Is blood thicker than water?

I got married when I was 37 years old. My husband was also 37. (We were born in the same year, one day apart -- I am the older by several hours.)

Until my husband and I got together, I had never had any serious boyfriends. I couldn't be bothered. I never met the right man. I was caught up in my career, my life, my travels. I was content. As a result I was very close with my immediate family.

I am the oldest of four children. My parents were very young when I was born, and I was always very close to them. My siblings are my sister L (who is one year younger and is a full-time missionary), my brother F (who is three years younger) and my sister J (who is eight years younger).

Surprisingly, my relationships with these siblings changed significantly when I got married. Actually even before then. When I first got together with my gorgeous man.

I should explain that my entire family was DESPERATE for me to find a man. They were all convinced that if I found the right man, my life would be perfect. (Actually they were partly right: I found the right man, but unfortunately my life is far from perfect.)

So when Craig turned up on the scene, my parents and my siblings all pushed me towards him. (Except my brother, who simply is not interested in what I do, and my father, because I think he realises I'm old enough to know what I want.)

So you'd think they'd be over the moon when Craig and I moved in together and then announced that we were getting married. Right? Wrong. Suddenly their advice to me was: "don't rush into anything" or "maybe he's not the right man for you". Mmm ...

I worked it out eventually. An idea which had seemed perfect in their heads, wasn't really perfect (for them) in practice. You see, a having a smart, educated, professional, single daughter/sister is quite convenient. But I stopped being that when I found Craig. Suddenly, my priorities were completely different. They stopped being my priorities ... Craig (and I) became my priorities instead.

Then, to top it all off, I got pregnant. This was a great shock to everyone (including Craig and myself) because Craig had testicular cancer 10+ years ago and was therefore not going to father any children. Or so we thought. (We're now growing our third baby.) So this suddenly meant that I had ANOTHER priority. A baby. Suddenly I wasn't the sister who could look after the kids at the drop of a hat, or take the kids to football/athletics/netball at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, or the daughter who'd be good for a loan. You get the idea.

The dynamics of my family life was DIFFERENT. And no-one ever really got a chance to get used to that difference, because then our first bomb went off. Freyja was stillborn.

I don't have to explain to any babylost mamas/papas how radically such an event changes you. And your life. Forever. Unfortunately no-one else understands that.

Craig and I chose to have a private "family-only" funeral for Freyja. That means direct family only. Like our parents and siblings only. No-one else. (My mother kept asking if some of the old ladies of her church could come, and I kept having to say no ... she did not get it.)

My sister J (the youngest one) had divorced her husband about a year earlier. She was going out with a new man. Actually he was my ex house-mate. A guy who was one of my best friends as we'd shared a house together for three years. However, Craig and I didn't count him as family, so he was not "invited" to Freyja's funeral. (Talk about opening a can of worms ... I wonder if I'd known then what the outcome of that "decision" would be, whether I'd still have made it.)

My sister J was very unhappy with this (our) "decision". Actually she came to Freyja's funeral with a face that could have killed me in an instant (if I'd let it), and gave everyone filthy looks during the entire proceeding. For the following few days she continued this behaviour.

We left a few days after Freyja's funeral, back to our apartment in Melbourne. (Freyja is buried in the Adelaide Hills, as is her brother Kees.)

My sister L and her husband and children had been in Cairo, Egypt, when they heard that Freyja had died. They flew back to Australia to attend Freyja's funeral. By chance they were flying back to Cairo at the same time that we were flying back to Melbourne. So the whole clan was at the airport. Including J and her new man. But her new man (my good friend) ignored me. He also ignored Craig. When we were all saying goodbye, J said goodbye to me, but she deliberately ignored Craig. Her new man (my good friend) completely ignored me and Craig. He and J hugged and kissed everyone else, but ignored us.

I often go through this in my mind. This is what happened during that week:

** My child had died. Craig's child had died.

** I had carried this child for six and a half months. A beautiful daughter, known to everyone as Freyja since my 20 week scan when we found out we had a baby girl.

