Another day

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

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

:::

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

But that's not the case.

:::

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

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

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

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

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

:::

Our trip away wasn't hugely successful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope they read my letter.

:::

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

Another year. Another day.

Autopsies & Futures

We received information about the results of Jet's autopsy last week.

No information, that is.

Yep, that's right. They didn't find anything unusual. Everything was as it should be.

Conclusion: no cause of death found. Jet's death gets added to the Netherlands' SIDS statistics for the year 2009.

The SIDS foundation doctor did have one final suggestion for us. He recommended that we have some genetic tests done. Some of Jet's tissue is still available to the genetic department at one of the hospitals here in Amsterdam, and they can test for one final thing. Whether Jet may have had a genetic predisposition for cardiac arrest.

We have to fill in a lot of forms with family history. Health history. Birth and death history. And the only thing that stands out is that no-one in either of our families had any heart problems. No-one in either of our families has ever had a heart attack.

Mmm ... doesn't bode well.

So we may have to accept the fact that no reason for our children's deaths will ever be found.

Apparently normal, healthy children. All three of them.

:::

So now what? I have absolutely no idea.

When I rang my mother to tell her of Jet's results, she said that we'll have to build a future for the two of us.

Easily said. Not so easy to do.

I mean, how on earth am I supposed to do that? I find it difficult enough to get out of bed at the moment. And then to have a shower. How on earth am I to build a future for the two of us?

And what is there to build a future for? When I know that the best has already been? When no matter what we do together in our life, we both know that it will never get any better than those days when we were a living family with hope for a future with Freyja and then Kees and then Jet?

What's the point of building a future, a life, which will die when we do? What's the point in building assets which will go to charity when we die? What's the point in collecting beautiful things and memories, when we have no-one to collect them for?

Who will cherish the photos of my children once I'm gone?

Who will remember my children once I'm gone?

Who will sort through our things when we're gone?

What is the point?

As you can probably tell, the future seems fairly bleak to me. As a matter of fact, the future is a kind of unreal thing which doesn't really have any meaning for me. I mean, it might never happen. Tomorrow is the only real future for me. Even this afternoon seems far enough away.

Can someone please tell me how to build a future when the foundation you have is so very very painful and sad?

What now?

I'm a bit lost again. I don't know what to do with myself.

I'm a grown woman, but I haven't a clue what to do with my life.

I've done all the things that I'd planned. And some that I hadn't planned, and that I hope will never happen again.

Before, before the dead babies, I'd always assumed something would come up. Something good. Like Craig. I didn't prepare for three dead children.

So what now?

:::

I just walked to the shop to get some wine (for me) and crisps (for Craig), and on the way home I walked past a group of young(er) people, one of whom was speaking with an Australian accent. I noticed immediately (of course) and heard them discussing what restaurant they should go to.

I felt very sad and nostalgic as I walked past. I even stopped and looked back at them just before I got to my front door.

I used to be like that. A Friday evening would always have me out and about with friends doing something.

Nowadays a Friday night is no different to any other night of the week. It's Craig and I at home. With Blair the cat. Watching a DVD. Tonight we watched Mas.ter Chef --- because we love it.

:::

I don't even need to ask "what happened?", because I know what happened. Three dead babies happened.

But I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get on.

I know I'll never get over it. Who would? But I don't know what comes next.

What do I do with the rest of my life (however long that is)? What do I do?

How many holidays can I go on? And they don't excite me any more anyway.

How many books can I buy? And I don't read them any more because I have no concentration.

How many DVD's can I buy? I don't have the concentration to watch those either.

How much rubbish can I buy on E.bay before I realise it's not going to make anything better (and will only anger Craig and empty our wallets)?

How many friends can I visit, and watch them with their children? I can't because it upsets me and makes me angry. That their children live, whilst all of mine are dead. In addition, most of my "friends" don't want to spend any time with me. I don't blame them really. I'm not the most fun person in the world these days.

:::

I'm 41 and I feel like my life is over.

I have no clue how to proceed further.

I don't know where to begin.

Craig makes plans for us for the future, and I just follow. Because secretly I don't believe in the future, our future, anyway.

I'm lost.

Another visit to the doctor

We visited the GP this morning.

Our GP's office has a "walk-in hour" every morning where you don't need an appointment to see one of the GP's. I don't like going, because you never know who you will get. But this morning I had an ear-ache, which had been around for a few days, and as it's Friday, I thought I'd better go.

As luck would have it, we saw our old GP. You may recall a previous post I wrote about her. We haven't seen her since then. Since before Jet was born. We have seen one of her colleagues instead. But this morning, I had the bad luck to be called in by her.

She seemed quite surprised and shocked to see us (Craig was there to hold my hand, as he always is). So she pre-empted our meeting with the statement that she knows that the "one and other" has happened since our last meeting, but that she hasn't the time to go into any of that now because it's so very busy.

