The first funeral I ever attended - and I had to arrange it

I recently got asked about Albie's funeral. I haven't really thought about it since. At the time I just got on with it, never really thinking about how it was affecting me. 

I had never been to a funeral before, which is clearly a good thing, but it meant I had no idea what to expect. I just kind assumed it was a one size fits all kind of thing and you had no choice in what happens. 

When I knew the outcome of our pregnancy with Albie and we had decided to end that pregnancy I asked the question, 

''What will happen to my baby when he's born?''

It was explained to me that the hospital had services that would organise a ceremony, cremation, whatever I wanted. But it seemed so impersonal. A close friend of mine (Katy) was friends with a funeral director (Jay). I had met him before and he always seemed like a lovely, caring man. It made me feel better knowing he would be looked after properly. So we got in touch. 

Speaking to a funeral director about the death of your baby before he's even been born is indescribable. I just couldn't do it. Katy had filled him in on our situation and my mum rung him to find out the details. You see, Albie had to travel all the way to St George's hospital in London for his post mortem and then he would need to travel back down here again to end up with Jay so he could get him ready for his funeral. I wanted to know the details were sorted and he was going to be alright on his journey. 

After I had Albie and we had spent some time with him and said our goodbyes, he was taken away by a midwife. I didn't see him again until his funeral on 12th March. 

I wanted his funeral to be sorted before he came back from the post mortem so the was less time waiting around. 

Like I said, I'd never been to a funeral before let alone organised one so I had no idea what to expect. Jay was lovely and talked us through the options. 

The main thing I knew I wanted was to put some special things in with Albie. This was non-negotiable. We all wrote him a letter, I can't speak for anyone else but I just wanted him to know how much I loved him. I wrote and wrote about my love for him and how he would always be a part of me. Katy bought him a St Christopher to keep him safe on his journeys along with a teddy. But the most important thing to me was his bunny. We had two. I kept one and he kept one. And Lily had the same when she was born (although hers is a lot bigger). Lily drew some lovely pictures and she wanted to send him her hand and foot prints just like he'd given us his, so Brent, Lily and I all got out the paint and printed out hands and feet for Albie to keep forever. 

When it came to the actual funeral we knew we wanted something really little, just me and Brent. We also knew from the beginning we wanted him cremated. It's hard to talk about someone nobody but us really knew so we decided against anyone speaking and we wanted it to be a time to reflect and say goodbye so we didn't want any music. Brent wanted to carry him in and we wanted to keep the curtains open while we left rather than them closing. It felt too final and I wasn't ready for this all to end yet. The rest was down to me. 

We chose a single flower, a yellow gerbra, to place on his white casket. I made a frame to put up next to him with a short poem and two pictures of him. It was lovely to read and remember him. Brent and I also decided to write each other a letter to read quietly to ourselves. It was lovely to know that we both still felt so strongly about our relationship. How much we loved one another and I knew we'd be ok. We were strong. We had already been through so much and we were now at the funeral of our son who we loved more than anything, but we were here together, supporting each other, loving each other. 

After a while we decided it was time to say our last goodbye. We left the chapel, and we left our baby, safe in his tiny bed surrounded by love. 

We walked through the cemetery for a while, it was comforting and peaceful and that's when we decided that we wanted to bury Albie's ashes. We hadn't been sure what to do with them before but we decided that this was best for us. 

We had attached messages onto balloons so we set off up too beachy head to let them go. We thought they would fly off over the sea...the wind was blowing the wrong direction and they blew over the fields instead but it was still lovely. We watched them for ages just holding each other's hand, not saying a word. A few people had gathered round to watch but we felt so alone in the world. I'll never forget that feeling. 

We then set off again. We had booked a table at a quiet pub for lunch. There, we raised a glass to our beautiful son. Our son we would never see grow up but our son that we loved with all our broken hearts. 

And that was that. The day I had dreaded. The day that I though would be the hardest day of my life. It wasn't! It was lovely. It was just how we wanted it. It was our chance to send our love to the sky. And somehow I felt lighter. I felt a sense of relief. I felt thankful. Thankful for Brent, thankful for Lily and thankful that for only a short time I felt my son, full of life, inside me. Thankful I had saved him. 

We buried Albie's ashes in our local cemetery on 13th May. I chose the spot for his forever bed because it was calm, colourful and felt full of life. 

It's one of my favourite places to be. Somehow, It's not full of sadness, there feels no sense of loss, all that is felt is love. It radiates off every colourful bunch of flowers, every windmill blowing in the wind, every beautiful word written and every candle lit. All that is there is love. 

I miss my baby boy every day but I know he's always with me. His heart is embedded in mine forever and I will keep going for him, for Brent and for my amazing Lily. 

After all, life goes on. 

She doesn't know how special she is

Lily starts school tomorrow....

I've been the textbook mother these last few weeks getting Lily ready. I got her uniform weeks and weeks ago before the 'mad rush'. We've been shoe shopping, we've got book bags and PE bags, we've been doing extra reading and practicing writing and I've been telling her how amazing it's going to be. 

She's so excited.....but I'm terrified! 

