Monthly Archives: July 2017

Inside Out.

I originally shared this post here a year ago. Working on this year’s Guest Post, I wondered what I had written for this annual project. I don’t think this feeling will ever differ…

Right Where I am 2016 


Inside Out. It’s a Disney film, about emotions from the emotions themselves.

Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear and Disgust.
All important roles in how our moods take us. Most importantly how we cope with things that change our lives, and almost break us.
Having seen the film, several times over now, I can understand the feeling of losing one’s marbles.

My personality islands collapsed, the day she died. No warning, I couldn’t stop them. Lost, forever.

For me, 4 years into this journey, I can associate myself with all 5 of the emotions. Some less than others.

Disgust, I guess how some parents take their precious children for granted. I feel disgusted in myself sometimes. When I have days, where I’m not quite coping. I shout, I snap. I somewhat alienate myself.

Fear. It goes without saying, the fear of not only losing my other children, but my husband, my friends. Fear paralyses me at times. I have to control it. It can take over, but it isn’t allowed.

Anger. I don’t get that raw anger very often any more. Because we should have had a different outcome, the anger was eating me, tearing me apart bit by bit, as if the bigger picture of our daughter dying wasn’t enough, but the anger, drilling through my very being. Don’t get me wrong, I get angry, really bloody angry at the whole having a dead child, I’m allowed, but it’s far more contained. I’m lucky to have a husband who will let me release it, by talking, crying. It’s not often any more.

Joy and Sadness.
Together? In the head of a bereaved mum.
Maybe.
As above I said my personality islands collapsed, fell silently away, as she died in our arms. There were no controls, no brakes. It happened.
I’ve had to start again.
New hobbies, new train of thought, new friendship circles, and how I spent my time with those friends, family. The shape of our family changed.
I never expected joy to be part of my emotions again, ever.
But I refuse to have Melody be the little blue person.

This time of year, I find just as hard as the part of the year my brain associates her with.
September to May. There is always something attached to her, from a positive pregnancy test, to her birth, her anniversary, discharge date and due date. I no longer make a big deal over the smaller dates, I always will for her birthday and anniversary. But they’re all still related in some way.
So, when June arrives, it’s like a strange come down. Every thing I do gets touched by sadness, core memory after core memory affected by sadness.
It shouldn’t be. I’ve, we’ve been punished enough.
I do believe joy and sadness can coexist. There’s a balance.
But people have to remember everyone grieves differently.
If I want to ball my eyes out 4 years after my daughter dying. I will. I don’t need therapy or medicine.
But laughing doesn’t mean I’m over her either.
I’ve found a good balance, albeit right or wrong. It is right for me.

Right now. I’m missing Melody. That will never change.

She is my bundle of joy, cuddled in a blanket of sadness.



End of Term

The further away from the initial death you go, the less milestones you think you will come across. But truth be told, I think there will always be something which will connect your baby and the things they should have been doing. September 2016 should have been the year she started school, out of all the milestones to reach; I had assumed that would have been the last one – at least until secondary school starts. But there will always be something.

Sports Day

These next few weeks up and down the country (UK), parents are heading out to watch sports days, or eagerly waiting for the day to finish learning how the day went. The children from Reception classes excitedly taking to the field; looking out for their Mummies and Daddies, in the hope to catch a wave.  Fresh yellow P.E kits, tiny bean bags and hoops are spread around the area, ready for the games to begin, lines painted perfectly ready for the young runners to begin their races.  
Children’s names being called around the field, cheers echoing across as their child nears the finishing line, louder squeals for the ones who come first, encouraging voices for the ones who come last.
It dawns on me, that some of these children are at the age of which Melody should have been, the friends she could have made, the Sports Day she was meant to be at.
Another ‘first’ that she has not done; another event from which she is missing.
Another day where life just goes on, a day for quiet reflection, thoughts to how she would have been during the day.
Would she have been sporty? Which part would she have enjoyed? She was feisty during her time she was with us; would that have led her to be a determined winner in the field?
Would she have struggled with the courses?
Would she have been embarrassed by her parents calling her name?
Or would she have loved the attention?
Another missed photo opportunity, as she would have returned to her class room all wet from sweat, hair falling out of her hair band, happy to have finished or happy to have competed.

I never thought it would be such a big deal.

School Report

As the school year draws to a close, parents evenings are to be had, school plays performed, end of term parties, new teachers to be met, school work brought home, reports to read.
I have kept all of their reports and as many of their pictures as I have space for, there have been a lot over the years. No use to anyone but sentimental, in the hope that one day when they get to adulthood, they can giggle over the work they produced during their childhood, you know the pictures of their parents with huge heads and stick men bodies.

This has been another thing that has dawned on me. A missing school report; a document to prove that she would have been at school this year, a story of who she would have been at school. Information about what subjects she may have been good at, or ones that maybe she’d not really enjoyed. To know how much the prematurity would have affected her. As with all very premature babies there’s a risk of slow development, at least slower than their peers, but she never did follow any text book.
All the reports and meetings with professionals; a bit like parents evenings I guess but in the NICU were all great; she was doing above and beyond expectations. I’ll always wonder, or at least this time of year, whether her school reports would have followed suit.

“Melody is a lovely addition to the class; a little headstrong.”

As I wrote about my living children in their fantastic reports and end of term plans, I realise the only new photos of her I can share are of a headstone with new flowers; with the words.

Nothing to report.

Lost celebratory words.
No acknowledgement of a girl who should have been five.
Of a girl who should have almost completed her first year in Primary School.

Absent – Unauthorised.