How?

I've been going a bit crazy.

In my mind.

Too much thinking.

We've had some bad news. About Craig's health. Unexpected news. Upsetting news. Health issues which will not go away or get better.

The car has needed more work done. Expensive work.

I still haven't heard from my uncles, except when they rang to say their neighbours were complaining about our car. This is the third (or fourth) time their neighbours have complained about our car, so we'll be parking our car elsewhere from now on.

I still want a child.

But I don't know how to get one.

We could get pregnant with another child, our fourth. But I'm just plain scared another child of ours would die. There's no reason it would, but there's no reason it wouldn't.

We could adopt. But I truly don't believe that we will ever be approved for adoption.

We could use a donor embryo, or take our chances with donor sperm or a donor egg. But Craig fears babies.

Yet, I still desperately want to parent a living child.

So, how?

Will I really spend the rest of my life missing my children? Regretting many, many things? And yearning for a living child?

What an absolutely miserable existence that will be. For me. For Craig.

But all I'm doing at the moment is existing. From day to day. And it's awful. It really is. I have no joy in my life. I have no hope in my life. I see no future. It seems pretty pointless really.

Except. Except, I have Craig. But when I tell him that I am sad, or that I have no hope, or that I see no future, he says that I am enough for him, and therefore he should be enough for me.

How do I explain? How can I say that it's not about him not being enough, that it's about this great big gaping hole in my life where there should be a child? How? Because he does not understand. I've tried to explain, but he does not get it.

And everyone around us, they're just getting on with their lives. They and their children and their grandchildren, they're just getting on with it. And I hate it. I hate it that they all have what I should have. What I had. What I want.

And other people have their babies. And their pregnancies. And their healthy newborns. And I can't stand it. And I'm supposed to be happy for them. But how can I be? How? When I'm so absolutely miserable myself?

I had a meeting with a doctor last week. One of the doctors who will decide whether I'm eligible for a pension. He asked if I took painkillers. And how often I took them. And whether they helped. What an idiot. And these are the people who make decisions which will irrevocably affect my life.

F*ck. My life sucks. No other way to say it.

Over-react

Does anyone else have this?

I over-react to just about everything these days. I know I'm over-reacting because in the old days (ie. before 3 dead children) I could ride just about anything out. Now I freak out at the slightest sign of something "bad".

For example, on the day after christmas, whilst our car was parked in a private hotel car park, someone crashed into it and quickly drove away.

The next morning Craig went to bring the car round, and he found the smashed up bumper and rear light. He was very angry (he also over-reacts) and came to tell me. I quickly became very anxious and upset and went to share that anger and anxiety with the hotel manager, who (obviously) denied any responsiblity. I then shared my anger and anxiety with my two uncles, who looked at me like I was a freak.

We haven't heard anything from my uncles since. Really. We haven't heard from them since we dropped them at their home on the 27th of December. I've sent them two emails, both requiring a response, but to no avail.

I know, people will say I shouldn't read anything into it. But. I know them well. Very well. Their noses are very easily put out of joint. They will think that both Craig and I over-reacted. That we behaved unreasonably. And that we were rude to the hotel manager. In addition, because the trip was a gift from them to us, they will think the way we behaved reflects poorly on them, and that we have been ungrateful.

Seriously.

No matter how many times I tell people about post traumatic stress disorder, they don't really get it. Or they don't really believe it. Because we look normal, we look ok, so we must be ok. And it's been a while now since our last baby died, so we must be getting better.

Really.

Both Craig and I respond to situations very differently now. We were both very senior in our professions and responsible for ourselves, clients/patients and junior staff.

Nowadays, we can barely be responsible for our cats!

But, how to explain that to others? How to explain to someone when we "over-react" that it's because we still suffer the effects of PTSD?

I don't think they really care. Otherwise they wouldn't respond to us the way they do.

Does anyone else have this?

Another year slips by

I've been seeing a lot of other blog posts saying goodbye to the year 2010. Maybe because 2010 was a bad year, or maybe because they expect 2011 to be a better year.

I've thought about that. And I've concluded that maybe 2010 is now the norm for me. Because it wasn't really bad, but it wasn't really good either. It was just blah.

