All posts filed under: babyloss

Babyloss & grief – you don’t always have to keep it together…

I feel like an old hand at babyloss grief now – 11 and a half years in and I know how to function well with my grief, I know how it can surprise me when I least expect it,  I know that I will miss my boy for the rest of my life, I know I am grateful for being on the other side of the intensity of grief and I know how to look after myself. It has taken a long time to reach this point. We all do grief differently and there is now more conversation about baby-loss on social media, which is a good thing – anything that attempts to ease the isolation of baby-loss, to create more awareness, support and conversation for grieving families has to be a good thing. However, a few life-after-baby-loss posts this year have made me think because everything on social media can be subjective and interpreted differently. These are well-intentioned, honest, supportive posts but they are a snap-shot and they often don’t convey the emotion, the …

What to say when a baby dies

Every grieving parent is different so there isn’t an accurate guide on what to do or say when a baby dies. One of the biggest comments can be “I don’t know what to say” – in my experience, be honest and say that, better than saying nothing at all.   Some of the things that helped me when my baby died are: let me talk about my baby. If I am talking about my baby, please let me and please do also talk about my baby. Don’t ignore their existence because that hurts. let me cry – I need to fucking cry, it helps to get rid of some of the hurt. And sometimes I will have no choice, I will have no control over it. Please don’t tell me to shush. please don’t make me try to feel better – you can’t, my baby is dead, there is no feeling better, there is no snapping out of this.  please don’t have any expectations of how I grieve and heal and how long it takes …

Babyloss – you will survive

In the first few days and early weeks after my son died, I wished to feel normal again. I longed, not just for the pain to ease, but just to feel like myself again. It felt like I lived in a bubble, everyone around me was living their normal lives but I was in a very lonely, isolated bubble of vulnerability and pain. I have never felt pain like it – physical pain, mental pain that affected how much I could do, how much I could cope with, how much I could enjoy, how much I could focus on. I felt like I could break at any moment – each day was about forcing myself to get out of bed, to do something rather than just wallow; to do something rather than just desperately want my baby back. There was an aching in my arms for the baby I  couldn’t hold and a physical pain in my heart as it ached for what I had lost. In those early weeks I wasn’t sure how much …

babyloss – arranging a funeral

There is no preparation for this. Arranging any funeral is difficult but arranging a funeral for your child is unspeakably difficult and I think most of us do it in a blind numbness that keeps us sane. The thought of a funeral was crippling for me – I went through the motions but I resented having to do it. Jamie had died during surgery and the hospital offered to arrange his funeral, which I am grateful for. A lovely woman at the RVI – whose name and title I just don’t know – talked to us about what we wanted. We explained that as we are not religious, we wanted a cremation and simple service, with as little religious input as possible. She found us a funeral director who would respect our wishes and who was wonderful – they organised the date, time and the crematorium  as well as his coffin and we went away to plan music and let people know. We spent an evening deciding on music – I cried a lot and …

babyloss – the early minutes and hours

Our baby son died at 10.30pm – we asked the team to stop. Jamie had been bleeding and struggling for hours, he was not going to live. Minutes before we had sat in a small room with his surgeon, who had Jamie’s blood on his clothes and his shoes, and his nurse and we had told them we needed to let Jamie go rather then get him onto life support so we could say our goodbyes. My heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest and the desperation and panic I felt consumed me. But we sat and waited to be told that he was gone. We were not expecting any miracles, we knew he was going to die. His nurse cried when she came to tell us, his anaesthetist struggled to hold back his tears as he came to reassure us that Jamie had not felt a thing, that he was not aware. And his surgeon said words he was probably not meant to say, he said he was sorry the surgery …