That. Was. It.

The "one and other" being of course the birth and death of our son Jet and the birth of her (living) child.

I responded quite calmly by saying that I had an ear-ache and I was concerned I might have an infection. And that was the only reason I was there. She seemed surprised again, but recovered nicely by getting the equipment necessary to investigate the mysterious depths of my ears.

She gave me a prescription for some antibiotics and our meeting ended.

DO. YOU. BELIEVE. IT??

All she had to do was say how sorry she was to hear about Jet's death. That's all. I don't really expect people to understand any more. Although she was our GP from June 2007 until August 2009. She looked after me before, during and after my pregnancy with Kees, and his subsequent death. She looked after me before and during my pregnancy with Jet. She saw us at least once a month for over two years. You'd think she would have some understanding. But apparently not.

I will ensure that when I go back to the GP's office in future, I shall specify that I do not want to see her.

Two years -- yesterday and tomorrow.

We've been having a strange time. With the painter in the house for the last week or so. Now it's all finished and it looks lovely. All clean and white. I'm very pleased with it.

But then ... yesterday was the day two years ago when Kees was peacefully lying on the sofa. Craig had just fed and burped him. Craig went to the toilet to pee and came back to find Kees not breathing. That was the start of the Kees nightmare.

Our beautiful boy. So big and healthy. And of course after two days in the NICU, the machines were turned off and he died. That's two years ago tomorrow.

And tomorrow we go and have lunch with my uncle because it's his birthday next week. So he's having some people over for lunch. Including us. We go to celebrate someone's birthday, someone who is approximately 70 years old, on the day when our son died. The day when he was only 7 weeks old. The irony. The sadness. It just bubbles over inside me.

Our beautiful son. Our gorgeous Kees. Our pride. Our hope for the future. So much love. So much potential.

How terribly, terribly sad.

Dis-organisation and Re-organisation

Our apartment is a mess. A complete mess.

It's being painted at the moment. Inside. All the walls and ceilings. Everything.

Try and picture about 80 square metres, over three levels, with stuff absolutely EVERWHERE. And none of it where it's supposed to be.

Because we finally got our leakage issue resolved, by having the new roof put on late last year, we can finally get everything painted. We can finally get those awful yellow stained ceilings painted. Because there should be no further leakage!! Yay!! I've been waiting over six years to get this done.

But OMG what a mess ...

:::

We're using this time of complete disorganisation as a time to reorganise some of the things in our small and crowded apartment.

A few weeks ago we bought a fabulous tent. But we have storage issues: where to put the tent? It's big - it folds down to 2 metres long. At the moment it's squashed into the (electricity & gas & water) meter cupboard, but that's not an ideal long term solution. So we decided to rent a storage box. Not a big one. Just one big enough to fit our camping items, and some other things we have in the apartment which we have no immediate need for.

And that brings me to baby stuff. We have lots of it. Like LOTS of it.

Most of it belonged to Kees. When my sister and I packed up his stuff after he died, she said I had enough for twins! And we didn't even buy most of it ourselves. We received so many gifts when Kees was born. So many clothes for a 0-3 year old. So many toys. So many things which Kees never got to use. And Jet only got to wear some of the stuff for three days. There's even a fabulous pram travel cover which I purchased via e.bay when we were in the UK for a short while. Also a baby b.jorn carrier, which was also an e.bay purchase. All these things. They represent so many dreams and hopes we had. So many memories of Freyja, Kees and Jet. Yet they're going into storage.

So at the moment there's a stack of about 5 clear plastic boxes full of baby things stacked on top of each other, waiting to be removed to the storage unit tomorrow. And that's where they'll stay for a while. Until we know what happens next in our lives.

:::

But the good things is, our apartment is being painted. The insurance company is paying for it. And by this time next week, it should all be done.

Clean white walls and clean white ceilings. I've been dreaming of this for a long time.

A New Beginning or An Unhappy Ending?

It occurred to me a few days ago that people may not want to hear about my pain, my life, my sadness.

It occurred to me that maybe noone wants to read about it any more.

Perhaps people only want to hear or read when there is hope, when there is the possibility of a happy ending. And that's not really possible for me any more.

I don't get many comments any more on this blog. Of course, it's private - and that's probably the main reason. But I'm sure there are other reasons. And the unhappy ending must be one of them.

Noone wants to read about the sadness and pain I feel every day, when they all know that there is no other baby coming to heal that sadness and pain.

People in real life don't want to talk about my babies. Or their birthdays or their angelversaries.

I spoke to my sister on the telephone a few days ago and we were talking about another lady who lost three children. My sister said (about this woman), "the poor woman". I felt like screaming, 'THAT'S ME!!!", but I didn't.