** Freyja died inside me.

** I gave birth to a dead baby girl. My dead baby girl.

** Craig and I chose and made arrangements for our baby daughter's funeral.

** And J and her snotty man were "upset".

Right.

That was 2 years and 10 months ago today. Since Freyja died. And since that time, J's snotty man (my ex-good friend) has sent us ONE CARD. After our son Kees died. The card was addressed to me (not to me and Craig) and in that card he had written that he had "cried many tears for me".

Right.

Well. That makes everything ok then, doesn't it?

J apologised to me when I confronted her after Kees died. I told her exactly how petty her complaints were and how rude, insensitive and just plain selfish her behaviour had been. (She and her new man had come to our wedding and not given us a gift -- they were unhappy about my choice of husband.) J came to Kees' funeral. Kees' funeral was very different from Freyja's. Kees' funeral was open to anyone who wanted to come. We didn't "invite" anyone. We just told the world in general what day and what time the funeral would be. A notice was put in the newspaper. There were no invitations. However, I did tell J that if her man wanted to come, he had to apologise for his behaviour first. He did not apologise. He did not come to Kees' funeral. He was "at home" (because I asked J). A number of weeks after Kees' funeral we received his card. The card which was addressed to me. Not to Craig and me ... just to me.

My sister J used to be one of my very best friends. The eight years difference in age never really mattered much once we were both adults.

My sister J's new man also used to be one of my very best friends. We'd been through a lot together.

I'd been very supportive of them both when they got together after J's divorce. I was the only one who supported them out of our family.

But clearly I didn't matter in the end. My daughter didn't matter. My husband didn't matter. My son didn't matter. Only they mattered.

Today is 2 years and 10 months since that awful day that Freyja was born. My life is so different now. My relationships with all my family members (not only with J) are so different now. My relationships with my friends are so different now. I am so different now.

I don't have any contact with J. I have heard nothing from her man in 2 years and 10 months with the exception of that rather offensive card. They are living together now - J and her new man. They have a baby girl. A baby who lived (of course). Everything is perfect for them (of course). Everyone has forgiven them for their appalling behaviour towards us (of course). Everyone thinks we should just "forgive and forget".

But I can't.

It was unpardonable.

The only thing that anyone can do for my dead babies is show respect. Respect for Freyja and Kees, and respect for us and our memories of them.

In their complete and utter selfishness, they couldn't even do that.

Where was God?

I got a letter from my uncle yesterday. His only child, his son, died last year. His son (my cousin) was 27 years old and died very unexpectedly. He got up in the morning, had a seizure and died almost instantly. The autopsy showed that he had a blood clot.

I wrote a letter to my uncle earlier this year to tell him how sad I was about my cousin, how sad I was (and still am) for him, and how I understand what it is like to lose a child.

Yesterday (five months after I sent the letter) I received his response.

It appears my uncle has been "born again". He is now a fervent God supporter. The entire letter (one page typed A4) is all about how it is "Gods will" and how we should "trust God" and how "God knows best" and how his son (and my children) are in a "better place" where we will "join them one day". I'm not joking. The. Entire. Letter.

My husband found the letter to be rather offensive. I, on the other hand, just wanted to throw it in the bin.

You see I know all about fervent God supporters. I was born into a family of fervent God supporters (and so was my husband). My parents were members of a very strict and conservative protestant church. As children and teenagers we were all dragged to church twice every Sunday. We learned our bibles, our doctrine, our theology. Even today, when I am no longer a fervent God supporter, I can argue doctrine and theology with the best of them.

Although I really only stopped going to church regularly in my mid 20's, and really only stopped being a fervent God supporter after Kees died, I always had problems with Christianity. Even when I was a teenager. In our church, many young people "professed their faith" at about age 18 and then became fully fledged members of that church. I was no different. However, I had questions. Questions that the leadership of that church could never really answer to my satisfaction. For instance, what about women in church leadership? What about gay church members? What about the exclusivity of that church? Questions which were never answered and which today I know they will never be able to answer.

