Blair & Ferry

I thought that I'd try and write a happy post ... for a change.

I guess everyone thinks that I'm just unhappy all the time, given the theme of my posts.

I'm not unhappy all the time, just very sadly accepting my lot in life. And still struggling a lot to accept it. I still lie awake at night hoping that maybe I will be able to have another baby. Which is ridiculous. I'm getting fatter and older every day. Plus I don't believe in miracles.

But anyway. I wanted to write about my cats. They bring me happiness and laughter.

Like this morning. Craig got up and found a broken glass on the floor in the kitchen. He asked if I had accidentally dropped it in the middle of the night, when I got up to drink a glass of milk. Of course I didn't, but our little Ferry had obviously jumped up, knocked the glass onto the ground, and then proceeded to lick every drop of milk out of it.

Ferry likes to lie on his back. Really. He sort of drops himself onto his back, and then just lies there. He curls up his front legs so that he can lick his paws, but stretches his back legs out as far as he can. And then he just lies there for a while. It's an invitation to scratch his belly, and we usually can't resist.

There's some competitiveness between Blair and Ferry. Not much, but some. Like where the best place to sleep is. Blair has his blue (ik.ea) cushion in the living area (next to the heater), which is sacrosanct. We've only ever seen Ferry sleeping on it once. Blair also has a little sleeping place upstairs in our bedroom. It's a little shelf/basket which hangs on the radiator, so he stays nice and warm. I haven't seen Ferry on that EVER. Under our bed there are two other blue (ik.ea) cushions, because Blair likes to sleep under the bed. And now, of course, Ferry does too. So we have two blue cushions under the bed. We have two leather sofas, one of which has a furry rug thrown over the back of it. That's one of Blair's favourite sleeping spots - especially in the evening, because that's when Craig is on the sofa. Ferry hasn't shown any interest there either.

We have a bowl of dried food and a bowl of water for the cats in the kitchen. Ferry usually sits down for a major feed about three times a day. Like, he'll sit and eat for 30 minutes at a time. Blair, on the other hand, grazes. He goes over and grabs maybe one or two of the dried biscuits and nibbles on them. Usually when Ferry is having his eating sit-down. So then Ferry has to back away from the food, allowing Blair access, and then when Blair is finished, Ferry goes back to it. But sometimes Blair goes back for two or three nibbles whilst Ferry is eating. Very amusing to see Ferry have to leave his meal so that Blair can graze :-)

Ferry taught Blair how to use the cat flap in the roof terrace door. Blair was having none of it until Ferry came on the scene. Now (of course) if Ferry is out there, well then Blair has to look too. Ferry loves the roof terrace. Doesn't matter if it's raining, snowing or hailing, he'll always be out there. Actually, when we had snow, it was about a foot thick on the roof terrace. Ferry absolutely loooooved it. He would dig his way through the snow. Literally. Blair loathes snow. He doesn't even like the look of it. So he'd stick his head out, see the snow, and then retreat to a warm spot. Ferry would be out there for an hour or so. With below zero temps. What a freak.

Speaking of the roof terrace ... we have some plants up there, in pots. Everything froze over winter, except for my two olive trees. They survive just about any climate. But I wonder whether they may not survive Ferry. Ferry loves bringing olive tree leaves, or bits of olive tree twig, into the apartment. We constantly find bits of olive tree in our apartment. Then, last week, I was on the roof terrace, and I realised he'd been using our tall olive tree as a scratchy post. And it didn't look good. I don't know whether the tree will live. I've wrapped the tree with a protective layer, and am hoping that Ferry didn't completely kill it.

When we got Ferry (in November last year) he didn't really purr. He didn't know what cuddles were. He'd scratch everything (including the leather sofas and one of my very expensive handbags). He'd chew everything (including the cables from the surround-sound, my telephone charger and my lap-top charger). But he's learning manners. Blair is a fabulous teacher, being a middle-aged restful cat. The idea was that by bringing Ferry into the house, Blair would liven up a bit. Which has happened. But of course the reverse happened too. Blair is slowing taming Ferry. Ferry is slowly become a much more well-mannered cat. He doesn't feel the need to chew everything either :-)

Ferry doesn't do stairs very well. That is, he tumbles down them. And considering that we have three sets of stairs in our apartment, that's fairly significant. We can hear him coming because of the thumps on the stairs. Blair moves like a silent ghost down those stairs. Seriously. And our building is very old, and the floors between ceiling and next floor up is wood. That's it. No sound-proofing, no cement, nothing. Just wood. So when Ferry and Blair are on the floor above our living area, it sounds like there's a herd of cats charging around up there! Usually it's just Ferry, because Blair will find a comfy spot and watch ... haha!!

