Here we are again. So close to your sixth birthday, the anniversary of the day Steve and I became parents. Shocked and elated and scared witless at your early arrival.
I don’t know if I have much to say, for how often have I said it? When I thought I couldn’t possibly heal any more (and would always remain in a slightly broken, semi-pieced-back-together state and “so be it”, I discover I have healed SO much more this past year – the fifth spent without you, residing physically in our family – I’ve read more, I’ve learned so much more from others (and about myself).
Could I really be ready to say that the grief is gone? By jove, I think I might be….
This is no easy task and if truth be told, it has begun a bit of a pain in my forehead just putting it “out there” to the wider audience that is the very anonymous, voyeuristic www. It in some way breaks my own deep-seated notion that, to convey just how deeply I love you and how irreversibly broken I was to lose you, I must always, always appear pained when I talk of you. It must always shine through. But something has changed in the lead-up to your birthday, since Christmas. No longer does my pain ‘cloak’ need to be worn by me. I get it now. I do, truly, get it. I don’t need to wear it in order to prove anything. I’ve lived it. I’ve shared it. I’ve expressed it every which way, up, down, blown wide open, sideways, upside down, cynically, humourously…. and at the end of it all, I’ve still had to roll up my sleeves and do all the work (on myself) to get myself to a place of further healing.
Boo, I have always held close to my heart the imagery of all those moments that made up your brief life. The needlepricks, the bruising, the nurses (both the good and breathtakingly awful ones), the sheer panic of not being able to “fix” you with my boob, my hands, my ANYTHING and EVERYTHING to take the pain (and all of “them”) away and stop you from being so uncomfortable, the brain bleeds, the horrendous possiting of your feeds and what that meant – were you getting an infection, were you reacting to my milk, were you simply too small and feeble to tolerate such an enormous feed – the dicey pace-setting of the cardiologists to get you to the point of surgery for your heart abnormality weighed up against the incredible pressure it placed your body under (not to mention your lungs, your breathing, your blood saturation), your desat rate which never went above 70 (and me, never even knowing what this really meant but that it was bloody dangerous and posed a life threatening danger to you from the get-go), the awful, heart-racing feeling of seeing your heart rate dip and stop, dip and stop whenever those nurses stopped their compressions, those same nurses as they cried while they performed their ultimately futile attempts to save your sweet, monumentous, precious life.
Yes. I can let it all go. I must. And I have. For now, the picture does not involve all that I have been this past decade. And it is not just you and I. Nor even you and I, your Dad and little sister. It is not just my “audience” here on this blog, who have collectively spurred me on, helped set my healing pace, cried and cheered with me through a few more pregnancies (both the successful and four more tantalisingly close but no cigar ones since having you) and seen me come somewhere near full circle. There are so many in the world who need that light. Just one little flicker of light.
It now becomes me as the torch bearer. I’ve pulled my head out, reached my hand up and said, “Okay, it’s time.” I can’t even say I’m shitscared. That was last month. This time, on the eve of your birthday, I realise I carry with me all those images I mentioned above and many, many more. They are the snapshots of my time with you. My precious, everlasting, unforgettable time with you.
But they are also my past. From past life, whereby I was born again, out of the horror of losing you. Born into new gifts, awareness and abilities that I never knew would one day lead me to a place of solace where I would be bold enough to ever dare dream myself ready to reach a hand out and help lift another up who was going through the same thing. And now, here I am, readying to take with me those gifts you bestowed and entrusted to me, with that pained and anguished part of my past lovingly and respectfully moving to the background so I can take a position at the helm to be willing and truly in the moment for others. I couldn’t do that with my own pain still breaking the surface.
I read your “fairytale” story again two nights ago. I still cannot get through it without crying. I just can’t. It is SO incredibly beautiful. The meaning of it is ingrained in me as if you were telling it yourself. And you did, too, you cheeky l’il thing! I know you did, because I can feel your essence positively dripping from every page. If only people would pass it on, light that candle in their heart, stop forgetting…… how very enlightened would the world be then?
You. Baby girl, you and all your untold strength. You did it. You got me over the line. And I thank you, I thank you so, so very much. I wish you were always here to hold. Instead, I hold you in my forever. And ever.
I love you.
Ellanor Ruby’s very first – and only – blissful bath
I was going to say, before I got to the end,that this was always Ella's gift. I'll never forget the story.
There is never any doubt of the depth of your love for her. None. It radiates from you. But that's just it. I don't see it as a dark cloak. It always felt more like a light about you.
She lit you up inside, and allows you to love her and heal all at the same time.
Tis Ella's gift.
Always gets me.
Sitting here with tears streaming down my face. I feel so honoured to have shared this journey with you guys.
You know you are amazing right?
And what an absolutely gorgeous photo. I imagine it was one of the few (possibly only?) times of feeling some kind of normalcy.
She really is a divine little thing.
As always K, your heartfelt words leave me breathless. I have read this post again and again. Your healing is palpable, but also that longing that will never, should never subside is visible too.
Maybe that's it? eventually the grief and the physical missing of Ella in the acute phase turns into a time enduring longing that will last the rest of our lives. Because it is exhausting to keep up the grief. And the guilt when it is not so ready to use as a cloak is heavy too.
I know, my tale is so different to yours, but I know of the needing to seem pained when I speak of her. Like people won't get the enormity of it if I don't. Well they don't get it anyway, and it's not about them. Has taken me a loooong time to get here too.
Anwway, a great post, an honest post for sure. It takes alot fo courage and self awareness to get to that point I am sure, it's another step altogether to put it 'out' there in print. Just another part of what Ella has lined up for your life, another step in this amazing journey. I can only hope to be there to witness and support you through it.
PS I think you are amazing, and my special love goes out to you all this month and into the next xxx
I've said this before K, and I'll say it again, but through Ella I have learned some valuable lessons. When you share things like this (ie this blog entry of yours and others like it), I really sit up and take notice because it allows me to tap in to things in my own life that I've forgotten, or ways I have forgotten to 'be' even when I am capable of 'being' that way more than I choose to. Gah, that probably doesn't make sense but it relates to the mask-wearing comment I emailed you this week.
Thinking of you guys always, love F
My love,
Charli xox
Without her; so many would not have learnt so much.
Thinking of you sweet girl.
xxxx
I just adore that picture
those dear little fingers, the Lolly-like smile. Beautiful girl.
Thinking of you all, K xox
"You gave me back the me I was destined to be."
That says it all K. Love you hon.
Absolutely. Bawling. Beautiful pic.