To give you an idea of the kind of fervent God supporters my family are:

** my father is a lay preacher at his local church and he is the chaplain at the local district hospital;

** one of my sisters and her husband are full-time Christian missionaries with an international organisation (for which they are paid no money - it is entirely voluntary - they are "sponsored" by others); and

** my brother was a pastor in several churches for about 12 years before he came out of the closet and told us he was gay.

This is my family of fervent God supporters.

My uncle obviously finds comfort in the bible's promises. Interestingly, until his son died, he was a lapsed Catholic. And I mean "lapsed". I don't think that man set foot in a church more than once a year (if that) for the last 40 years or so .... maybe for weddings and funerals. But now he really believes that his son is with God in heaven. That it was God's will that his son died. That his son's allocated time on this world was up because God deemed it so.

The church in which I was brought up believes in the doctrine of "predestination". Basically, that means that God has already decided and knows exactly who will be part of his "crowd" -- you know, that crowd of chosen people who will join God in heaven. Predestination means that God knows all about you before you are born - he knows everything about you (including your end and when you will join him). I always thought "predestination" was a bunch of crap because it ignored one very vital thing - free will. And there are many people who agree with me about free will because many other churches don't choose the doctrine of predestination to form part of their beliefs.

After Freyja died, some conservative Christian friends (who believe in predestination) said to me that Freyja had lived her "predetermined" time on earth. That God had already decided before she was ever conceived that she would live in my womb only for 28 weeks and then die. I could have hit them for saying such a thing. But they truly believed that such a "truth" would comfort me ... I wonder if it would comfort them if one (or more) of their four beautiful boys died?

You see the problem with the idea of predestination is that supposedly God gave humans free will. Supposedly God wants humans to "choose" him. How can a person who is on the point of death, who has either (i) never heard of God, or (ii) deliberately not chosen for God, then die and go to heaven?? All on the basis of predestination? Doesn't work. I know for a fact that my cousin NEVER EVER went to church. He thought all religion was ridiculous and a waste of time. He did not believe in God. I know this for a fact. But my uncle believes that he is in heaven.

I spoke to my sister (the missionary) about this. I said that I didn't believe for one second that my cousin, in his last conscious second(s) of life, suddenly came to understand the "truth" about God and redemption and forgiveness. I said that I thought my uncle's belief was mistaken. She said to me that as long as the thought gave my uncle comfort, that's all that mattered. (That was a fairly stunning statement from my fundamentalist bible-bashing sister ...) The same sister has also said to me on several occasions that my cousin and my children don't belong in that cemetery on the hill ... my children belong in my arms, and my cousin belongs with his father and his girlfriend. The way things are now is not the way things should be. That's what she said. (Obviously that's also what I believe.)

Which brings me to "God's plan".

For some stupid reason, some people think that it might comfort us (the bereaved parents) to know that our children's death is part of "God's plan". Right.

What. A. Bunch. Of. Crap.

Or of course there's the other comfort -- the one that says God is not responsible for the "bad" things that happen in the world. Those bad things happen either because of (i) the Devil, or (ii) man's flawed character. Because of course God only does "good" things and cannot be "blamed" for bad things.

Perhaps we should remember that God is described in the bible as "omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent". In every-day English, that means God is all-knowing, all-present and all-powerful. That means God KNOWS EVERYTHING, he is EVERYWHERE and he can DO ANYTHING. The bible promises us that God can beat the Devil. God can overcome ALL EVIL. In fact, the bible promises that those who believe (in God) need only ask, and God will give.

What. A. Bunch. Of. Crap.

I never asked for much. For the safety and protection of my family. Doesn't everyone do that? For the forgiveness of my sins. That's pretty normal too. And of course for the lives of my children. But I never heard from God about that.

Or maybe I did.

Maybe it was "God's will" and part of his "plan" that my children die. Maybe he did answer my prayers but he just didn't give me the answer I wanted. Because of course we are taught that God ALWAYS answers prayers. (My missionary sister tells me that ALL HER PRAYERS are answered by God.) Perhaps God knew that my children would die, and because it was part of his plan (predestined if you will) he let it happen.

