Tag Archives: neonatal loss

melody and me

The Lasting Goodbye…Part Two.

13th April 2012.

The alarm bounded out.

But we were already awake; sleep wasn’t one of the options.

We had been dreading this day.
The children were restless, chatting at breakfast eyes wide with wonder.
My husband and I paced silently.

Numb.
What would this day bring?
Flowers were arriving, was this really all for us?
The sun was shining exactly as it did on the day she arrived; now it shone for the day she would be…leaving.
Set on auto pilot, we washed we dressed.

We remained calm, following the children’s examples. How were we going to get through this day? Any day really?
We made our way to our car hand in hand, brightly dressed so she could see us clearly, desperately hoped she could now open her eyes without pain.
We were still too early, clock watching to the last moment, the final second time stood still.
We arrived at the church to a small line of people, I can’t remember the order but there were people.
My legs felt like jelly, like my bones had been removed, my chest felt tight and heavy; yet somehow I managed to keep up right to keep breathing. I wasn’t sure if I needed to be sick or not.

Again we had no choice.
We followed the smartly dressed man into the church. Hands tightly held the four of us, too scared to let go unless we lost one another.

I could just recall the haunting sound of Bagpipes playing Amazing Grace,

I could feel myself detaching.

We were here for someone else. This wasn’t our story.
We continued to walk closer to the front of the church, when we looked forward, there she was a little pink box on another little table.

Only now we wanted more than anything for it to be the big clear box that she had been in 2 weeks before.
One last chance, one last hope that this had all been a horrible mistake, her final chance to let us know everyone was wrong.

The book “Dragonflies and Water bugs” was read to us all, the children concentrated on every word.

My son clung to every word.

My daughter nervously waited to do her part.

She wanted to do something for her sister.
A picture she had drawn, a story she had written. She had a love for her sister that would grow with her forever.
Another song was played, instead of hymns, she was far too young to have hymns, the song had far more meaning.
“My Love” By Sia

The tears hit, the pain knocked like waves smashing into my already broken self.

Would they ever stop?

Would I ever be able to stand from this seat again?
We blew her a kiss and followed her as the smartly dressed man carried her out of the church, to her final journey to the song of Every Breath You Take.

We felt too weak to carry her; we were still too scared we would hurt her.

The blessing was a private moment between my husband, the children and I.

A candle lit as the blessing took place, when all we could think of was her baptism should never have been like this.
We knelt beside her, and gave her a blanket of daffodils, some extra warmth because we didn’t want her to get cold.
The rest of our guests came forward so they could say good bye, and send her some pink balloons.
We had prepared 35 balloons and 35 daffodils.

One per day she was with us, never enough days.

A decision we could never change.

The chance had gone.
11am we released the balloons watching them fly high some together, some drifted; the drifters would be as Melody is now.

We thought this was going to be the worst day of our lives, but really how could it have been. We had already done that part on the 1st.
Flying solo, while we as a family carry her in our hearts.

People may wonder why we continue to remember and share these dates.

Can you remember the age your child said their first word?

Melody never did that.

Can you remember when your child first walked?

Melody never did that either.

The dates of final moments, final memories are all we have of her.

We had no choice in how happy the memories would be this is what we have; we shall continue to build a lasting memory.

Because that is all we have.

We never wanted to say goodbye.

Xxxxx

 

melody and me

The Last Goodbye…Part One

2012

 

Thursday 12th April 2012 I had to make a decision, a decision I had no idea whether I would regret or not. What was right, or wrong?

A painful decision either way to make.

We walked over to the chapel of rest our hands held tight, my husband had already made his choice and was set.

Yet to me, it felt impossible. But in truth it shouldn’t have been difficult; I should have known instantly, whether or not I would see my baby one last time.

Our names were called, and in that moment my decision had been made, I had changed a million times. We rose to our feet I took my husband’s hand; we kept close together and slowly followed the smartly dressed man…

The room was small, softly lit with candles to add to the effect.

