Lost

I'm lost. I don't know what to do. It's confusing.

I'm talking about now and the rest of my life.

I don't know what to do today, or tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or next year.

I'm completely lost.

:::

Back before all the dead babies, I never really doubted the future, my future. I didn't query what was to come. I was just always sure it would be "better".

I can be honest and say I had high expectations, but I'd grown up with parents who encouraged that for their children and believed it themselves.

So I always expected the best from myself, as well as from others, and looked forward to a future which would (of course) be better.

Not surprisingly I've felt incredibly let down.

I feel let down by the people around me. Those from whom I expected nothing but the best.

I feel let down by my parents and siblings. It was a hurtful truth the day I realised that my pain and my grief comes only second (or third or fourth or more ...) to theirs.

I feel let down by life in general. How come my children died? Why couldn't it be someone else's children? How come all my children died? Couldn't one have been left for me?

I'm sad that my career has come to an end. And that it finished not because of a conscious decision, but because I fell apart.

I'm sad because I feel so alone. So incredibly alone. I have Craig, but I have no-one else. I feel let down by all those friends I used to have. Where are they now? Where have they been?

:::

I sit in our apartment and watch the weather outside. It's been raining a lot. I'm wondering when summer is coming this year ... if at all.

I feel "safe" in our apartment. Or perhaps "safe" is the wrong word. After all, Kees stopped breathing right over there, on the black leather sofa. Our living room was barely big enough to accommodate the 7 or 8 police officers and paramedics who responded to my emergency phone call.

So safe isn't the right word. Comfortable. Isolated. Away from nasty people who think they know everything better.

:::

I don't know how long we can stay here. In this apartment. It may be that the pension I will receive, together with income insurance, will not be enough to pay for this apartment.

It's scary, not knowing.

But maybe it will jolt us out of our comfort zone to a new place. Maybe we'll get a chance to start in another place, to build something for ourselves.

:::

Shall I have another baby? Or not?

That's what we think about now. Because we've spoken to doctors. And they've said that a future child of ours would require 24/7 monitoring. To see if there's something wrong.

So that's what I think about now.

Another baby?

Or not.

Assumptions

It seems to me that a lot of people are making assumptions these days.

Assumptions about me. Assumptions about Craig. Assumptions about everything.

Like my uncles who assume that because I have not gone back to work that I am "lazy".

They also assume that because Craig has not gone back to work that he is "trailer-trash" and a "gold-digger".

Like my friends from Australia who were here this week, who assumed that things must be "getting better".

Or my friend here in the Netherlands who assumes that as the days, months and years pass, our grief must be "getting less".

:::

I am totally in hate with the world at the moment (as opposed to in love with it).

:::

My sister rang me last week to tell me that she's pregnant. An unplanned pregnancy. She has three beautiful healthy daughters, and she had two early miscarriages since those girls were born.

When she rang to tell me she was 6 weeks pregnant, and she'd already told her girls. I think she's mad. Anything can happen, as she knows. When I said something like this to her, she said the girls are aware that bad things happen, "like to your babies".

:::

I'm angry with anyone who has a healthy living child. Anyone. And it doesn't matter if they've lost a child/ren, had miscarriages, etc. If they have a living healthy child than they are a whole lot more fortunate than I am. They have a purpose in their lives, which I am missing in mine.

:::

One of my other uncles assumed that I was "comfortable wallowing in my grief/depression". I was so shocked when he said this (in Dutch so I had translate in my head), that I didn't respond.

I mean, surely anyone who has suffered ongoing and long-term grief, will know that there's nothing comfortable about it? Surely? Maybe I'm making an assumption here.

:::

I'm on a diet. I intend to lose about 30-35 kg.

When I mention that to people, they look skeptical. As if they're doubtful that I could lose that much weight.

Perhaps they've forgotten that for most of my life (prior to dead-children), I was a very tall, slim woman. They must have forgotten.

I was going through some clothes that I'd put away, and saw all these wonderful trousers, skirts, etc, which will only fit me if I get back to that size. And I'm going to try.

The diet is giving me a purpose. A short-term one, but a purpose nevertheless.

:::

When my father was here in the Netherlands a few weeks ago, I think he was quite shocked by us. By our appearances, by our lifestyle, by many things.

My anger, my sadness, my apathy, it all appeared to be quite new and shocking to him.

Strange though, we've been telephoning and skype-ing them regularly, but he doesn't really pay attention. He only sees and hears what he wants to.

But then, being here, there's no avoiding the reality of me, my life.

One day we saw him after he'd been staying at his sister's place for a while. He saw me, hugged me, and said that I looked much better. This surprised me, because I looked exactly the same as when he saw me the week before. I said as much, but he denied it vehemently, because apparently it suited his mentality to view me as a better and happier person than I was.

I guess he went back to Australia with that "happy and better" image in his head. It will make him feel better in the long run. It will allow him to get on with his life, without having to worry too much about me.