Remember, God knows EVERYTHING, he is EVERYWHERE and he can DO ANYTHING. That means he knew what was happening, he heard my prayers, he could have saved my children's lives. But he didn't.

I could write a book on this -- referencing everything with appropriate bible verses (I really do know my theology and doctrine). But there's no point. It won't stop people saying stupid things to me and my husband.

Things like "at least Freyja and Kees are in a better place". WRONG. The best place for Freyja and Kees is in the arms of their parents. And anyone who argues against that will probably get a slap around the head.

Or "you will see them again in heaven". I don't believe my children are in heaven. Because I don't believe in an all-knowing, all-present, all-powerful God. The God I believed in was a benevolent, loving and kind God. But obviously that God doesn't exist.

There's the old stand-by, "it must be part of God's plan". Why on earth I should feel comforted by that one is completely beyond me! I wonder if this third child inside me is part of that plan too ... will he die too???

My mum recently said to me that she would pray for this baby. I said that seemed like a waste of time because all our previous prayers were useless - Freyja and Kees still died. But mum said she would "pray that this child living would fit in with God's plan". So she believes that my child's life (or death) has already been determined by God. That's what she's praying for. She's not praying for a healthy long life for my baby son. She's praying that a life (any life) for my baby son will be part of God's plan. So I guess she will accept a death as part of the plan too. I could hit her, but she lives on the other side of the world, so she's lucky.

My thoughts about God these days can be summed up as follows:

(i) God is omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent and can save lives at will; or

(ii) God has a plan, and my children living is not part of it; or

(iii) God is NOT omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent; or

(iv) God simply doesn't care; or

(v) God does not exist.

Whichever way I look at it, my children are dead, and God didn't do anything about it.

Maybe Douglas Adams was right in his book series "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Maybe the Earth was created as part of an experiment to find the solution to a burning question. Maybe we should be looking to mice, instead of to God.

A leak in our apartment

There's a leak in our apartment.

It's been there for a few years now. Actually for over 5 years.

It pre-dates my husband and I being together. It pre-dates Freyja and Kees. It's just there all the time. We've been trying to get it fixed for the last two years ... since we've been back in Amsterdam. (Obviously I'd been trying to get it fixed before then, but without luck.)

We live in an apartment building which is split into 3 apartments and a dentists office.

Our leak is coming from the roof. The roof of the whole building. This means we can't just get it fixed. We have to discuss it with the other owners and get repairs approved. Five years I've been trying to get this fixed.

I've had plumbers come and look. Some of them climb up on the roof (five levels high) and tell me it's too high for them. Or that they have a fear of heights ... Or haven't I got a husband who can get up with there with some putty??

But the fact is that they're just not really interested in poking around in my awkward old roof to see if they can find the leak. If I'm really lucky, they'll charge me a fortune, smear some putty around and take off ... leaving me with the off-chance that it might actually be fixed. It's not of course. Fixed that is.

My husband has seized upon this issue like a man possessed. Our fellow owners are not that keen to spend any money on this. Of course not - they don't have water dripping through their ceiling on to their furnishings. They are a bit like ostriches ... they stick their heads in the sand and hope that when they pull their heads out the leak will have been miraculously fixed. (I don't believe in miracles anymore.)

So anyway, it started raining the day before yesterday. Of course our leak is letting in lots and lots of water. My husband immediately got worked up about it and wanted to drag the chairman of our owners association up to our apartment to personally witness the affected soggy area. However, he wasn't around. So we took photos and emailed them instead.

We need to get this leak fixed this summer. I don't think our ceiling/roof will last through another winter. I keep waiting for the ceiling to collapse completely one of these days. Our bathroom is directly above the affected area of the ceiling and I'm waiting for the bath to come crashing down ...

Isn't it amazing what we get worked up about???

