'tis the season

Yes, that time of year has snuck up on us again.

If you are in the US, then today you are celebrating thanksgiving day.

Thank goodness we don't celebrate thanksgiving, because (quite frankly) I don't have a whole lot to be thankful about.

And I'm not one of those people who can look past all the horrific things and pick a few inane things to be thankful for. Like being thankful for my health, when anyone who knows me would realise that I would have given up my health in a flash for one of my children to be here with me.

But I digress.

Christmas is just around the corner, and I'm not particularly looking forward to that either.

We watched Love.Actually on dvd last night. I love that film. Just the englishness of it. The actors are great. The story is funny and sad and romantic. It's one of my favourites.

But there's that one scene. That scene where the character played by Colin.Firth goes to his family's christmas celebrations. He goes on his own, and arrives at the house loaded with bags and packages. His family opens the door, and he is confronted by his festively dressed extended family. Mother, father, siblings and partners, nephews and nieces. And they all shout "merry christmas".

I imagine that happening to us. To Craig and myself. And I can only congratulate the Colin.Firth character for doing exactly what I would do. Which is drop his bags and his parcels, and making a run for it.

I think he leaves because seeing all that cheery family together-ness really brings home to him that he is alone and that he loves the Aurelia.character. So he leaves the cheery, overwhelming, family togetherness to go looking for her. (He finds her, of course. It is, after all, only a movie.)

I picture myself being welcomed by my extended family for christmas cheeriness. In December 2005, my family celebrated christmas for the last time all together. We didn't know it at the time, but it was the last time we were all together at christmas. My parents, my three siblings, my nieces and nephews. It was Craig's first time celebrating christmas with us. But it was his last too.

Since then, Freyja has died. I no longer have any contact with my youngest sibling and her offspring. Then Kees was born and died. My relationship with my youngest sibling and her (then) new partner got worse (if that's possible). Then my youngest sibling had her fourth child (healthy and alive of course). Could it get any worse? Yes. Jet was born and also died.

This is our fifth christmas with dead children. Five christmases. When everyone else is celebrating. With children. Because christmas is really for the children, isn't it?

And every year I'm waiting for it to get better. It doesn't.

Every year Craig and I do something a little different. We go to our favourite chinese restaurant for lunch. We make yummy dinner. We unwrap gifts which we have received from family and each other. We have a christmas tree. Craig has his collection of houses with lights and things.

This year we are going away for a couple of days with my uncle and his partner. To a lovely hotel. Going away and doing nothing but eat and drink and relax. Away from family happiness and expectations. No tree this year. And hopefully no families with children either.

Which is good. Because (seriously), if I was confronted with the festive happy extended family that the Colin.Firth character was confronted with ... I think I'd run for the hills and avoid christmases forever.

Hope

That strange thing. That thing you don't really give much consideration, until suddenly it's gone.

Gone.

And then it's something that you miss almost more than anything else.

Because until it's gone, you don't know that life is almost not worth living if there is no Hope.

:::

I never gave Hope any thought at all really.

I was In.Control.Of.My.Life. At least that's what I thought.

So Hope was completely irrelevant. I mean, what do you do with Hope when you don't need it?

There was always something to aim for, and, if you worked hard enough, it would always work out.

Maybe getting into the course I wanted at university. Which I did.

Maybe getting a good grade for a paper. Which I did.

Maybe getting the job I wanted. Which I did.

Maybe working overseas for a while. Which I did.

Maybe meeting a lovely man one day to share my life with. Which I did.

Everything was going well. Hope was in the background. I didn't really need Hope.

Because if you do all the right things, pay your tax on time, be respectful of others, then you don't really need Hope.

Hope is only for those who need it.

Those who are Not.In.Control.Of.Their.Life.

:::

Then we all know what happened.

One day I found out that I wasn't in control at all.

And suddenly Hope came out of the closet. Where I must have locked it a long time ago.

:::

So I Hoped for a baby who lived.

I Hoped for a baby who didn't die.

Several times.

But Hope was useless every time. Hope failed.

:::

Then Hope disappeared.

Vanished completely.

I don't know where it went, but it was G.O.N.E.

There wasn't much point to Hope.

