What was it?

We're going away today. For a few weeks. To explore more of Europe.

We've packed up our little caravan until it's just about bursting at the seams.

We're ready to go.

:::

In the last few days a particular thought has been crossing my mind repeatedly. And I've been wanting to blog about it. But (typically) now I've forgotten. Ha. That's not surprising really. Because I forget e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. Literally. Maybe it will come back to me.

:::

We received an email inviting us to attend a "family day" yesterday. Craig is keen to go. He hasn't met all of my extended Dutch family. I, however, am not keen to go. Many of them are fundamental christians and so will have a "God loves you" answer for everything. Which does not sit well with me. Some of the extended family did not contact us after our children died. Also doesn't sit well with me. And some of the extended family have young children, babies even, which I do not need to be confronted with. No way.

So I've told Craig he can go by himself.

:::

So this morning we're heading east. Towards our first overnight stop in Germany. Then further east as far as Poland, before heading south to Hungary, and then heading back in the direction of home via Austria. Of course we have many stops planned along the way.

I hope the weather is good. :-)

Isn't it just gorgeous??

We have a new design and layout for our blog.

We looooove it!!

Thanks to the very helpful Franchesca from Small Bird Studio for making our blog a more special place for us. :-)

ok?

I received a FB message a few weeks ago from a friend. A friend who I haven't had much contact with since Jet died. My choice. She had her second child only a few days before Jet was born. I couldn't bear to hear about, or see, her son. So we haven't been in contact.

She said in her message that she thinks of us often, and that she hopes we are "doing ok".

:::

I thought about that a lot before I responded to the message. About being ok.

I wondered whether if it is ever possible for babylost parents to be ok again.

I wonder if I will ever go through a day where I think it is ok. That I am ok. That my life is ok.

I think not.

I think it's going to be impossible to be ok after losing all our children. It's difficult to be ok when the future looks so very bleak.

When I constantly fear that bad things will continue to happen to us.

When I've turned into a sad, angry, bitter, overweight, middle-aged woman. I miss that person I used to be.

I miss the ability I used to have to look forward to the future. Instead, I'm just sad that the best, my best, our best, has already been.

So we're not really ok. We just get up every day and do the best we can.

:::

My short-term memory is still really bad.

I forget everything. Craig and I might have a conversation and five minutes later I will mention something to him, and he'll just look at me with amazement and tell me we just discussed that very topic. I won't recall any of it. (Sometimes it's not me who forgets, but Craig.)

I forget appointments.

I forget what I've just read in a book. So I'm not a great reader at the moment. I've probably only read maybe 5 books in the last year. (I usually read at least one or two books a week, so that's fairly drastic.)

I can't concentrate on anything. (Hence the lack of reading.) I can't even focus on the television. My mind wanders. I get distracted. It drives Craig absolutely crazy.

I forget whether I've taken my tablets. I take a whole lot of tablets. For various reasons. I have a weekly tablet box, so that I can keep some sort of order. Craig administers the tablets in the morning and then we try to remember that I take them during the day. I forget whether I've brushed my teeth. Yes.

Loud noises still scare the sh*t out of me. A car beeping its horn. An exhaust back-firing. You name it, I jump every time.

I don't sleep well. Some nights I just lie awake for an hour or two. Thinking. About my children. Of course. The tablets don't help sometimes.

I eat too much. I weigh too much.

I drink too much. Alcohol that is. If I have one glass of wine, the chances are that I will finish the bottle. Craig doesn't drink at all. He hates it that I do, that I drink too much.

:::

I have so much anger inside me. Anger about everything. Anger about my life. Anger about the deaths of my children. Anger about smoking pregnant women on the street. Anger about parents who complain their children are keeping them awake. Anger that people forget my children's birthdays or deathdays. So very much anger. (My shrink sees this anger in me all the time.) I don't know what to do about this anger. I really, really don't.

You know, there are some people (actually, most people) who think that I should just be "getting on" with my life. And of course I am. But my getting on is just getting up, showering, eating, drinking, sleeping. That's it. And that's not what people mean. People mean I should be DOING SOMETHING. Like go back to work. Plan a life. Make a future. That sort of stuff.

I used to do that sort of stuff all the time. My future was exciting. So exciting. The world was my oyster. The future was a mysterious, exciting event waiting to happen.

But it's not any more.

How do I explain that to all those people? The "get on with your life" people. How can I possibly explain that I wake with fear in my heart every morning, just in case Craig died during the night? How do I explain that? They don't get it. When I told our shrink about this, this fear I have of Craig dying, he asks me how likely it is that this feared event will actually happen. I say to him that it's probably more likely to happen then all three of my children dying over a period of 3 years for reasons unknown to doctors. He looks blankly at my response, and then doesn't know what to say. Ha.

Those people who ask me if I'm ok, they also think that I should "get on" with it. Those people, most of them have children. It is so obvious to me that they cannot even imagine what their lives would be like if one (or all) their children died. It is impossible for them to put themselves in my shoes. Apparently. They've had more than 4 years to do it, and they can't. Or they won't. Whatever.

:::

I am not ok.

I am angry. I am sad. I am lost. I am hurting. I am fat. I am bored. I am scared. I am lazy. I am tired. I am struggling.

But when people ask how I'm doing, I don't think that's what they want to hear.

What should be

It's just after lunch. A time when I should be at work, contemplating the rest of the day's work to be done.

I should be calling my husband and checking how he and our child are.

Instead, I'm at home, contemplating this blog post.