:::

I finished reading a lovely book a few days ago. Quite an achievement for me, because I find it very difficult to focus on anything or to concentrate on anything for any period longer than 10 minutes.

The book is: The Guern.sey Literary and Po.tato Peel Pie Society.

I recommend this book if you have the same problems as me regarding lack of focus or concentration. In addition, it's simply a delightful book.

Interestingly there were a couple of paragraphs in the book which I felt touched my life very aptly.

The author writes about one of the characters in her novel who survived being held in a WWII concentration camp, and how, on return to her hometown in France, others simply wanted to put everything behind them. The hardship of those war years, the terror they experienced, all of it. Yet the author noted that for the concentration camp survivor that would be impossible to do. Because she lived it. It had become part of who she was. It formed her. It made her. She couldn't pretend it didn't happen. Because it did. That applies to me and my babies too.

I've been through my own hell over the last four years and survived. But I'm different. Those four years of hell formed me. They changed me. They made me what I am. I can't pretend it didn't happen.

At another point, one of the characters gets married. She's 32 and her marriage catches her unawares. She's very excited and wanting to begin this new chapter of her life. She views it as the "beginning".

I used to think that too. I entered married life with an overwhelming excitement. I had no idea what life held for Craig and I, yet I was enormously excited about it. I was sure it could only be GREAT.

Little did I know.

:::

Craig and I are coming up to our fourth wedding anniversary this week. Four years. It seems like yesterday. Yet so much has happened. So incredibly much.

I've been pregnant three times and had three babies. I have buried three babies. A beautiful daughter and two gorgeous sons. Yet Craig and I survived.

We've travelled to so many places -- many travels came about as a result of our losses.

After Freyja died in July 2006, we went to the USA at the beginning of September 2006 and didn't return to Australia until mid-January 2007. Craig got shingles at the tail end of that trip when we were in the Netherlands, so had to fly back with full-blown shingles on his face.

After Kees died in March 2008, we went to Australia to bury him next to his sister. Then we went to France for five weeks in April/May 2008. A beautiful trip with many beautiful memories.

And then of course last year. Our beautiful Jethro, our baby who I was convinced would live. We went to Germany, Denmark, Norway and Sweden -- but only for two weeks. It was too soon after his death. I just wanted to be at home and hide under my blankets in bed.

And in between of course. Ten days in Egypt. Three weeks in Italy. A couple of weeks in the USA. A few short trips to Germany, England, Belgium and France.

We bought some land. We did that after Kees died. In 2008. I suddenly felt the need to find a place where we could eventually put down roots. A place where I had hoped to bring a living rainbow baby to -- that would have been Jet. But that wasn't to be.

We still have the land, and we're hoping to build our home there one day.

Lots of travelling and three dead babies and some land and a beautiful husband. That's four years of marriage.

:::

I received an email a few weeks ago. From an old friend. She's married with four boys.

She'd been on holidays for a number of weeks to visit her family in Perth. She came back and sent me an email saying how "blessed" they'd been.

I can't stand that.

I absolutely loathe it when people say how "blessed" they are. People even say it to me. How "blessed" I am that I have Craig. That we love each other so much. How "blessed" we were that we had our beautiful babies.

And I just want to SCREAM.

Do I really consider the birth of my beautiful babies a BLESSING???? Of course not. Of course not. I'd sooner believe that we've been cursed.

I'm supposed to believe that I'm blessed because I have a house, a loving husband. I'm supposedly blessed because others don't have that??

What are people talking about?

I HAVE THREE DEAD CHILDREN. Where's the blessing in that???

It's like people who have a sick child or spouse and who pray asking for healing. Then when they are healed, they say that "God answered their prayers" and that they have been "blessed".

But what does that mean for all those people who pray for healing, but don't get it? Did God not answer their prayers? Or was his answer "bad luck, no time for this one, it's his fate". Are they not blessed??

So I told my friend that. I told her that I never want to hear about her being "blessed" again, because it only makes me feel cursed.

I know that I'm not blessed, but there's no need to rub my nose in it.

:::

When I die, noone is going to say at my funeral that I lived a full and happy life. Noone will say that. Because I will not have lived a full and happy life. No matter what I do.

There will always be an emptiness in my life. A huge, gaping hole. A hole so big, people could fall in and disappear forever. Despite the laughter, despite the smiles, despite the love. The emptiness will never be filled.

And that emptiness will stop me from living a full and happy life. (Whatever that is ...)

Because I will never see my children grow up. I will never be able to parent them. I will never hear them laugh. Or speak. Or watch them grow. Or take them swimming. Or do any of those other things that other parents take so much for granted.

Craig and I will never even have the opportunity to become grandparents. Never.

They're more likely to say that I was a "strong" person.

That I was a "survivor".

That I was "loyal".

That I loved my husband more than anything in the entire world.

That I missed and loved my children always.