A small table in the centre of the room, it was painfully obvious what was stood in front of us. It looked no bigger than a memory box, but definitely bigger than a shoe box.

The next question “Are you ready?” I know took us by surprise. I had almost forgotten that there was another person in the room.

Were we ever ready?

But this was not something we could put off, because we knew that the next day would be too late.

We nodded, holding each other tight, tighter than we felt strong enough for.

Terrified we had made a wrong choice.

The crochet blanket was gently pulled back, the smartly dressed man left.

“Have as long as you need”

But we needed forever, he couldn’t give us that.

We stepped forward slowly, peeking in not knowing what to expect.

A warning, a guide but nobody is ever the same.

There she lay peaceful, make up made her look perfect.

Almost like there was no reason for her to be there, if only.

Surgical tape had slightly embedded into her baby face, and the stillness that was blindingly obvious, no breath sounds no delicate baby snore, just the deafening silence.

We exchanged glances, and questioned

“How was this fair?”

“Why the hell us?”

“What had we done?”

“Was this all my fault?”

We didn’t know if we were allowed to touch her or get too close.

I wanted to cuddle her, but was afraid I would hurt her, although I knew that was now impossible.

We placed our photos and drawings the children had asked us to take, I stroked her face, suddenly remembering that her warmth had long gone, it had been replaced with an icy cold glow. It caught me off guard.

We still hoped that somehow she would open her eyes.

We were willing her to breathe. I held my breath in case I missed her chest rise and fall, in case she was moving. But that rise and fall didn’t appear, stillness replaced that wish.

Talking to her, telling her how much we loved her, how much we missed her already, wanting everything to be just an awful nightmare.

We felt lost, we held on to each other’s gaze, it was then we knew the time had come to tuck her in to her blanket for the final time, to kiss her good night for the final time.

Knowing we would need to remember how she smelt, how she felt, all in one movement.

It was our one chance.

It was our one final chance.

I can’t remember whether her coffin had a plaque, and if it did I don’t know what it said.

 

We lifted the blanket a corner in each hand, tears rolling down our faces we covered her, tucking her in replacing the blanket with each other’s hands walking back wards giving her a lasting Good Bye.

 

For the next day it would be the last……

 

 

Capture Your Grief

For The First Time – Capture Your Grief

first time. the letter M

First

Today is the first time I have lived the 7th October 2017. I have never lived this day before. I won’t be trying anything in particularly new today. It is an ordinary day for us. The children are displaying in a carnival and we’re on a constant time watch to be ready to go. Things to get ready, helping to get 30 children ready today. So for me to physically go and try something new today would not happen.

I woke up this morning after a lovely evening out for the first time in what seems like ages, I laughed and felt on top of the world. I went to see a show, I never thought I would ever go and see. It was hilarious. Of an adult content, but it was so funny.

The first time I saw Melody I was strapped to the bed, wires and leads every where, she had been taken out via c-section, there was this giant green screen dividing my head from the working end. The room was hot, it made me feel faint, there were people everywhere, there wasn’t space to move in the room or add any more people. We could tell the operation had begin because the room had fallen silent. I remember begging the midwife stood next to me to tell me that she was alive.

“Is she sleeping? Has she been born sleeping?”

The midwife would take a second, which felt like hours to peer, I knew she was concentrating, but I needed to know. Her heartbeat was on the CTG moments before, but we knew she was fighting.

As I asked one more time, a squeak came. It was loud enough to fill the deafening silence; it was loud enough to be heard to fill my heart with love.

“No she hasn’t been birn sleeping.” The midwife said to us in her really soft voice; the Dr deliviering her confirmed so when she said the Melody had given her a kick as they lifted her out.

For the first time in days I felt relieved that she was born. That she had been born alive; we had no idea on how long we’d keep her, being a micro premature baby; nobody knew how well she would do.

The Doctors brought her to me, I could see her tiny pink face, she really was that tiny. 9inches of her…23cm.