He made assumptions (erroneously) about me and my life. But they were assumptions which sat better with him.

:::

I guess other people make assumptions for the same reason. So that they can distance themselves from me and from Craig, without feeling too bad about it.

Motivation ...

A friend showed me an article he found online about employees getting in trouble because of their FB updates. When they're ill, and they post online about their adventures. When they don't like their superiors, and then post their feelings online. That sort of stuff.

One of the examples was of an employee who was off work, ill, with depression. S/he went on a vacation/holiday whilst being ill with depression, and posted on FB about it. Their illness was then challenged on the basis that no-one can go on holidays when they are "ill".

Quite bizarre really.

I've been telling my brother often enough to keep is private life private, and to not post every drunken thought on FB. He often complains about the system he's in, and about the superiors he works with/for. But that's his problem.

I'm off work. I'm ill. I haven't been to work at all since Jet was born and died. Before then, when I was pregnant with Kees, and then after his death, I was regularly going to work, but not full time. I've been on some form of sick-leave for more than three years now.

But it's not a sickness or illness that many people understand. It's not something that they can see. And it's not something I'll just "recover" from.

I suffer from anxiety. I suffer from depression. I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. All these illnesses/conditions have been diagnosed and confirmed by our treating psychiatrist.

So people who are my FB friends often see me update my status in relation to weekend trips away, or a longer vacation/holiday.

So my friend, who sent me the link to the online article, said that maybe I should be more careful. Because of who might be reading.

I had two responses.

The first is that I have a very select group of FB friends. No family, no colleagues.

The second is that for us to go away from home, even if just for a few days, is a tremendously emotional and draining experience. I often don't want to go away at all, and am only agreeing because I think we should, and because Craig wants to go.

It all comes down to motivation. And the fact that I don't have any.

The deaths of our children, the change in lives, our plummeting careers, losing friends and family, these things have affected us profoundly.

For me it is motivation. I don't have any. I don't see the point in anything any more. So whenever we talk about going away (whether for a few days or weeks) I have to force myself to go.

We plan months in advance, so that those days/weeks are blocked on our calendar. And I force myself to get in preparation mode, pack, find all our stuff. Then it's loading the car, collecting the caravan, you name it. And I have to force myself to do all and any of it. Because I have no motivation.

I have travelled widely and extensively. Both with Craig and before him. And I loved it. Always. But not any more. It's nice to see places, sure. But I get tired. The crowds bother me.

When you're traveling, you have to make the most of each day, regardless of the weather. I just get tired, and I worry about my cats.

I can honestly say that the only thing that I'm motivated about when we are planning and going on holidays/vacation, is when we're heading home!

And the worst thing? Is that other people are envious of us because we travel to faraway places!! When all I really want is to have my children, or even one child, living here with us, at our home, being part of our family.

:::

We're heading off again tomorrow. For a short trip. To an off-road show in Germany. We're driving there with a friend (who sent me the online article) who also has a Land Rover. The weather looks iffy. I'm trying to be positive. But the motivation is still lacking.

Friends

My former best friend got married on the weekend.

We stopped being friends a few months after Kees died. I expected a lot more from her, and she disappointed me several times. We spoke about it. My expectations. But it made no difference. She was too busy with other things and other people. She didn't understand that I needed more from her than before.

Anyway. One of my other friends mentioned a few months ago that she was going "away" for a wedding. I guessed immediately that it was my former best friend. And it was.

She was my witness at my wedding. I wasn't invited to hers.

How life changes. And (in my case) not for the better.

Families

I've been thinking about families a lot recently.

:::

My father is staying with us at the moment. He decided about a month ago that he would visit the Netherlands, primarily to see his brothers and sisters. He contacted us and asked whether we'd be around, and I advised him that we would be away for the whole month of May. He booked his trip anyway.

We got home a few days early, so I rang my father at his sister's house, and collected him from there on Monday.

:::

Families. I've been thinking about what makes a family.

I was part of a family - my parents, me and my three siblings.

Then we started to break up as a family. My siblings and I all went our own ways. And I began to realise that a family isn't forever.

My mother likes to pretend that we're a "close" family. We used to be, but we are not any more.

There are divisions in our family now. I don't expect we will all gather together as a family for anything other than funerals any more.

I was single for a long time, and I counted my siblings and my parents as my family. But it turns out that they didn't. Not really. My sisters were both married with their own children. They had their own family. My brother has been running away from his family since he first left home at age 18. He's just entered a new relationship and I hope for him that he finds what he needs in this relationship.

But. I digress.

I slowly realised that my friends, my close friends, were actually more of a family to me than my parents and siblings. (Although, as it turns out, those friends weren't family at all. They couldn't run away fast enough when our babies started dying.)

Then I married Craig. I never thought of Craig and I as a "family". More as a "couple". Families somehow include children. Families aren't made up of two people.

Anyway, so my father is here. And his presence again makes me realise that I am not even in his top 10 priority list any more. His focus in life is on other things. Not on me, his daughter.