:::

Then last week something happened.

I didn't recognise what it was at first, because it's been gone for so long. But eventually I did. I recognised it for what it was.

It was a spark. A spark of Hope.

:::

But now I'm scared. I'm scared to Hope.

I'm terrified that this tiny little spark will be extinguished. Because I know something now that I didn't know before Hope vanished.

I know that I am Not.In.Control.Of.My.Life.

This tiny spark of Hope exists independently of me. I cannot keep it alight. It was sparked outside of me, but it can be extinguished outside of me too. And I can't do anything about it.

:::

It's bloody scary.

I'm scared that if this spark is extinguished, that it may vanish forever. Or that if it is extinguished, I may close my eyes and my heart to Hope forever. That I will not allow myself to recognise Hope for what it is.

It's bloody scary.

I Hope this spark grows into a flame. I Hope it turns into a great big roaring fire.

I Hope.

Resurrection

What would make me happy?

Well, I can tell you very simply. The resurrection of my three dead children would.

But that will never happen. Despite fundamental christians around the world who spout about the miracles of god and/or jesus.

:::

My three children were prayed for.

By hundreds if not thousands of people around the world.

Most of those people were fervent believers. Christians from different christian churches around the world. People who believed that god would hear their prayers and answer those prayers. People who believed in god's miracles, and who believed that god would heal and/or save my children.

They were wrong. How wrong they were.

And what do those people have to say now? Not much as it turns out. Because what do you say to a couple who have held three dead children in their arms? Who have buried three absolutely perfect children? It turns out those fervent believers don't have much to say at all.

One person tried the whole "be glad they are in god's arms" route, and nearly got their head bitten off for it. And then I get told by others, "oh, but they mean well", and that's supposed to make everything all right.

Well, here's news for you. IT DOES NOT make everything all right. Because everything is wrong. So very wrong. There is nothing right about our lives. NOTHING.

:::

I really did believe in god you know. Before all this happened.

I believed that god had a plan for me, for my life, before I was even born.

I believed in miracles.

I believed in healing.

Now I don't.

I don't believe in any of it.

This is what I believe in: my children are all dead. And none of my beliefs changed that.

:::

I have a friend who also lost her baby. And she has been unable to become pregnant since. She is a christian.

One day on FB she asked (in her status update) why this had happened, why she had lost her beautiful little girl. And many responded. Many christians. They said things like "be strong", "god has a reason", "god will reward you for your faith", and stuff like that. And the purpose of all those comments is to make you feel stronger, to make you believe that god is still in charge, to "encourage" you in your journey in life.

I wonder often how my friend feels today - several years later. When she still has not conceived another baby. I know she feels the pain and love for her lost little baby girl every day. I know she feels sadness and disappointment and fear that she might never have another child.

I imagine that she prays every day.

Does she still trust that god planned everything in her life before she was even born?

Does she still believe that god is in charge?

Does she still want to believe? Is her belief encouraging her or is it destroying her?

:::

How much and for how long can you live your life for god until you decide that it's a one way street? Aren't there supposed to be some benefits? (The fervent would say "no" -- god is god and you must bow down to that.)

But I was taught, and the bible says, that there are. Benefits that is.

The bible says that god answers prayers. The bible says that the faithful may ask and then they shall receive. It's pretty clear.

Otherwise why would we pray every day for the safety of our family? I mean, why?

:::

People pray for me.

I mean, they can really stop, and I've told them to, but they keep praying.

It hasn't helped. Not at all. But praying has become so much a fundamental part in these people's lives, that they can't stop.

My sister is a missionary. That's right, the old-fashioned kind. A christian missionary. She is a member of an international youth missionary movement. Her husband is also a missionary.

When Kees was in the NICU, on machines, she flew here from Australia. She came here not only to support us, but to pray for him. She prayed for him all the way from Australia. She prayed for him here. The entire body of the international youth missionary movement was praying for him with her.

Let me be clear. She prayed for him to LIVE.

But he didn't. He died instead. Her prayer was not answered.

My parents are also fundamental christians. My father is a lay preacher in the local church. He is the chaplain at the local hospital.

My mum also flew here when Kees was in the NICU. She also prayed. So did the congregation of her church, as well as everyone associated with those churches.