The first time I saw her, I had no idea whether it would be the last time I saw her alive. I had to cherish it; I have had to keep that safe. She wasn’t meant to die.

 

Carly Marie Capture Your Grief

Day Six

Melody and Me.

Capture Your Grief

Belonging – Capture Your Grief 2017

 

Stranded

I never really felt like I belong anywhere; at least not until I met my husband and our family life became as complete as it’ll ever be.

There were friendships in school, but they weren’t always what they seemed; I have always found it particularly hard to make and then keep friends. I am shy;  sometimes people mistake that for rudeness; but I try not to be. With this in mind it has caused low confidence-low self-esteem. I really shouldn’t let this define me, but I do.

When Melody died we were faced with people crossing the street, people telling us they didn’t know what to say; family being unsupportive; it leaves you stranded and alone.

Community

 

Truth be told I wasn’t alone, I wasn’t the only one to have lost a baby, and I began to find other lost souls. Mums and Dads who were broken. They weren’t by my side but they were there, to listen, I could listen we could understand a little of what each of us were going through.

The online community became my safe place, my saviour I guess. It allowed me to be free; it allowed me to speak without judgement, the empty pities and with some understanding of what was going through my mind.

There have been things I have spoken about over these past few years, which I could never say to people outside of this community. I guess it is because just sometimes the things which leave my mouth can be so raw, that to anyone else, I could be seen as being crazy. But I am not.

Belonging

As well as this community, I am grateful to the people who have stuck around every step of the way, and even more so to the people I have met since she died, these people have listened or read about our story, yet they choose to stick around and be my friends. There aren’t many of them, but I value them. If it is yacking on a Friday night, or a trip to the park or shops, I am eternally grateful to them.

 

It is a lifelong thing, she’ll always be my baby; and I guess I will always grieve. But to have the few who remind me to keep going are really worth their weights in gold.

 

Thank you

 

belonging

Melody and Me

Memories – What Day Would You Want To Live Again?

It’s that time of year again, the memories of dates, the dates of before, the afters.
Even if it has been since 2012 I can still remember the tiny details that come with Melody, her scans, my consultant appointments. When it went wrong.
Time doesn’t heal, it’s not a magic cure, she should have been starting school in 2016; with one daughter leaving her primary school journey, as the other begins, that was what was meant to happen.
Time doesn’t heal, but for me it was like a rebirth, learning to live again. A different path had been placed. Through no choice of my own, that was what lay before me.
She may have only been here 5 weeks…35 days…just over a month. But Melody changed me, she changed us.
Another place I use to take comfort in, brought up a question I simply had to answer.

What Day Would I Want To Live Again? – Memories

Obviously all my children’s births, meeting my husband, our engagement, even various adventure days too, all up there on my favourite days…..
But the day I would live again would have to be…

The day before our daughter died.
We were a normal happy family, excited about the following day where L was going to help with Melody’s nappy changes. L was very excited, she was maybe hoping for a very brief cuddle.
Sisters, girls together.
We were looking forward to April, because it meant we had one month until she’d come home, remember the text the morning it went wrong.
“She’s coming home next month!!”
Yay! I thought, only one month of to-ing and froing to go.
If I had that day again, I’d have stayed longer, refused a party invitation for my eldest so she could have spent what we didn’t know was Melody’s last afternoon.
I would have held her longer.
Kissed her more.

Taken in her tiny hands, her warm soft skin.

We didn’t know she was going to die.
Amongst the wires (monitors not vents), and aside from missing my eldest’s presence.
It was perfect.
The Sun was shining, it was warm.
31st March 2012 is where I’d like to visit.
We went to bed that night happy and excited that she’d be home soon.

It’s that time of year again daffodils are out a lot earlier this year, even earlier than their early arrival back in 2012.
Sad they may not last until her birthday this year. I don’t like it. The daffodils are disappearing, a lot like people’s memories.
But unlike daffodils and short-lived friendships, my memory and love for her will always grow.

Memories, with daffodils pictured through a tear drop

I would still choose her.