I'm awed to think that this leak has been around since long before I'd even thought of Freyja, let alone Kees. I'm stunned at the amount of energy this stupid leak is taking up in our lives. I'm amazed at how our fellow owners can just ignore what is happening to our building. They surely wouldn't have such a laissez-faire attitude if it was their ceiling sagging with water and dripping onto their furnishings???? I mean, they acknowledge how awful and inconvenient it is, but really, it's not their problem.

A bit like my children I guess.

We forget what islands people can be sometimes. I forget that it requires effort on someone's part to connect with another person. And sometimes people don't want to - because it's too difficult. It's easier to just turn your back and focus on your own island (oops, I meant life ...)

Connection with people requires effort and focus and a desire for a connection.

But sometimes life is like a leak ... it's easier to ignore it and assume that it will just get fixed or otherwise go away.

Pretending a life

It happened again yesterday.

We went out for dinner to one of our favourite Thai restaurants here in Amsterdam. They do yummy, yummy food. I've been going there for about 8 years (except for the two years I was in Australia). They always remember me and ask how I'm doing. Yesterday was no exception.

I hadn't been there since before Kees died. They knew about Kees. We'd been there for the last time about a month or so before he was born. So last night of course they asked, "How is the baby?" And then I have the usual conversation. "He is bad ... it is very bad". Then there's confusion, until I clarify that our baby died. They ask whether we have moved out of the area because we hadn't been for so long and I explained that after our son died, we really just stayed at home.

Then came the usual "Oh, have you heard about X?" X is an ex-colleague who used to live above the Thai restaurant. That's how I ended up going to this restaurant. X and I used to be good friends and visited that restaurant together many times. He's since moved up in the world, become a partner in the firm I used to work for and has a 'significant other' with whom he's had multiple babies (who all live). Yesterday was no exception. I had previously heard on the grapevine that his significant other was pregnant again, and (sure enough) the lovely people at the Thai restaurant told me that they'd had their third, a little girl. First two boys and then a little girl.

I hate hearing stories like that.

It's not that I'm jealous. Although I am a bit. It's not that I'm envious. Although I am a bit of that too. It's just that every time I hear that I think "why me?" Why do I lose all my babies? Why can't I be like them????

This morning (just a few minutes ago, when it was 4.14 am - we wake up at odd hours) my husband said, "they didn't even send us a birth card". It's the custom in this country to announce the birth of a new baby by sending a birth card to every person you know - we did it with Kees. But he's right - we didn't get a birth card. They sent us a birth card for their first two, but not for this one. That's significant I think. It means we don't rate on their birth list or probably their Christmas list any more. We're not "friends" any more.

It's been nearly three years since we lost Freyja on that awful day. And just over a year since we buried Kees. That's a long time. And in that time we've lost a lot of friends. In fact most of our pre-Freyja friends are gone. The ones that hung on after Freyja died, have pretty much drifted away since Kees left. Because they don't know what to say and they don't know what to do, and in the end it's easier for them to just let us go.

It must be fairly easy for them to do this. Because they've pretty much all done it. It's like they've been waiting too long for me to "recover" and they want to get on with their lives and I don't really "fit" in it any more. They don't understand what it's like to lose a child and they don't understand that I'll never "recover" to the extent that they expect. They don't understand that I will wake up every day for the rest of my life thinking of my children, and that my last thoughts in the evening will be of them ... for the rest of my life. They don't understand.

I do understand. I understand about them. I've been watching them drift away from me for nearly three years. And I know how I could have prevented it ... the drifting away. I should have stopped being honest ... I should have pretended.

Being honest about your feelings is highly over rated. The fact of the matter is that noone really wants to know how you feel. If you have a handful of people who really care about how you're doing, then you're pretty fortunate. If you have one person who cares above everything about how you're doing then you're amongst the most fortunate in the world. I have Craig - thank goodness.

But yes ... I should have pretended. And I did for a while. After all, most of us are brought up to ensure that we're considerate of others, that we shouldn't show our burdens to the world, you know, that sort of stuff. So after Freyja died, and once I was able to get my feelings under "control" again, I mostly reverted to the Mirne I used to be. And that was acceptable to mostly everyone. I was reassured that I could try again, it was probably for the best, at least I had my health, the usual meaningless plattitudes.

