“We’re pregnant! Due in September, she’s six weeks along already,” my brother saw fit to tell me and Steve when Ella was about a week old.
It was lovely news. Just wonderful for my brother and dear sister in-law. I felt a familiar pang but brushed it off – I didn’t have to feel that envy now! We finally had a baby of our very own after four failed attempts.
Of course, little did we all know but three weeks later there would be tragedy beyond any measure in our family when our own daughter, Ellanor, died suddenly before ever making it home.
Now, of course, each year on this day in September our focus is on our beautiful, sweet niece as she celebrates her birthday. She is a classic of a kid, sharp as a tack, quick-witted, cheeky, all those things that make her deliciously unique. She will also forever remind me of the age our daughter would have been turning – seven this year – and it is this connection that both tugs at my heart and brings a wide smile to my face at the same time. The cousin she would have loved who lived and died before she herself drew breath.
How do we possibly instill in these boisterous, life-full children the bittersweetness of their very existence? We don’t. Of course, we don’t. But I, Ella’s mother, can hold that thought. Perhaps when my nieces are adults, with or without babes of their own, they might want to learn more. For now, the presence of Ellanor’s name in our family, her pictures on our walls, her name on our lips occasionally, are enough sign-posts for them to be used to the very tricky concept of the death of a cousin. So young, before they met. One day, if it’s ordained, I will be so happy and proud (of my nieces and of my daughter) to have that chat with them.
We are reminded in ever more subtle ways of our lost baby daughter, Steve and I, on days like these where it would be considered unnecessary or impolite or otherwise self-focused of us to mention what the day means to us.
Instead, I mention it here, where my family may look but is not likely to. Where it might strike a cord of familiarity in those who are my peers – other bereaved parents, at varying points (weeks, months, years) in their own journey of life without one of their precious children. Where it is more useful a moment shared, both for me and perhaps just one reader going through something similar.
So, whomever you are, I tip my cap at you in solidarity and just want to say, I get it. Get me?
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| Cousins |
I get this. I think my Mum and Dad would get it too.
Because my sister died when I was 3 months old I don't remember her… but there are pictures and stories. Recently, since Tricks needed surgery, I have heard more and more stories, as if my parents think I'm able to understand it all now after having my own experiences with a child who though wasn't "sick" needed a bit of intervention.
As Tricky nears the age that his aunt died, the anxiety within the family is growing just from the memories it is evoking… outsiders wouldn't see it, but I can.
I think it's so wonderful that you celebrate your niece so whole-heartedly, no matter how bittersweet it is for you.
I get it. I get how hard it can be not to say anything because you know it will upset others, be viewed as selfish.
I get it xx
I don't get it because I haven't lived it.
But I absolutely feel for you. xx
Unfortunately I so do 'get it'….but I am also thankful for such solidarity that I have found online. I also know that words such as this can only be a help to those others who get it. When my daughter died I read a lot of other peoples stories…mainly because I was desperate to know and to hear that I like others would survive this and live to find joy again.
You know I don't get it really – because I have never lived your pain. But I do feel for you, and anyone who has suffered such loss. Losing a child is my greatest fear. I'm not sure how you move forward – but I see that you do. Little Ellanor's life may have been short – but what an impact her presence has had!
I get it. And I am eternally glad that you have this space to write short sharp shiny posts like this that always, always bring tears to my eyes.
As I said the other day, your grace and generosity is a mark of who you are. xxxx
This will bring hope to so many who are walking the same path as you. Thinking of you during this tough month of reflection x
Yeah. Get you. Big hugs to you and Steve.
I get it. I wish I didn't. I wish you didn't.
xo
I get it, of course.
We have a friend who's child was born 3 weeks after Kristen's due date, (the mother, not my direct friend, Mark was pals with the hub – did that "squee, we're pregnant together" thing that I liken to teenagerdom, eeww. And the we weren't, awkwardness ensues) The girls would be the same age.
So I get it, and it sucks. And you are right, no matter how much your heart aches, it's taboo to mention, but not taboo to blog, so glad you did.
Bittersweet memories Kirrily. ((Hugs))
What a lovely and sad post. I'm so sorry that you lost a precious little babe.
I was just popping in to say thanks for commenting on my blog. I feel really privileged to have read this post. You have a beautiful way with words.
Ash
Glow: Would be super-hard time for your parents, for sure. My heart goes out to them, and to you too because it's difficult in its own right to be the one with the healthy bub and knowing the appropriate way to acknowledge and support. Some get it all SO right, it's beautiful. But sometimes, the communication doesn't flow so well and it can make it a very uphill climb.
Daisy, Roo and Two: Thank you for getting it! Glad I have this space…
Thea: And that is really all we ask for, don't we, when we have a moment of needing to be validated. Thank you for making it so simple! x
themodernparent: Definitely. You get it! That's why I'm online too – documenting the good, the hard, the ridiculous – there are several transitions through the grief, I found, that for me required some branching out. And I reached to forums (blogs weren't really around 5-7 yrs ago in the same capacity as they are today!). Invaluable. Thank you for your comment.
Caz: thank you for your very kind words, dear Caz xxx
Lucy: Well, it's a label I will wear very humbly. I try to make the short ones for you! ;-P
Donna: Thank you x And that is the only reason I reach out (here). If it were just for me, you wouldn't see me for dust!
Hope's Mama: Gently hug for you, so good to hear from you. I hope it's all going smoothly, you amazing woman xo
Allie: It IS taboo to mention, isn't it? It's a hard one to talk about without sounding "what about meee"ish, when that's not really it. You know. I know you know. Gosh, how difficult to be so close to someone in gestation and then have your life fall apart while watching theirs continue. I remember you going through that way back at the time. Heart-in-mouth stuff xxx
River: Many thanks for your hugs, sweet E!
Ashwee: Hello, Ash, thank you for returning the comment love! You are most kind, thank you for your words. xx
Ah short sharp shiny girl of endless generosity and grace- what a top night with you last night: miss you already. Xxxx