What if 2010 has set the standards for the years to come?

:::

None of our babies died in 2010.

I didn't get pregnant in 2010. (I faithfully take that little pill every morning.)

Neither of us got seriously ill in 2010. (Except that I've gotten slightly battier, and probably still am getting battier every day.)

It was a year in which we remembered all three of our children, every day.

It was a year in which we planned some trips, cancelled some, and went on some.

It was a year when Craig and I had many cardio-related tests done, hoping that they would provide some answers. Unfortunately, there were none.

It was a year when I got fatter. I'm now even fatter than I was during my biggest and fattest pregnancy.

I didn't go to work a single day.

I talked Craig into getting rid of an old sofa, and replacing it with a newer one.

We bought our pop-up caravan. Which then costs us lots to make it road-worthy. Sigh. Typical.

I talked Craig into getting another cat: Ferry.

I don't think we made any new friends, but I don't know whether we lost any old ones either. (Most of the old ones are already long gone.) Perhaps we grew further away from old friends. Not surprising really. They're busy with their growing families. We don't fit into their lives with our dead children.

It was a year which brought me closer to accepting that I will probably never parent a living child again. Which broke my heart, and continues to do so every day.

It was a year which made me doubt the future. What future?

It was a year which made me angrier. Angry that my children are all dead. Angry that NO-ONE KNOWS WHY THEY DIED. Angry that other people's children live.

It was a year when our apartment finally got its long-awaited coat of paint. (After many years of our roof leaking.)

It was a year which did not have any defining moments for me. No moments of inspiration. No moments of wonder. I had one moment of hope, but that was extinguished pretty darn quick.

2010 has not been a year for me of any memorable events. Nothing that stands out.

All that's happened is that I've gotten another year older. Which to me means that I'm another year further away of ever becoming a parent again. No wonder I hate getting older.

:::

The problem is that it's been a pretty "normal" year for us. Normal post-dead babies that is.

My concern is this: what if this is all there is?

What if 2010 is representative of all the other years to come?

What if it never gets any better than this?

What if this blah existence is all we get?

What if there are no inspiring moments?

What if there is nothing wonderful to look forward to?

What if my cats are the only beings I get to love, other than Craig?

What if that is not enough for me???

What then?

Ruins

I've been thinking lately. Like I always do. About life, and everything.

It sucks. Yes, it does.

I wish I could turn back the clock. Because if I could, I would not have any children. Not biological ones anyway. Maybe Craig and I would adopt. At an age when we would be eligible to do so. And not be rejected because of being baby-lost crazy.

My babies made me happy for such a short time. Much too short. And that happiness was not enough to last me for a lifetime. Not enough.

I didn't get pregnant to have dead babies. Not. No.

I wanted my children to live. To laugh. To love. I wanted life for them.

Instead all I got was death.

And it's shit.

It ruined my life, you know. Death did. Death took my three children, and left me with the pieces of my life. And, guess what? The pieces don't make a whole any more. There are gaping big holes in my life.

How the hell am I supposed to "get on" with my life now?

People think that. That it's been "long enough". That I should be "over it". They only see the surface me. They don't ever see the real me. The crazy baby-lost me. The me who is full of holes. No. They don't.

I can honestly say that the life I had, the life I should have had, it's gone. It was ruined. It was destroyed. It fragmented into tiny, little pieces. And it can't be put back together. Not the way it was. No.

And you know what? I still can't cope with babies, and children, and families. I still can't. My heart breaks when I see a little girl. I'm filled with jealousy when I see a pregnant woman. I'm envious of all parents of living children. I'm still full of rage that my three children are dead.

But I'm not allowed to be. Not any more. No. I'm supposed to be "over it", "getting on with it". After all, can't live my whole life in grief and anger and sadness. Although I don't know why not.

How is it that people who don't have dead children do not comprehend that I will love and miss my children every single day for the rest of my life? How is it that they do not understand that I will cry for them forever?

I hoped that I would avoid babies and children by going away this xmas. But it wasn't to be. There were some people at the hotel we were staying at who had a baby and a little girl. Babies do it for Craig, and little girls certainly do it for me.