She also prayed for him to LIVE.

Thousands of people around the world, including many from hundreds of churches around the world, prayed for my son Kees whilst he was in the NICU, on those horrible machines, in the hospital. They all prayed for him to LIVE.

I prayed for him. I prayed for approximately 48 hours. That was the time from when Kees stopped breathing on our sofa at home to when his machines were turned off in the NICU. I prayed for god to heal him. I prayed that Kees would live.

Craig and I held our son in our arms when the doctors turned those horrible machines off. I prayed the whole time. It was a mantra. I asked god to heal Kees. I asked god to save Kees. Over and over again. And all the time his heart-rate was slowing. But I kept praying anyway.

I never said a last thing to my son Kees. No last words to my beautiful son. Because I was too busy praying.

In the room next to us were my mum, my sister, Craig's mum and dad, Craig's sister, my uncle and aunt and a cousin. They were all praying. They were (and still are) all fundamental christians (except for Craig's sister, but I think she also wanted to believe at that moment). They all believe in god's power. They believe in miracles. They believe in resurrection. They still do.

We were all praying for the same thing. That Kees would LIVE.

But he didn't. He did not live. He died instead.

God did not heal my son. My son did not live. My son died. God did not answer our prayers.

The last words I uttered over my son's living body were words of prayer.

And I can tell you the exact moment that I stopped believing in god. It was that moment on 21 March 2008, just after midday. That moment when the doctor came in and told us that Kees' heart had stopped beating. That he was dead. That moment when Craig and I had stopped holding our living son, and were instead holding our son's dead body.

That was the moment when I stopped believing.

:::

I don't believe any more. Not in anything really.

I don't believe in religion. I don't believe in trust. I don't believe in kindness. I don't believe in people. You name it, and I don't really believe.

Oh, but wait. There is one thing. I believe in Craig.

:::

Do I hold god responsible?

No, not really. There is no god so how could he be responsible?

There are people I blame. But god is not on the list. Because god is not real.

Doctors are real. Paramedics are real. Scientists are real. God is not.

:::

I don't have much hope these day. For anything.

But. I hope for this: that babies will stop dying.

I hope for this: that other women like me will once again have the opportunity to parent a living child.

I hope for this: that maybe one day someone will be able to tell me why my beautiful children died.

I hope for this: that people will stop telling me that god has a plan. That everything happens for a reason.

I hope for this: that people will NEVER forget my children.

I hope for this: that people will remember that Craig and I have three beautiful children. That their death does not mean they are not important. That their death does not mean they no longer exist.

I don't have much to hope for, but that's it really.

Anxiety & Ferry

Today was a bit of an anxious day.

I'm in the middle of being weaned of my anti-d medication. I'm not convinced that what I was taking was helping me much. So we discussed with our shrink, and he's going to put me on something that he hopes will be better.

In the meantime I'm being weaned. And my anxiety levels are increasing. And I'm much nervier and jumpier.

Too many people on the street will be enough to freak me out.

Yesterday we were in a shop, and a group of women came in with noisy toys to serenade a friend who worked in the shop. She was getting married today. Anyway, the noise completely shocked me and freaked me out. Then we had to walk home because I couldn't cope with the idea of getting on to a crowded tram.

This morning we decided to go to the cinema. We usually go in the mornings because it's not so busy on the streets yet. After midday, Amsterdam is a hotbed of people -- mostly tourists. And we live in centre, so it's busy.

Anyway, one of my pet peeves in Amsterdam is that the footpaths are ALWAYS blocked. And I mean, ALWAYS. In the summer every pub and restaurant and cafe and coffeeshop has chairs and tables on the footpath. At any time of the year, people park their bikes and motorbikes and mopeds on the footpath. Then there are always builders, painters, contractors, etc, who have scaffolding up, or are parking their vehicles on the footpaths. Shops put their wares on the footpaths. Teenagers hang around on corners smoking dope. You may be getting the point.

I always imagine how it would be trying to push a pram or a wheelchair around in Amsterdam. I've actually done both, and it's nightmarish. And worst of all, noone gets out of your way. NOONE.