People seemed to be generally reassured that I would be OK. Not that I was --- as if I could be OK again.

But then Kees came along and also died.

And then I really lost it.

The "OK-ness" in me was very much based on hope. Hope that even though I'd lost Freyja, I would be able to have another child. Not one who would replace Freyja (because that can never happen), but a child who would let me be his mother.

And after Kees died, all the pretense died with him. I couldn't pretend any more. I was so sad that I couldn't pretend that I was OK. Because I wasn't OK. And I was so ANGRY that I couldn't pretend I was OK. Because I was far from OK. I couldn't function as me any more, because I wasn't really me any more. I couldn't make inane small talk with friends because it was inane and unimportant. I couldn't do so much of anything really. I fell completely apart. I had a complete breakdown.

The Mirne that was me got lost, and I think some of her is gone forever.

So I understand all those people, those friends, who drifted away. They don't know this Mirne any more. They don't know what to say to this Mirne. They don't know what to do with this Mirne. See my life might have stopped, and fallen to bits, and just generally gone to shit, but theirs has continued. They've just continued with their lives ... they've gotten married and had babies and had babies and had more babies. I've also had babies, but mine died. Doesn't really make for good conversation. It makes them feel awkward. And really, they don't want that. Life's too short for all that. So they've left and their lives are now no longer part of mine.

A few days ago I woke up thinking that I really should give the pretense another go. That I should throw myself into it. Really, really into it. Like immerse myself in a pretend life where all those awful things haven't happened. Pretend that the last three years haven't happened. And for a short while (very short ... only a matter of minutes really) I thought that if I could do that, everything would go back to the way it was. But the illusion didn't last. Of course it won't. It wouldn't change anything. It would probably only spiral me into another breakdown even faster than last time.

:::::

We have some guests staying with us at the moment. Some of my husband's young relatives from Australia. Just for a couple of days.

They know about our babies. They've seen the beautiful photos of Kees hanging on the walls in our house. They've seen the names of our children spelled out in colourful wooden letters hanging on the wall above our lounge room door.

And yet they say nothing.

NOTHING.

Because, you see, they're part of that conspiracy. That conspiracy of friends and relatives. That conspiracy where they pretend that nothing has changed. That conspiracy where they think that if they pretend long enough, it will be so.

If only that was the case.

Dark nights

Just recently I've been crying. A lot. At night. I get scared and sad and I cry.

During the day I seem to be ok. I seem to be ok with my growing belly. I sometimes feel the baby moving now. Not much, but I've got an anterior placenta and I've got a few extra inches of fat as well. So I'm not too worried. During the day that is.

At night I worry. I remember my pregnancy with Freyja and I remember my pregnancy with Kees. I remember they were normal, healthy pregnancies. I remember there was nothing wrong there. But then I remember the outcome. I remember being at the Royal Women's Hospital in Melbourne when they couldn't find Freyja's heartbeat. I remember they didn't know what to do. They didn't know how to tell me. I remember those feelings of utter panic and denial whilst waiting for my husband to join me. I remember having to tell him that our beautiful baby had died whilst inside me. I remember his howl.

Kees was much, much worse. He came home for 7 weeks. We got to love him and watch him and cuddle him ... and then he left us. After several traumatic days which are forever etched into my heart and mind. Although I keep most of those traumatic memories locked away because otherwise I'll lose myself completely.

At the end of last year I had a breakdown. It was a fairly complete breakdown - I turned into a bit of a gibbering idiot. I didn't finish sentences, I didn't remember anything, I just didn't. Everything was too much. And now I'm feeling like I'm on that slippery slide again. The fear and sadness I feel is threatening to overwhelm me again. The fear I have for this baby (and for us) is truly scary.

What if he doesn't live? What if he doesn't live??? After all, why would he live? His brother and sister didn't? Why would this little baby boy growing inside me be any different??

