talk, and cry and hold hands, while they played in the sun. I miss you, without ever met you.
We will. Meeting you and Brian and Brady is on my bucket list.
Until then, we will always think and feel the same way, and hold hands, across an ocean.
Love to you and Zia, Brady and Brian.