He hasn't really seemed at all interested in finding out what I am up to in my life. Or how I'm feeling. And when we do talk, he doesn't really listen. We have conversations and he immediately forgets what we talked about.

The nasty emails I received from the ranting uncles were spurred on by my father having lunch with them at their house. I wasn't aware that he was having lunch with them (as they haven't talked in many years) until I started receiving nasty emails. And even then, when I told him about the emails, which were directed at us and nasty about us, all he was really interested in was what the nasty emails said about him and my mother. Then he had to show the emails to his other siblings in an effort to get them all to "boycott" my ranting uncles.

I was quite shocked. I mean, the nasty emails were about us, Craig and I, yet he chose to make it all about him. He didn't even ask us about how we were affected by the nasty emails.

Now he regrets having lunch with the ranting uncles. Something I had already advised him against. But he doesn't listen to me. He's more interested in gathering his siblings and showing them how evil and nasty his brother (and partner) are. It's all very strange.

So. We have my father in the house. Our routine is completely disrupted. He's ill as well, and is coughing and spluttering all the time. But he still wants to go out and get some "fresh" air. Right.

To be quite honest, I'll be glad when he's gone. He doesn't seem at all interested in being here. He only came to the Netherlands to see his siblings, as one of his brothers was diagnosed with cancer about 6 months ago.

I haven't missed my parents. Because my life has changed so much in the last 5 years. Because I have changed so much in the last 5 years. Because my family doesn't exist any more. My family is comprised of me, Craig, Freyja, Kees and Jet. My parents and siblings form other family groups. Or, like me, my brother forms part of a couple.

Nowadays, when I say I miss my family, I'm talking about the family that Craig and I should have.

The family which I used to be a part of disintegrated a long time ago.

Happiness?

I have been catching up on blogs and emails, because we've been away for nearly four weeks.

One of the emails was from my ranting uncle(s), with more rants. Nasty, evil rants. Personal attacks - on me, on Craig, on my parents, on my siblings. It was very disturbing, and I didn't sleep well last night because of it.

Another email was from a cousin. She said (amongst other things), "be happy". It made me think.

Will I ever be happy again?

What would make me happy?

The answer is pretty simple. Just give me Freyja, Kees and Jet back, and I will be happy.

But that's impossible of course. So maybe being happy is also impossible.

Others have been blogging about their confrontations with the expectation of happiness following the birth of a healthy, living baby after a loss. Because (of course) once you have a healthy, living baby, everything must be ok again. Happiness should be yours for the taking.

But it's not really like that.

Dead babies don't just go away. Happiness doesn't just happen.

I can't make myself happy. I can't will myself to be happy. I can't just pretend that my children don't matter.

The ranting uncles wrote in their nasty email that it's a sad story, my three dead children, but I should not "act" sad, I should not be "lazy" and I should go back to work, and I should get on with my life. And that's one of the bits of the emails which is less offensive. They have also decided that my husband is "trailer trash" and is "sponging" financially off me. He is also too lazy to work. He is apparently uneducated, and really, couldn't I have afforded a better man? The ranting continues, insulting my siblings, my parents, etc, etc.

Of course all our contact with them will cease. At least I hope it will. I hope that next time they get roaring drunk, they won't feel the need to send me more emails with their "insights".

Happiness? I would grab it if I could.

Fucking nightmare

I have so much to say, and no-one to say it to.

I was thinking this week that I'm really angry at the way my life has turned out. Not just angry, but furious really.

I'm angry that my three children ARE ALL DEAD.

I'm angry that I'm no longer the person I was.

I'm angry that Craig and I no longer had that happy future we thought we had.

I'm angry that my career has gone down the toilet.

I'm angry that people think I should be "over it", and should go back "to work". As if they don't think I want all that. Of course I want to be bloody "over it", but I've come to realise that I never will be. My life changes to accommodate all the shit and death that's come our way, but I will never be "over it". And as if I wouldn't rather be working, and earning a few more million euros before retiring. As if. As if I choose to be this anxious freaked-out fat person, who remembers nothing. As if.

I'm so angry with all those stupid people, I wish I could punch them in the face.

I don't even want to go on this holiday. I'd rather stay at home, locked in our apartment, with the cats.

I hate it that the cats aren't here. I don't trust my friend to look after them properly. I hate it that she has EVERYTHING that I don't have. That she has EVERYTHING that I should have. Fuck, I hate it so much.

Why the fuck did I not get that? Why the fuck did I get what I have??? WHY? WHY?

I hate it that not only am I unhappy most of the time, I make my husband unhappy. I can't even be happy for other people when something good happens to them. I just get fucking angry and wonder why it can't be us.

Life is just SHIT and I don't know how the fuck I'm going to cope with it for however many years. I don't even have anything to look forward to. I'm just going to get older, and probably fatter, and before you know it, I'll be an old lady. An old lady with cats and three dead children.

What a fucking nightmare.