To be truthful, pregnancy scares the shit out of me. This is my third one, and I have never yet started or finished a pregnancy feeling happy or relaxed or satisfied. I've always been scared ... of what might happen. They say knowledge is power. But in my case, I know way too much. Way too much. How I envy those women who walk through their pregnancies in innocence. They don't know that one out of 140 pregnancies (after 20 weeks) ends with a dead baby. I wish I could be like that.

Even when Kees was born, I wasn't ready to relinquish my fear yet. Because babies die after birth too (SIDS, etc). But we followed all the safe sleeping guidelines, we had a thermometer in his bedroom to avoid overheating. He had a breathing monitor in his cot. Yet it still all went horribly wrong.

Is it any wonder that I have dark nights where all I seem to do is cry and fear everything?

I am 22 weeks today. Under Australian law, this little boy inside me is already a legal person and has been so for two weeks. I don't know if that's the same here in the Netherlands. Probably not. I fear so much that something else will go wrong. I know that so many things can go wrong. I know all too well the many things that could go wrong with me which could cause this baby to die. And all the things that could go wrong with the baby which could cause him to die. And what would I do then?

I felt fears when I was pregnant with Freyja. I had a friend who had lost her baby the year before. I knew of the risks involved with pregnancy. I made the mistake of voicing those fears aloud to my mum. She said that "those things don't happen in our family" and that I should stop worrying because "it will be bad for the baby". As if. As if my fears could harm my baby in any way. If that was the case, my fears would have determined this child's fate a long time ago.

Meant to be

That's one of those statements that gets bandied around a lot: "if it's meant to be …" or "maybe it's just not meant to be".

The people who say this to me must assume that such a concept gives me comfort or assurance. As if it's out of my hands and it's already been decided and I should accept whatever happens knowing that "it's meant to be". Hmmmph.

I don't agree with these sorts of statements at all. I never assume that something is "meant to happen" or not. I believe that people make their own choices in life. I believe that circumstances and events lead us to certain choices. I believe that babies dying are generally not the result of an event or circumstance (obviously there are exceptions).

I will always believe that my daughter Freyja should be here with me now. She was born (and died) when I was 28 weeks pregnant. She weighed 1.4 kg. She was about 40 cm long. She would have lived if only she had been born as a preemie. There was nothing physically wrong with her. Someone saying to me "It wasn't meant to be" is not helpful. In fact, it really just wants to make me hit them! What do they mean anyway? It wasn't meant to be …

My son Kees was born alive and healthy. He was induced at 37 weeks, and was a healthy 3.5 kg and 52 cm long. No physical problems whatsover. Only he died 7 weeks later from a freak virus which attacked his heart and caused it to stop. In other babies, that same virus would attack their lungs and cause them to have a cold and get the sniffles. But no, my son had to be the one baby in 40,000 who was affected in this way and who died as a result. Meant to be???? I bloody think not!

Maybe people mean that if something happens which you can't do anything about it must have been "meant to be". But then in the same situation (where a baby is seriously ill) and the doctors are able to save that baby, people also say "it was meant to be".

I can tell you now that my son died because his brain was deprived from oxygen for too long a period. And that happened because whilst the paramedics were working on him, they could not intubate him properly. It took them over 40 minutes to intubate him. During that time they did (sporadic) CPR on him which obviously was not sufficient to keep his brain functioning properly. (If I wanted to, I could blame them, and sometimes in my nightmares, I do. I blame them. But it's all a bit useless now isn't it? Assigning blame after the death is a waste of time. He's gone and that's all that matters.) Babies get horrible viruses all the time, but they don't always die you know. Mostg of the time they end up in hospital (maybe in NICU) but they live. I guess that was all "meant to be" too.

So how come people feel that it's ok to say to me, a mother of two dead babies, that it was all "meant to be"? Where do they get the nerve to say this to me???

I told a friend recently that I am pregnant. She was very happy and excited for me, and (as usual) seemed convinced that this baby would be "the one" (she was convinced that Kees was the one too). I reminded her that nothing was guaranteed and that we were reserving our happiness and would wait and see. She said to me: "Well if this baby doesn't live, I guess it wasn't meant to be".