I think I've blogged before about how rude the Dutch are. In fact, they think they are being direct, and that is socially acceptable. However, anyone in the world who is not Dutch will agree that the Dutch directness is in fact just plain rudeness.

Today, on our way to the cinema, we were walking on the footpath of a street around the corner from our apartment. Six young people (early 20's) were arranging pieces of carpet on the footpath. The carpet was leading out of a shop door. The carpet was all the way across the footpath, from the door to the street. All six of them were standing on either side of the footpath. The footpath is probably just over a metre wide. So we couldn't get through. I made some comment about blocking the footpath, and they all responded with a variety of incredibly rude responses. One said I had a sour face and really what was that about. Another said I was awful. Another said we should have walked onto the street to get past them. And it goes on. They continued making derogatory remarks about me and about Craig whilst they eventually got out of our way.

Fortunately Craig did not understand all the comments, otherwise he might have done something. The thing is, I did understand, and boy, was I ready to lash out.

My tolerance for other people is very low. My acceptance of other people's behaviour is very low. I am on a very short leash. I have very little sympathy and understanding for other people's "problems". When people are rude and selfish, I frankly just want to hit them. How dare they try to make me feel like I was in the wrong? Like I was expecting too much? Like I was being unreasonable??? I wonder if they would have acted similarly if I had a pram with a baby in it? I wonder how they would have reacted if we had my sister-in-law in her wheelchair with us? Most likely they would still say we should simply get out of their way, and go via the street. No joke -- I've see others doing it -- every day.

(My mum once said to me after Freyja or Kees died, that I shouldn't let myself become bitter. That if I let bitterness get the best of me, my life would be so much worse. Well, guess what mum? Bitterness and anger oozes out of every fibre of my being. Three dead children and not be bitter?? What a joke. In fact, I am beyond bitterness, I am FILLED with rage.)

Anyway, that got me heated up and anxious. But we kept going to the cinema anyway. We were nearly there when we noticed one of the main streets was blocked, and the police were keeping traffic off the street. Craig went to check with them what was going on. Sometimes when events are on in Amsterdam, and when streets are blocked, we can't get home!! Really. So off Craig goes to find out. It was the arrival of St Nicholas in Amsterdam. This was bad news for us on two counts. One, this meant that the city would soon be swarming with kids. SWARMING. Two, our movie was going to be finishing at the start of the event, which would mean we couldn't cross the road to get back home.

I wanted to see the movie, so we keep going. We got our tickets for "Eat.Pray.Love", and got into our seats. But all the stress and anxiety had gotten to me. The first 10 minutes of the movie freaked me out. A baby. A question about when the mother of the baby first realised she wanted a baby. A box of baby things she had been saving for years and years. Another character who realised she'd gotten herself in a life she didn't want. A life she had willingly chosen. So she starts praying to god for answers. Well, at that point I lost it. I was very upset and wasn't at all prepared to see the rest of the movie. So we left. I cried and cried and cried on Craig's shoulder. Then we went home.

I feel like I should wear a t-shirt or a sweater with the following printed on it:

APPROACH AT OWN RISK. BABY-LOST MUM OVERCOME WITH RAGE AND BITTERNESS.

I feel like I need people to treat me with kid-gloves. It annoys me so much that noone can SEE that I'm anxious and distraught. I hate it that people are just rude idiots (to everyone) and it completely enrages me. If I had a broken arm, or a broken leg, everyone would adjust their behaviour to take my injury into account. But the injury I have is one that noone can see. So they just say and do the stupidest and most insensitive things, not realising that I am so dreadfully injured that I cannot even smile at them or dismiss them as just being silly.

I am so anxious these days. I'm anxious and I don't even realise it. It's only when something happens and I jump out of my skin that I suddenly realise that I'm walking around completely stressed and anxious. Anything and everything can make me anxious. A dog barking. A car back-firing. An ambulance siren. Stupid people. Rude people. Insensitive people. Smelly people on the tram. Cigarette smoke. Stupid drivers (and there are thousands of them here ... thousands). Shopkeepers who are deliberately unhelpful. The list is unending.

I am so not the person I used to be. Nowadays, someone presses our door buzzer and I almost jump a foot into the air. What a freak I am.

