Another day

It's mother's day today in many countries in the world. Including ours. Both in the Netherlands and in Australia. I'm not giving it much thought. Really. I actually thought it was last Sunday and I rejoiced because I didn't think about it at all. But the world reminded me soon enough that it was still looming.

My lovely husband came home from the supermarket yesterday with a love-heart cake, especially for this day, from my three beautiful children (and him of course). I love Craig so much. :-)

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I've been lying in bed at nights writing lengthy blog posts in my head. Then the next morning they're gone of course. I sometimes wish I could have a direct connection from my head to my laptop. So that when I have something important or profound to say, it would be recorded immediately.

But that's not the case.

:::

I think about my children every day. All the time.

It occurs to me that most people, those people in the normal world (not the baby-lost world) would think this rather strange. I guess they think that we're like the others. Those who don't have children. Because of course if you don't have children you can't think about them all the time.

I feel like yelling at people who expect that. I feel like saying to them, "but you think about your (living) children all the time, don't you?" They don't realise that in your heart, your child is always there, whether living or dead.

I expect that my uncle, whose son (his only child) died unexpectedly in July 2008 when he was 27 years old, thinks about his son all the time. In fact, I'm sure that my cousin Michael is in his mind all the time. Because my children are in my mind all the time. All. The. Time.

I wish I could explain that to people in the normal world. I wish they would understand.

:::

Our trip away wasn't hugely successful.

We had planned to be away for nearly four weeks, but came home after just a week.

We were camping with our tent, but the weather was against us from the start. In the UK it was appalling. Very, very cold. The only way I stayed warm at night was to snuggle against my husband. It rained so much that even the English were surprised. And it was so windy that we feared for our tent's safety. Craig didn't get much sleep as he was worried every night we'd get rained and blown away.

Despite the appalling weather we had a lovely time and met up with some friends and joined the Land.Rover community in commemorating 62 years of LR.

Then we crossed the channel (or rather went under it) to a hopefully sunnier, warmer and drier France. We were disappointed as the bad weather followed us. Our first night camping in France placed us next to a lovely English couple who lent us a little blow heater for the tent. Fortunately they did because it froze overnight. We had ice on the tent when we got up.

We continued through France, with one more overnight, and then got into Spain. Which wasn't much better. At that stage we were heartily sick of being cold all the time.

I then checked emails one evening (whilst in a very dodgy Spanish campground) and found that I'd finally received some advice from a lawyer I had seen three months earlier. The advice caused me stress and anxiety. Craig and I decided that camping in cold weather wasn't worth it, and started driving home to Amsterdam.

Which is where I am now. Warm. In my own apartment. Wonderful.

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I am going through a process at the moment to apply for a pension. A disability pension. On the basis that I'm in no condition to go back to work at the moment.

My employer has been legally obliged to keep me employed during my time off over the last two years, but that obligation is coming to an end very soon. And as I'm the primary "bread-winner" in our family, that means we're looking at some very serious financial stress in the near future unless we get this pension situation sorted out.

And there's no way I can work. No way at all. I'm having breakdowns every day. I forget everything. I get confused by everything. I get scared by everything. I'm tired all the time. And the list goes on.

My employer's doctor has been "keeping an eye on me" for the last couple of years. On my well-being. This means that he's either seen me or spoken with me, once every 5-6 months or so. Right. Like that means he knows what I'm up to, or how I am.

I recently met with him so that he could prepare and submit his official report on my state of (un)well-being to the appropriate authorities.

His diagnosis of me was (i) post traumatic stress disorder and (ii) post-natal depression. I agree with the first, but am totally in disagreement with the second.

He described that these two conditions were as a result of the "tragic ending of my pregnancy". I was completely offended when he wrote that. Jet's death wasn't the "tragic ending of my pregnancy". Freyja's stillbirth was a tragic ending of that pregnancy. Jet's birth was a wonderful and joyful moment. A celebration of life. His life. My precious Jet. His death was a devastating loss. The death of our son. The death of our third child. The end of a beautiful life. Jet was a person. He lived.

I've written a letter to the authorities because I've been brewing on this for a few weeks now. I want them to read my views on this. I want to tell them that this doctor does not have either the expertise to diagnose me properly, and in any case has not taken the time to do so.

I hope they read my letter.

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Nearly the end of mother's day here. Thank goodness. My mother sent a text saying she was thinking of me. One of my sisters called to say she was thinking of me.

Another year. Another day.