I know she's going to be fine. I know she's going to enjoy it. I'm not worried about her. She's bright and bubbly. She's polite and kind. She will love every second. I'm worried because I'm loosing the only person in the whole world who truly knows how to make me feel normal. 

What am I going to do on my own? Yes, Lily has been to nursery since she was 6 months old but never all week and I've always either been at college or worked while she's been at nursery. She's my rock. She's helped me through it all, but she's growing up and she's becoming more and more independent.  

This is it, the end of just her and me. The end of our quiet days out, the end of our all day colouring and making dens and playing in puddles while the dog goes mad. 

The end of my stand-by cuddles when I'm sad, the end of our snuggles under the duvet for hours in the morning. 

I have to let her go I have to learn to do it by myself. She can't hold my hand forever. 

I'm dependant on her, I need her but I have to let her go. 

After all, life goes on 

Facts V feelings

I'm very good at telling people all the facts, but I'm rubbish at telling people how I feel. 

Facts are easy. They are easily explained and easily understood. Feelings however, are hard to explain and a lot of the time people don't understand them. 

Since Albie, my life has been a series of good days and bad days. I'll have weeks where the bad days are over and above then I'll start feeling good again and those days will become more frequent and it's a vicious circle. I guess that's how grief works. 

People think that the loss of a baby during pregnancy (especially due to medical termination) is not the same as the loss of a baby at or after birth. But it is. That baby was still their child. That baby was still loved. That baby was as important as any other baby born, alive or sleeping. That grief doesn't just go away. I'm sure with time it will become easier to live with but it will never go away completely. 

I don't tell people how I feel for a number of reasons. A lot of the time I think people just think 'oh just get over it'. I feel I annoy people when I'm upset so I tend to keep it to myself. I also think it makes them uncomfortable, they don't know what to say and how to make me feel better so again, I keep it to myself. 

Some days I cry so much my eyes get sore and my lips go puffy. Some days I can't even function, I'll go through the motions but I can't hold down a conversation. 

Some days I don't know what I want. Some days I need someone there and sometimes I'll tell everyone to go away even if that's not really what I want. 

It's easy to take the rejection of a grieving parent personally. But they need you really. Maybe not right at that second, but they need you.  

I've pushed people away and I've shouted at people. The feelings I've experienced over the last few months are completely new to me. It's like a heavy brick that I carry about in my stomach. It never goes away. It's eased slightly sometimes. When I'm happy or even when I cry. But it's always there. On the bad days I feel like I'm trapped in a small room, unable to escape. I tell everyone I'm fine. I won't tell people I'm not ok. 

Sometimes I want to feel sorry for myself.

Sometimes I want to be on my own  

Sometimes I want people to check I'm ok, because I'm not.  

I'm not ok! 

This is something I need to work on. I don't want people to avoid me. I don't want people to feel uncomfortable. I want people to understand. I want people to know that I miss my baby, that I feel it's just not fair. I want people to know how hard it is for me seeing so many others with their growing bumps or their new born babies. I want people to understand me, because this is my life now. I have to live with this brick, under this dark cloud. And if you can put up with me when I feel like that then know that you helped me. You've helped the sun push through those dark clouds. 

After all, life goes on. 

It's his baby too

Words can't describe how amazing Brent is. I don't think he even realises, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have ever been able to get through the last year and a half.  

I know how lucky I am. He's stuck by me and Lily through the ectopic and me nearly loosing my life. He was by my side throughout the whole of Lily's accident and did everything he could for her. He was there for me and strong for me the whole way through the pregnancy and grieving process with Albie. And he was there for me when we found out our next baby's heart had stopped beating. And he hasn't stopped being there for me since. 

I just hope I've done the same for him. I couldn't imagine life without him and I just want him to know I'm there for him too. I came across this poem that I think hits the nail on the head and I'd like to share it. 

A father's grief

 

It must be very difficult

To be a man in grief

Since ''men don't cry''

And ''men are strong''

No tears can bring relief. 

It must be very difficult

To stand up to the test

And field the calls and visitors

So she can get some rest 

They always ask if she's alright 

And what she's going through 

But seldom do they take his hand and ask

''My friend, but how are you?''

He hears her crying in the night 

And thinks his heart will break

He drys her tears and comforts her 

But ''stays strong'' for her sake 

It must be very difficult

To start each day anew

And try to be so very brave

He lost his baby too. 

So Brent, Thankyou. I'll be strong for you too. You are perfect and I promise you will always have me to lean on. 

I love you 

The worst thing to say to a parent of pregnancy loss

There is one thing I hear time and time again. Something that makes no sense to me at all. 

'At least you still have Lily!'

Really?! Like I'd have loved Lily less if Albie had been fine. 

Is that meant to make me feel better? Lily is my world and I love her more than anyone could ever imagine but I also feel that way about Albie. The love felt is the same. I wouldn't have loved Albie any less if he'd have been healthy. 

Don't get me wrong, I know people are just searching for a way to make me feel better. Nobody knows how to deal with baby loss whatever the circumstances. It's so hard to know what to say. Sometimes I don't know what to say myself, but this to me is by far the Worst!