:::

On a different note, we got another cat. A second cat. He is also a rescue cat, like Blair was, and he's gorgeous. He is called Ferry (named by the rescue shelter), is about 10 months old, and is the cutest little thing. He wants desperately to be friends with Blair, but Blair is proving to be difficult. Blair is a grumbly old man. I am confident that Ferry will persist though, because he's so very lovable.

Monster melt-down

I had a bit of a melt-down last night. It was early this morning actually.

I think it was prompted by some bad news I got yesterday.

One of my BLM friends found out she has serious health issues. Potentially life threatening issues. She will receive medication and medical care, but there's no guarantee. She's been told by her doctors not to put off anything she wants to do. That's always fairly indicative.

Anyway, it was so sad to read her message. She wants so much to live. To live a long and healthy life. She wants so much to be with her son. Her adult son. Her other son was stillborn.

It made me so sad. Because I don't. I don't want to live. If I was in her position, I would be sad for Craig, but not for me.

I was so sad that she wants to live so much and I don't.

I wish so much that I did want to live.

I want my desire for life back. I want my zest back.

I want hope.

Because without hope I see absolutely zero purpose in living.

:::

Don't think of this as some desperate cry for help. It's not.

Don't think of this as some last minute suicidal note. It's not.

Instead I guess it's just a cry of despair.

Despair that I feel that I have nothing to live for.

Despair that I honestly believe the best has already been.

Despair that I believe that all the things which are so desperately wrong in my life will never get better.

Despair that my children will always be dead.

Despair that the life I had -- we had -- is gone forever.

Despair that I have no hope.

Despair that I cannot look at a future. That I see nothing in my future. That I find it hard enough to cope with today, with now.

:::

Anyway, at about 5 this morning all these feelings overwhelmed me and I had a bit of a melt-down. Poor Craig.

We had a bit of a session. I cried. I yelled at him. We talked.

You see, we have a massive wall between us. A huge wall. A seemingly impassible wall.

That wall is children.

I want another baby. He does not. And there's no compromise there. Really. I've tried.

Craig sees many things in our future. I don't. I see nothing but emptiness. I see nothing without a baby. Nothing at all. And I don't know how to get past it.

We've talked about embryo adoption. But Craig doesn't want a baby. So then we don't talk about it. Then he thinks that I've "forgotten" because I'm not talking about it. Then I mention it again. Then he gets angry again. Then I don't talk about it again. It's a nasty circle.

It's like Craig thinks that just because I don't talk about it, I must have stopped wanting it. But that's not how it works.

And all the time I'm getting older.

:::

It's been 14 months since Jet died. That is the longest time that I have NOT been pregnant since I first got pregnant in January 2006.

And the reason I'm not pregnant??? I'm now in a place where I honestly believe that any pregnancy I have will result in another dead baby. Seriously. Even though the doctors will not say that to me. Even though there is no medical evidence.

There are still those hopeful people out there who believe in miracles. Who believe that "somehow" I will have a baby who will live.

If you are reading this, and you are one of those people, let me tell you right now. I do not believe in miracles. I will not have another baby. Not a child who is our biological child. Because I honestly believe that child would die.

You see, I didn't believe that when I was pregnant with Kees. Or with Jet. I feared it. Oh god, I feared it so much. But I didn't believe it. Of course I didn't believe it. If I had believed it, then I would never have gotten pregnant.

Now I do believe it. For some reason, Death follows our children.

I fear Death no more. Because there is nothing more for it here.

Shoo Death. No more of Craig and Mirne's children here. Pick on someone else for a change.

:::

But adoption. I've thought about that. A lot.

However, there are problems. Of course. When are there not problems.

My age. I am 42 years old. Many countries will not let a baby be adopted if there is more than a 42 year age difference between the (adopted) mother and the baby. Well, that rules that out.

In addition, Craig has developed an almighty, overwhelming baby phobia. He does not want to be around babies. He does not want to see them or hear them. He does not want to hear about them. He wants nothing to do with babies. Well, not a problem given that we're not likely to be adopting a baby anyway because I'm too old.

