Today

It's early in the morning. I've just gotten out of the bed. We've had our morning coffee. It's now 8.10 am.

What will I do for the rest of the day?

What will I do now?

:::

I hoped that my life now would be so different.

I had hoped that once Jet was born I wouldn't have a moment to sit and think.

I had hoped that Jet would keep me busy 24 hours a day.

I had hoped that Jet would not only give me purpose in life, but would give me something to do. Something to focus on. A person to look after. A future to look forward to. A reason for being.

Now it's 8.12 am and I wonder what on earth I will do for the rest of the day.

Oh sure, I need to clean the fridge (it hasn't been done for ages), vacuum the apartment, fold up clean wash, and otherwise generally prepare the apartment for Craig's aunt who is visiting for a few days on Sunday.

But that's it. I don't have anything else to do. I don't know what else to do.

Watching TV is hard work at the moment, as is reading a book. My levels of concentration, which have always been bad since Freyja died, have shattered again. If I can concentrate for five minutes at a time on the TV, then that's pretty good. It means I never really know what's going on in those programs that we're watching. Currently watching the Foyle's War series, which we've seen before.

I woke this morning and said to Craig that literally every moment, from the moment when I wake in the morning until the moment I (finally) get to sleep, is spent thinking about my children. About their lives, their deaths, what I could have done differently, what I should have done differently, if anything could have been done differently. Whether the NFI (the Netherlands Forensic Institute) will find something this time. Whether it's something in me. Whether it's something in Craig. And the only conclusion I ever draw, after spending every waking moment thinking about my sweet, beautiful, dead children, is that I never should have had them. They never should have been conceived. Because then they never would have been born, and they never would have died.

:::

I need to speak to my doctor. Because thinking about all this stuff every waking moment of the day is exhausting. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. I suffer from constant headaches, chest pains, hot and cold sweats. I get flushes/rashes over my body. You name it, I get it.

Yesterday I was on the phone to my sister and the conversation was stressing me. I could tell because suddenly the telephone (which is one of those light plastic portable phones) felt like a very heavy brick in my hand. My fingers were suddenly struggling to hold the phone to my ear. I felt like I was going to drop it - like my fingers were incapable of holding it any longer. So I had to get off the phone.

My sister said that after Kees died last year she had to stop herself from living her life filled with fear. She said she had "irrational fears". Like worrying about her three kids running onto the road, or worrying about them near a swimming pool. She said she consciously had to stop herself feeling these "irrational fears" or otherwise she would be living her life in fear.

I have to say that I fail to see that these fears are irrational. They seem completely rational to me. I guess she believes that God will protect her and her family (she's a missionary), although she was there and praying for Kees when God failed to protect Kees. She's seen that you can't rely on God's protection.

I wonder what she thinks of me then.

I'm living my life in fear and have done so since Freyja died. I lived 37 weeks in fear when I was pregnant with Kees - even though everyone assured me it couldn't happen again, and to enjoy the pregnancy. I lived 38 weeks in fear when I was pregnant with Jet. Again I was assured by everyone that it wouldn't happen again, and to make sure I enjoyed the pregnancy. I didn't enjoy either pregnancy. I lived in fear. Fear and hope battled. Hope was winning. But it didn't last long. Fear won in the end.

Everyone (except Craig) thought my fears were irrational. Everyone. Friends and family and anyone else. They all told me so. They told me with their mouths, with their eyes, with their bodies. They all thought I was crazy to be so irrational. I bet they've all forgotten that now. I bet they don't remember that now. That they were so judgmental and that I was so worried.

Irrational fear. I don't think so.

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Oh yes, another hope which is gone.

I had hoped that after Jet's birth I would no longer need to take anti-d medication. I had hoped that the joy which would be in my life with my living son would mean I no longer needed any anti-d medication. And although I've avoided taking any medication for three weeks, I don't think I can avoid it any longer.

I hope that it will be a short-term thing only, but I worry that it will be long-term. I don't want to take any meds at all. I don't want the side-effects. I want to be normal again (which I haven't been since July 2006), but I wonder whether that will ever be possible.

:::

We dropped off our rental camper yesterday.

We've rented campers from this guy before. He's pretty good and we trust him not to rip us off. He knows about our children. He and his wife have a toddler.

I was talking to him yesterday about Jet, and saying that we sent out Jet's remembrance card mostly because I wanted people to know what a beautiful boy he was. I didn't want people to think that he must have been ill or something. Because that's what everyone thinks. That obviously the child was ill, or had some condition, otherwise he wouldn't have died. But no-one asks. No-one wants to talk to us about it. No-one wants to talk to us about our (dead) children. Everyone just (incorrectly) assumes.

The camper guy said the same. He said to me that he assumed we wouldn't want to talk about our (dead) children. He said he assumed it would make us uncomfortable. I told him it made us more uncomfortable not to talk about them. That those (dead) children are part of our lives. Part of who we are. That we can't simply pretend they didn't exist. That I can't pretend I didn't just spend the better part of 3 years being pregnant. That I didn't give birth to a daughter and two sons. I think he was rather surprised to hear us say that. I think he's part of that ill-informed group who believe it's better to say nothing. Not surprising really. That ill-informed group makes up most of our society.

However, he said that since we told him about Jet, he's thought about us often. He often goes to check his daughter during the day and even at night. He thinks about us and our (dead) children and then he checks his daughter to see if she's ok. He asked if we could send him a remembrance card.

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It's now 8.50 am. I wonder what I will do with the rest of my day.