Just think about it for a minute. Would you say to a bereaved mother of a 14 year old that 'at least you've got your other child'? 

Or a father who's just had a stillborn 'at least you've got your other child'? 

No you wouldn't, because it's like saying 'never mind least you've got another.'

And nobody would dream of saying that to parents who had lost a child in those circumstances, so why is it ok to say it to parents that have lost their child through pregnancy? 

Just because those parents were unable to meet their babies it doesn't mean they weren't a part of them. It doesn't mean they weren't as much a part of their heart and soul as any other children they may have. 

Sometimes saying nothing and just being there is more important than trying to say something to make that parent feel better. 

Telling your child they're never going to meet their sibling

I've always maintained that honesty is the best policy, especially when dealing with children. 

There's being honest and there's being too honest when it comes to children. It's a fine line and often easy to cross. 

People often forget that children know a lot more than they are letting on. They know when you are worried or upset about something, they may not know what that something is but they know there's something going on. 

Lily is a natural worrier, just like me. When she knows I'm upset or worried or stressed it, in turn, worries her. I try to be as honest as I can with her without causing her too much upset. But there's some things she doesn't need to know the details about. 

When I had the ectopic Lily was 2. I was taken in to hospital in the middle of the night. We all lived with my mum so it wasn't too worrying for lily when she woke in the morning to my mum instead of me. When I came home a couple of days later after surgery I was in pain and extremely upset. We told Lily I had a poorly tummy and it was sore which was why I was upset. She worried about cuddling me incase she hurt me which was really hard. But she helped my mum look after me and was soon back to her usual snugly self. 

Lily had turned 3 when I became pregnant with Albie. We told her before our 12 week scan that she was going to have a brother or sister. She was so excited! She was always talking about 'the baby in mummy's tummy' asking when she would meet her sibling. 

When we found out something may be wrong with Albie we didn't tell Lily. Partly because we didn't want to worry her and partly for selfish reasons. She was the only person that still treated us the same. There was no passing looks of sympathy and she didn't avoid the subject. She was still happy to talk about him and spent her time making sure he was ok in there, chatting away to him, telling him stories and cuddling and kissing my ever growing belly. 

When our 20 week scan showed how poorly Albie was and we knew the outcome we still didn't tell Lily strait away. On the day I was due to be induced we had booked Lily in at nursery. We knew this was the best idea for her as it was a safe place and if she was at home she would be constantly worrying about where her mummy, her Brent and her nannie were. My mum sorted Lily's care out and made sure there was someone there to look after her. My dad and my brothers stepped in and Lily's dad had her over night. 

When I returned home numb the next day the best I could do was sit on the sofa and sob. There were people around me but I felt totally alone. That was until my wonderful amazing girl came home. I needed her more than she had ever needed me. 

Her little face when she saw me like that I'll never forget. I knew I had to tell her there and then. My heart broke again that second. I told her that the baby in my tummy had been very poorly and he hadn't grown properly so he had to go and live in the sky. She asked lots of questions like why was he poorly and was he still in my tummy. I was honest. I said his brain hadn't grown properly and that he had come out of my tummy. We told her that we called him Albie and that he will always be her baby brother and that he loved her so much. She sat in silence for longer than I've ever seen before (Anyone that knows Lily knows she doesn't sit still for 5 seconds). You could see she was trying to process the situation in her head. She asked some more questions and said ''But we were going to live in our own house and be a family'' it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to hear. I assured her that we were still going to have our own house and no matter what we're were still a family and Albie will always be a huge part of our family. And that was it. She cuddled me and then asked if she could have her dinner. She accepted it just like that. That's what had happened and no one could change it. 

I'm im awe of that little girl every day. She's had so much to deal with in her short little life. But she picks herself up and she carries on. She's stronger than all of us. She's bright, she's kind, she's polite, she's the only one in the world that can put a genuine smile on my face on the really bad days. She talks about Albie every day and I love it. She's such a proud big sister. If it wasn't for her I don't know where I'd be right now. She's 4 and she understands me more than anyone. She understands that I can't always take her out every day because I struggle to even get out of bed, she understands that when I cry all I need is a cuddle. She knows that tomorrow is another day and that we can start over again and do exciting things. 

Don't get me wrong I feel the guilt of those bad days I don't want her to miss out but I'm so glad she's the way she is. She's perfect, and I'm so proud of my little rock. I try my best for her, my world. 

After all, life goes on. 

Everyone needs friends

I have some amazing friends. Friends I see most days, friends I maybe won't see for months and some friends I've never even met. Every single one as amazing as the other. 

I just wanted the world to know how thankful I am that you care about me. How I would have coped without all your support, I don't know. 

I know I've said it before but Thankyou for all my heartfelt gifts and the kind words you have all given me. Thankyou for all the candles lit for my babies. But mostly, Thankyou for being there. Thankyou for being you and putting up with my good days and my bad. And Thankyou for caring about not only me but my family. You are all truly amazing and I hope I can return the love and care you have shown for me. 

I love you all xxxx