Seeing other people being happy with their children makes me want to scream and cry at the same time.

I wonder if that will ever change.

I wonder what will happen with the ruins of my life.

I wonder.

Age or death?

Sometimes people say things that completely stun me. Really.

:::

For years my mum has been saying "you have to get older or you die young".

She says this in response to people who complain about getting older. Or about any of the side effects of getting older.

For instance, if you complain about getting grey hair, or wrinkles, or whatever. She'll then say, "well, it's either that or you die young."

I've always thought it a singularly inappropriate thing to say.

I think my mother was surprised when age caught up with her. She always focussed on her youth, even when I was already an adult. Then suddenly, when she realised that she really was "older", she came up with this saying. And she's been saying it ever since.

But.

My children died. Then my cousin died (suddenly, at age 27). And now that saying of hers is even more inappropriate than it was before.

It annoys me INTENSELY when she says it. And I wonder why she herself doesn't realise how utterly inappropriate it is to say such a thing ... especially to ME.

:::

My father said to me some years ago, (I think it was after Freyja died or Kees died) that as you get older, more and more people around you die.

I know what he means by that, but (again) it doesn't really seem an appropriate thing to say to a woman who has buried her babies.

We had lunch with a friend last week who said the same thing. She told us that her husband's cousin, a woman of about my age with a long history of serious mental illness, committed suicide.

Then my friend said that as she is getting older, she hears more of "these types" of stories, "like your children's deaths", she said.

WTF???

:::

When people say things like this to me, a whirlwind of emotions swirl around in my head. Confusion. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. Utter amazement.

I am continually stunned that anyone who knows me, and who knows about my children, would say such insensitive and stupid things.

Do people really think that the deaths of my children are part and parcel of getting older?

Do they really think that it is "normal" for babies or children to die?

That as you get older, more and more babies or children will die?

WTF?

:::

Let me say this:

** it is not normal for babies to die.

** it is not normal for young people to die.

** it may be the case that more people die around you as you get older, but that's probably because your peers are aging with you, and are dying as a result of age, disease, accident, whatever.

I think that the next time someone says something like this to me, I might lose my self-control and snap at them.

Why, oh why, is it always me who has to bite my tongue, when it is others who say insensitive and stupid things?

Happier?

Whilst returning from a snowy walking expedition in Amsterdam yesterday, we met one of our neighbours.

Her daughter-in-law had a baby boy two weeks after Kees was born. She had been keeping up with us during my pregnancy, and was happy for us when Kees was born. She also shared the news of her new grandson when he was born.

Obviously she knew when Kees died. Our whole street knew, as there were ambulances and police cars everywhere.

Over the last couple of years I've seen her grandson sporadically. Most often in the summer, because our neighbour and her grandson will be sitting on a bench in front of their house. But yesterday we saw him too. He was sledding in the snow on the street with his grandfather.

I recognised him immediately and pointed him out to Craig. It's hard to imagine that our Kees would be that big too. That he'd be turning 3 in February!

Then we turned the corner, onto our street, and met our neighbour, his grandmother.

She walked up to us and started a conversation. She is originally from New Zealand, so we usually speak English with her. She said that she had seen us a few times recently and thought we looked "happier".

It's mind-blowing that people can actually think that. I believe that people WANT to think it, because it makes them more comfortable. Because, surely, if they gave the matter any thought whatsoever, they would realise that we could not possibly be "happier"?

I'd say we are less shocked. We are less distraught. We are less optimistic. But we are not "happier".

If anything, I'd say we are less "happier". We are slowly coming to terms with our losses. We are coming to accept that we are parents to dead children. We are coming to terms with the sad reality which is our life.

I am calmer. But that is only because of the medication. And the calmness is surface calm only. Scratch a little tiny bit and anxiety erupts through the mask of calm.

Happier? I think not. I think we'll be chasing that illusive "happy" for a long time, that is, if we don't give up before then.

Family portrait

This was painted for us by Stephanie from Beyond Words Designs.

Isn't it gorgeous? I love it.

It represents our family: Craig, me, Freyja, Kees and Jet.