My mental health. I have serious doubts that we would survive any initial adoption application because of it. I personally believe (and so do my shrink and my doctor) that my mental health would improve about 1000% if we had a living child, but I don't know that an adoption agency would agree with that.

Time. In the Netherlands, the adoption procedure can take anything from 2 years to 6 years to be successful. That's if you're approved in the first place. That means if we applied and were successful, we might be 48/49 years old by the time we got a child. Could I do that? Could I do all those years of additional pain and heartache? Could I do those years of uncertainty? I don't know.

Then there's location. Shit. That's a big one. We are Australian. And Dutch. We live in the Netherlands, but it's not where we want to be forever. Our forever home will be in Australia. So if I start an adoption procedure here, I'll have to wait it out. But if I do start an adoption procedure here, then I can't start an adoption procedure in Australia. But ... is one better than the other? I don't know. Probably we would have a better chance in Australia, simply because there are more children available for adoption there. But this is where we are at the moment.

Jobs. I'm not working at the moment. I'm on paid sick leave. Craig is not working at the moment. He's receiving no income. He's at home with me because I need him here with me. I can't deal with anything on my own. So how does that look on an adoption application form? Job: mmm, none? Right, enough said.

Embryo adoption. If I want a baby, and soon, this is our best option. In fact, if I want a child, this is our best option.

For whatever reason (actually there are many), there are simply not enough babies/children in the world who are eligible for adoption. There are simply too many eager would-be parents out there wanting a child. And not enough eligible children.

But embryo adoption is a different matter. There are more embryos available than there are would-be parents willing to adopt an embryo.

And I can carry a child. My body does pregnancy very well. And I want a living baby. Desperately.

So why not? Well, Craig has a baby phobia. And there's my mental health issues. Embryo adoption is expensive, but no more so than normal adoption. And money is not an issue. Not at all. Quite frankly, I'd spend hundreds of thousands if it meant I could have a living child. Literally.

:::

So here we are. Two incredibly well educated professional people. (Seriously, between the two of us, we have degrees and post-graduate degrees and certificates and diplomas and the rest, coming out of our ears. If anything, we are probably over-educated for this world and this life.) We are financially secure. Living in a lovely apartment in Amsterdam. We own two building blocks in Australia. And we are desperately wanting to be parents to a living child.

But probably not able to unless a myriad of strangers, in a myriad of places, approve of every little piece of our lives.

And that doesn't seem very likely given what I have written above.

Doesn't life just suck.

:::

In the meantime, I cried and cried and cried this morning. I haven't cried for months. I've become a hard woman. There's not much that makes me cry any more.

But my lack of hope, my despair. It made me cry. My friend's hope for a long and healthy life made me cry. Because I don't have that. That hope is missing here.

What I do

I often think about this these days. What I do. Not much really!

My life is very different today than it would have been on this day 5 years ago.

Mmm ...

On 2 November 2005 Craig and I were living together in Melbourne, Australia.

I think we were just engaged to be married. We weren't pregnant. We were thinking about buying an apartment in West Melbourne.

Life looked rosy. Full of options. My job was good. Craig had lots of locum opportunities.

We went out for breakfast or lunch or dinner. We spent weekend mornings lying in bed, looking at the view.

It was pretty wonderful. Life was.

:::

These days my life (and Craig's) is very different.

We wake and sloth about in our pj's for a while. Craig always wakes earlier than me. He comes downstairs and reads or surfs the net until I wake. Then we have coffees and vitamins and tablets and have breakfast.

We might watch some tv or perhaps a DVD episode. We're watching Grand.Designs at the moment. Then have a bath or a shower. Blair comes up to the bathroom whilst we complete our morning ablutions ... he sits on the side of the bath and follows all the activities eagerly :-)

We'll both check our emails, FB, read blogs and generally surf the net for a while. (We do this regularly throughout the day ... we're both pretty much net-addicts.)

I've had different net addictions since Kees died.

First there was E.bay. I bought lots and lots and LOTS of shoes and handbags from E.bay. That's over now. (Craig sighs with relief.)