My husband and I are sitting on separate sofas, having just eaten a very nice warm lunch, and watching tv. Our Blair cat is sleeping on his cushions in front of the heater.

This is not what should be.

:::

I should be working at the office as a senior transaction lawyer.

I should be networking with clients and colleagues.

I should not be sitting here writing this blog.

I should not be contemplating "what should be".

:::

Craig should be a stay-at-home dad.

We'd agreed already when we got pregnant with Freyja, that financially and personally it made more sense for Craig to stay at home with Freyja, at least until she was old enough for child care.

Then when we were pregnant with Kees, it was difficult, almost impossible, for us to find any child care, so we again agreed that Craig would be a stay-at-home dad until we found a place for Kees.

With Jet it was completely different. I didn't want Jet to be with anyone other than Craig or me. I wasn't even convinced that I'd be able to leave him at home and go to work!

But it was not to be. I never got to find out whether I could have continued my career and left Jet at home with Craig.

:::

We are constantly planning trips at the moment. We were recently in the UK for ten days with our Casita caravan. Now we're planning a trip to Eastern Europe, leaving in about two weeks.

Because if we don't have trips to plan, then we have nothing. Nothing at all. And we can only sit around doing nothing for so long.

I'm not working because I've suffered so much trauma that I now suffer from post traumatic stress disorder, which means that I no longer function as I did before the trauma. It means I can't work. It means I can't be without Craig. It means that the small things have become big things. It means that I need safe surroundings all the time.

So we plan trips. Together. In our safe, comfortable Casita.

We get to see beautiful and interesting parts of Europe.

But I'd rather have Freyja. Or Kees. Or Jet.

:::

No matter where we go, we see families with children. Dads with a child on their shoulder. Mums with babies in prams.

We comment about the suitableness of the pram for the environment. Nothing compares (of course) to the Moun.tain Bug.gies we had for Kees and Jet.

Everywhere we go, we imagine how it should be. How it would be if Freyja, or Kees, or Jet was there with us.

We have a 7-seat Land Rover Discovery. Made for a family. We bought it after Jet died. And now I always imagine Jet in his capsule/seat in the back. Always.

When we go camping, many campgrounds have "family bathrooms". They're a great invention, because you can drag the kids in, and supervise them for the bathing and tooth brushing saga. I always think how wonderful it would be if Freyja, or Kees, or Jet was there with us, so that we could use the family bathroom.

:::

On my birthday we were in Cromer in the UK. We walked on the beach, and I saw parents with children, playing in the sand. How I wished that was us with our children.

On Craig's birthday we took a ride on a steam train in Norfolk. There were many children there -- so excited. We also took a boat ride through the Broads ... beautiful. We were up the top of the boat, but there were so many children, that Craig was saddened and we moved downstairs, where we had the room to ourselves.

:::

I'm no longer envious of pregnant women. Because getting pregnant is not a problem for me. Being pregnant is not a problem for me. Stopping our children dying is the problem, and it's not a problem anyone knows how to solve.

Because even if we decided on another pregnancy, we will not get back what is lost. We will not get back what should be.

:::

Our daily life, our travels, this is not what should be. It is not what should be.

Freyja should be.

Kees should be.

Jet should be.

We should be parents to our beautiful living children.

That's what should be.

Another year

Today is one year since Jet died. One year since I woke to find him dead in his little cot in our family hospital room. One year. Craig was there. I was there. Jet was there. Except he wasn't. Jet was gone. One year.

:::

Craig and I both celebrated birthdays this last week. As did Jet. It would have been Jet's first birthday. It was 42 for both Craig and me.

Birthdays are never happy for me any more. They are nothing to celebrate. Birthdays for our children are of course only sad. Birthdays for me only serve to remind me of the fact that I'm getting older. And that my children are still dead. And that, should I choose to have another child, it will only become more difficult, and (if it was possible) riskier. If we choose to adopt, we are already too old to be eligible to adopt a baby.

Aging is worrying me, yet I would be so happy to see one (or all) of my children aging.

In a word, birthdays suck.

:::

I overheard some conversations recently. One on a bus, and one in a supermarket.

Craig and I were on the bus, when four young women (all in their twenties) were having a full-on discussion about giving birth. In all its details. And here in the Netherlands, many women give birth at home. This is not unusual. Rather, planning a hospital birth is unusual.

Anyway, after listening to this loud and rather full-on conversation about home births (four women with at least four stories), I made Craig get off the bus, so that we could get on to another one.

Then a few days later, we were in our local supermarket. There were two women, probably in their late 30's or early 40's (one with a young child in her trolley), discussing pregnancy and getting pregnant. Saying how difficult it was to get pregnant when you are older. Talking about IVF, etc. One said that although her partner wanted a child, she wasn't really fussed because she already had children.

I found these conversations quiet hurtful. Offensive really. Are these really suitable conversations for public places? I would think not. Of course the Dutch think that they can talk about anything anywhere, and if I were even to suggest to them that they keep these topics for somewhere more private, they would just tell me to piss off.

But it doesn't even occur to these women that their conversations may be hurtful to others around them. Those who have lost children. Those who have infertility issues. Those who have multiple miscarriages. Many people.

Maybe I'm too sensitive. But I'm glad I got off that bus.

:::

We were away in the UK for the last few weeks. We spent our birthdays in Norfolk. Very beautiful part of that country. We spent Jet's birthday in Warwickshire. Met up with some friends and had some fun times.

Today we collect our cat Blair from his vacation home.

Today we remember the day that Jet left us, a year ago today.