What does that mean? Does it mean that I wasn't meant to have any children? Because of course it's too late for that, I already have children - they are just not alive. Does it mean that I was always meant to have dead children?? Does it mean that no matter what I do (or don't do) the outcome would have always been the same???

I don't believe in fate. I don't believe in karma. I don't believe that my future has already been determined. I have never believed that.

I dislike it intensely that my mother will pray to her god that this time our child will live. I reminded her that prayer didn't help or work with Freyja or Kees, but she says instead that "she will pray that this child living will fit in with god's plans for this child". As if my child's life or death has already been determined -- by something out there (whether it be god or fate or what). I don't believe that. That means that I could abuse this pregnancy in whatever way I wanted to (by drugs, alcohol, etc) and it would make no difference to the outcome. It would mean that this child's fate has already been decided. I will not believe that.

It was not meant to be that Freyja never got to take her first breath. It was not meant to be that her brother joined her in the grave at the age of 7 weeks. It was not meant to be that I suffer this heart ache every day for the rest of my life. It was not meant to be that I see my gorgeous husband suffer every day for the rest of his life. These things were never meant to be.

Do people even know what they're saying when they say these bloody stupid things????

"Congratulations"

A young colleague walked up to me this morning in the office and said to me, "May I congratulate you on your pregnancy?" and she said it with a big smile on her face. I said to her that really, I'd rather she wait with her congratulations until we saw what happened at this end of this pregnancy. Because, as I said, there are no guarantees and we've already buried two children.

Why, oh why, is it that EVERYONE (excluding other babyloss mamas/papas) thinks that just because a babyloss mama is pregnant again, she has "gotten over" her loss(es), or it will help her get over her loss. Why?

Are these people really so insensitive as to think for even a second that I must be "better" and "ready to move on" and that's why I'm pregnant again???

And why, oh why, are they all so convinced that this pregnancy will end differently from the others? Do they know something I don't?

Don't they realise that if Freyja had lived, the likelihood of my having any further pregnancies would have been greatly diminished? Kees might not have existed and it is extremely likely that this third pregnancy would not have happened. I don't think these thoughts occur to them.

Doesn't it cross their minds that if I already had a living child, I might not be putting myself through ALL THIS AGAIN??? I mean, really, how many mums/dads do you know who, if they already had a living child, but then buried two babies, would try again???? If we had a living child there is NO WAY that I would put myself through this again after having buried two children. NO WAY.

I visited my dentist about a month ago -- just for a check up. She knows my pregnancy history. I told her I was pregnant with my third. She gave me the usual congratulations, I responded with the usual, "There are no guarantees". Then she said, "Will you try to adopt if this doesn't work?" I was quite at a loss of what to say. She said it to me as if adoption was the logical next step. As if it was part of a process. As if it was natural. I have nothing against adoption at all. But it's not what we want. I want a child who is a brother/sister to Freyja and Kees. I want a child who is a part of me. This is not a "process". There is no logical next step. In fact, there is nothing logical about any of this.

There is no plan here. There is no logic. There is no next step. When a baby dies, there is just an end. An end to so many things. And usually whatever happens next is not something that is "planned" or something that is "logical". There is no "next" step.

When a baby dies there is grief, grief and more grief. There is loss and more loss … loss of hope, loss of love, loss of trust, loss of future, loss of self, loss of relationships, loss of confidence, the list is almost endless. Then, if we're fortunate, there is re-building. A re-building of a new life within the reality and boundaries of our loss.

A new living baby will never make up for what I have lost -- a living baby may give me hope and a new future as the parent of a living child -- but congratulations aren't necessary.

In fact, I wonder whether I'll ever be in a frame of mind to accept congratulations for this pregnancy - no matter what the outcome. I know that I wouldn't be pregnant with this third child if my first and second children weren't dead and buried.

Somehow congratulations don't seem appropriate.