Oh, and Ferry was first afraid of using the litter tray in the dark. We had to leave the light on in the bathroom for about three months! He's gotten over his fear, so the light is now off.

They amuse me no end. Every day there's something funny going on. I wonder what else they'll get up to today?

Scrolling

I dislike scrolling through my blog dashboard these days.

So many women who have had babies. Living, healthy, breathing babies. Lucky, lucky them.

And unlucky me. I had three babies, and two of them were also living and breathing. But that didn't last (of course not), and they had to die. For some unknown reason.

I really, really hate reading about other people's babies and children. Whether it's on FB, on blogs, in newsletters (which misguided people send to us), or where ever.

It's like every time my nose is rubbed in the dead children which are ours, as opposed to the living children which are not.

Totally sucks. Hate it.

Anger, regrets and maybes

I've been very angry recently.

Angry that our children are dead.

Angry that the doctors do not know why they died.

Angry that if I got pregnant again, that child would probably also die.

Angry that almost all other baby-lost mums get their so-called rainbow babies, but I don't.

Angry at just about everything really.

I'm also angry that my life has gone. The life I had, it is now gone. The career I had, it is also gone. The confidence I had, gone. The abilities I had, gone. All of it, just gone. And the life I should have had, as a mother to my living children, that's gone too.

It's just shit really.

:::

I only had one requirement in life: that I not look back and have regrets. That I not regret the road not taken. That I not regret the things undone.

And I was successful.

Until my children started dying. Until then I had no regrets. I created opportunities, and chose wisely. I worked hard, and studied harder. I had no regrets.

But now. All I ever seem to be doing is regretting. My life is now filled with anger, sadness, grief, anxiety, stress and regret.

And no-one cares. Except Craig.

Isn't it funny that when you're doing well, when you're successful in life in whatever capacity, then everyone wants a part of it. They all want to take credit and share in your joy, success and glory. But when everything goes pear-shaped, well, then it's a different story. Then people just seem to melt away, disappear into the distance, maybe occasionally heard from again, but (more likely) never to be heard from again.

It sucks.

:::

I came across an article today on the net, about a girl who died as a result of something called sudden arrhythmia death syndrome (SADS). Check out this site and also this one. I read the article and thought, maybe this is what our kids had. Maybe this is somehow linked to the as yet unknown heart condition which Craig has. Our cardiologist said that if our children's deaths were heart-related deaths, then it would have been electrical problems in the heart, not muscular/physical ones. Because muscular/physical ones would have been picked up in the autopsies, whereas electrical ones can only be seen, recorded and diagnosed whilst the person is alive.

Anyway, so then I read the article, find out some facts, and think OMG maybe this is it.

I wonder if I'll be looking and searching for a reason for their deaths forever. I hope the doctors find out what it was. Maybe then I can have a little peace.

He should be three

It was Kees' birthday this week. On Tuesday 1 February. He would be three years old.

I had already anticipated that we would hear little from our families. As time has gone by, nearly five years now since we lost Freyja, then Kees, and then Jet, these dates, these important dates of their birth and/or death, seem to have less meaning for others in our families.

I've noticed over the years. At first it was phone calls, cards, drawings (from my nieces) and flowers. Then slowly that all petered out. Now if we get a phone call, we're lucky.

This year we only got one phone call.

My sister remembered and called me on Kees' birthday.

Craig's mother sent him a one-line email.

His aunt sent us an email.

A friend sent us a card. She never forgets.

My brother was conspicuous with his silence. Not conspicuous really. Consistent. He never remembers any event which doesn't directly relate to him.

My parents forgot. I rang them the next day and asked why they didn't call. Dad went into a ramble about having a BBQ to prepare for and not having turned the page from January to February on the birthday calendar. I thought that was rubbish but when my mum came on the phone, she said the same thing. And she said that as they think of Kees every day, it shouldn't matter that they were too busy to call on that day. I see it quite differently. They don't ring me every day to say they are thinking of Kees. But they should do so on his birthday. Then she started rambling on about how they suffer because I (their daughter) suffer, and how I can't know what that is like because I don't have a daughter. I hung up on them at that point.

Every single day for us is a new day full of memories of what we had and reminders of what we don't have. But it's not for them.

They may have been saddened by their lost grandchildren, or lost niece and nephew, but their lives haven't changed in any significant way. Except maybe that they have less contact with us, their daughter and son. And that's because they don't know what to say, say the wrong thing, or simply don't contact us for months on end. Craig has not heard a word from his (step)father since the day of Kees' funeral. That's nearly 3 years.

They all just get on with their lives. They don't even bother to remember that my precious son was born on that day. They have no inkling of how we struggle every day. I don't know why, but it still surprises me and hurts me that they are all so selfish.