Since Jet died it's been Markt.Plaats which is the Dutch version of E.bay. Since I got on to MP I have acquired the following: a lovely free red leather sofa, three lovely very cheap leather cushions, two lovely cheap hockers/ottomans, a whole lot of free beer glasses. One of our most recent purchases was a group of 6 matching CD/DVD racks. They are great. Glass, and were very bloody expensive when new, but we got them for an eighth of the new price!! Yay!! They're super stylish glass racks, and fit absolutely perfectly into the space we have available for them. it also has solved our massive DVD storage problem for the time being. Can't remember what else we've gotten. (Oh, of course we got our folding caravan via MP.)

I have also sold on MP an expensive long furry winter coat which I hadn't worn for several years because I have put on too much weight. And a CD which we had two copies of. I've got a couple of other things advertised because we don't use them.

Every day I look on MP for free stuff which might be interesting to us. Also at all the fab sofas and things which the Dutch are getting rid of because they are "redecorating". Amazing buys for next to nothing which are only 3-5 years old. Great quality stuff for a fraction of the price.

Anyway.

What else do I do? We have various regular appointments of course. With the doctor and the shrink. Craig has a weekly appointment with his physiotherapist.

We have monthly subscriptions with our cinemas in Amsterdam. We pay EUR 18 each per month and can see as many movies as we want. So we try to go quite regularly. How often we go usually depends on what mood I am in. Whether I want to leave the house. I prefer to go early in the day, so that we can avoid the crows. I hate crowds. If it was up to Craig, we'd see a move every day :-)

We plan our meals. We buy most of our meat when it is reduced and put it in the freezer. So every day in the morning we decide what we are having for our evening meal and take out the appropriate frozen meat. And then we cook. Sometimes I cook. Sometimes Craig cooks. Often we cook together. We made yummy nachos yesterday. We're a good team in the kitchen.

In the afternoon, after lunch, we might have watched some more tv or DVD's. Or we might have gone to see a movie. By that time I'm usually ready for a nap. Which might be for 1 hour or 2 hours. Yesterday's nap was 2 hours. Blair curled up next to me and we napped together.

Craig might have done some laundry. He does all the laundry in this house. My job is to fold it all up and put it away. I'm not very good at that. I need to be inspired to do that, and I'm not often inspired.

Yesterday I did some sewing. I wanted to make some covers for one of our sofas. It was looking a bit tatty, and I had some matching fabric lying around. I had been planning to make these (arm and back) covers for several months, but (again) was waiting for inspiration. Got it done yesterday ... finally. Looks great.

Cooking is fun. We like to cook. We like to eat too, but that's not necessarily such a great thing. We both eat much more than we used to. Since Jet's death, we've become comfort eaters. I never was a comfort eater before, but I am one now. One day it will have to stop. One day we'll have to start eating less and eat healthier. But I'm not there yet. I don't care enough yet. I just like to eat.

Somedays, if the apartment is looking untidy enough I will psych myself (and Craig) to do some cleaning. I don't need to wait for inspiration to vacuum, because it will never come! Craig does the vacuuming, but he needs some encouragement from me. Because we have Blair, and because we have mainly wooden floors, it can quickly become a furry playground here ... although it's not so bad now, because he's not losing so much hair.

More surfing of the net during the day. Email correspondence. That sort of stuff.

Usually we pop to the local supermarket during the day. We live in the centre of Amsterdam. We have a car, but it's parked out of Amsterdam (because of prohibitively expensive parking costs), so we walk, cycle or public transport everywhere. We walk to our supermarket because it's about 100 metres around the corner from us. But it means we are restricted to buying what we can carry, so we shop very regularly.

We have our evening meal and then decide what we are watching on tv/DVD that evening.

I'm usually ready for bed before Craig is. Although once we get to bed he inevitably falls asleep before me.

Blair comes up to bed with us (we sleep in the attic). He generally wants to go on to the roof terrace for a last look around before he comes back inside with us. I have to let him out because he doesn't like going out through his cat-flap. He'll come back in through his cat-flap. He is a freaky cat :-)

Even when I take a sleeping tablet, it is generally still a struggle to get to sleep. I usually lie there thinking of my children, of how different life should be, of those terrible moments in life when you realise everything has changed forever. Those moments when my children died.

It's the stuff of nightmares for others, but for me it's reality.

That's what I do.