Tag: living after loss

Dear Betty #46

Published on by bettydora2 Comments

Dear Betty,

I never imagined I would have a daughter but the moment I was told you were a girl I had our whole lives mapped out. The adventures, outfits, the bedroom, the hair styles, everything.

It’s been a while my darling. A while since mummy wrote her thoughts about you. Being the worrier that I am, I worry that people will think because I’m not talking about you I’m not thinking about you. I want you to know this couldn’t be further from the truth. From the minute I wake in the morning to the minute I go to bed you are in my thoughts, like your brothers I am thinking of you all the time, but in other ways, you aren’t loosing your school shoes or having a paddy over a prawn cracker, but if you were here I’m sure you would be – I wish you were. Know that every night before I close my eyes I look at your hand holding daddy’s in the picture we have by our bed and I think of you my love, I remember your perfect little face and your jet black hair and I can still feel your squidgy body in my arms.

Time moves so quickly, the time we have spent apart is so much longer than the time we had together – although that was never going to be difficult. But the love we have for you continues to grow everyday. The thought of the lifetime god willing I have ahead of me without you is still scary. I know you are gone, but I will never fully accept what happened to you, to our family. There will always be unanswered questions, the what ifs. These are the hardest to swallow, there isn’t a day that passes that I don’t question what I could/should of done differently. I don’t find comfort in knowing it wasn’t my fault because let’s face it although I wasn’t directly responsible if we look at all the events leading up to that day If I had made different decisions you could be here, but we will never know.

I need you to know that even tho now our grief isn’t all consuming like it was in the beginning and I don’t cry as much as before it doesn’t mean we don’t miss or love you any less. Often the feeling of guilt that straddles a feeling of excitement or happiness feels so awful I wonder if I should feel it at all. I hope you know we wish more than anything that you were here with us, I thought about you on many occasions last weekend as we celebrated your little brothers birthday what would be if you had of been here. Vinnie loves LOL dolls – I bet you would of too, I wonder if you would of laid on the rug in the lounge on your tummies together playing, doing all the American accents like he watches on You Tube or would you argue and fight like him and Archie do! Or would you be the balance in between that boy sandwich! I often think of you in this house along with Archie and Vinnie, thinking about the three of you here with me is just so heartbreakingly sad, I wish you were here my darling, I wish you could of had all your brothers have and more.

I can picture the 3 of you in matching pyjamas at Christmas and I feel so sad to know you will never be in the photo. We still talk about you so much, Vinnie can say your name now, when I ask him where you are he says you are at a party. I hope where ever you are you’re having fun. I still don’t know if I believe in heaven but I like to think of you somewhere where only love exists, where the pain of loss and heartbreak can never reach you.

As your birthday arrives this year, the 4th one without you I promise we will keep your memory alive. Where we live now the stars are so clear and bright. From the very first moment I told Archie where you had gone he told me you were a star and even now when we look up he always looks for you, we all do and always will.

As life after loss continues and our journey and story grows there is one thing that will never change and that is that you were here. I always say I would do it all over again just to hold you and I would, even if the outcome was to be the same. When we had Vinnie we had no guarantees he would arrive to us safely but I believe you helped us with that.

I hope you are watching, I hope you are happy and I hope you feel the love we have for you today and always. Mummy has made so many friends since you left many who have babies in heaven with you, I hope you are all together and feel nothing but love and happiness. It provides a comfort to know you are somewhere, somewhere safe and with those who leave us here and arrive to look after you, this birthday you have your great granny Gi Gi with you. Please keep shining we love you so very much and you are with mummy everywhere I go.

I will never understand why we couldn’t keep you but I’m so lucky that I held you for that small moment in time. Tonight the sky will light up for you and all your friends in a wave of light. You are all so loved.

My beautiful little girl forever our daughter, our baby, our Betty

Mummy X

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Loss #42

Published on by bettydora1 Comment

Loss – definition: the fact or process of losing something or someone.

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This week is bringing us ever so quickly to Betty’s 4th birthday. 4 years is a long time but in some ways it has flown, I can’t remember what I did yesterday but I can remember the 16th October, nearly every detail, I can remember how I felt, how I cried all night the night my daughter died. The afternoon of the 16th, it was a Friday, I was booked in for a scan , I had been for a midwife appointment on the Wednesday and I was measuring over (not unusual I guess as it had happened about a month prior to this) and Archie was 9lb 2oz this was probably going to be a big baby too! The hospital couldn’t fit me in any earlier than the Friday, I was due that week – they said I would probably of had the baby by then and wouldn’t make the scan! I made the scan, I was diagnosed with Polyhdramois (excess fluid) and they were estimating the baby to be well over 10lbs! I was asked to go to the maternity unit across town for 7pm that night, they said as I was already due and given these new risks I would be induced. I wasn’t worried, they weren’t worried, I was excited we were going to meet our baby girl at last!

We went home, I had a bath, we told Archie we would next be home with his sister that weekend. This still hurts so badly to write, I promised him, I will always feel like I let him down. We headed off to the hospital, left Archie in the safe hands of Scott’s mum and got put in a side room on the day assessment ward. The midwife came in and asked if we would like to listen to the babies heartbeat (we said no because we didn’t think there was a need to, we had seen her just a few hours ago and she was moving about and happy) this will of course always be a regret, although I am certain she was still alive at this point.

After a little wait we got taken to the maternity ward, we were ‘checked in’ they were waiting to speak to a consultant who was in with an emergency, they said they would not be starting the induction that evening because they were too busy and as this was a second baby she could arrive quickly. She told us to go and get some food, eat and come back when we were ready. We went and got a take away pizza, the midwife phoned whilst we were out and said not to rush back as they definitely wouldn’t be doing anything until the early hours – I asked if I could pop home and get my dressing gown as I had forgotten it, she said that would be fine and to not rush back. We didn’t take long as even tho she had said this I didn’t feel comfortable being gone from the hospital for too long.

We returned and they told me to get ready for bed, they told Scott that he could go home and get some sleep and they would call him when it was time to come back, they still weren’t sure when they would start the induction it could be the early hours. He stayed while I got into bed and the midwife said she would listen to the babies heartbeat before I went to sleep. She put the machine on – nothing, she could only find my heartbeat – I wasn’t concerned at this point. She went to get another machine and had some troubles with the plug, still nothing. They then wheeled a portable scan machine in, their faces said it all and then I saw the grainy image on the screen her little hand was limp, I knew she was gone.

We were whisked off the ward and taken to a side room, I kept asking them to do a c-section get her out quickly, they could save her. Their answer was no, she was gone. 4pm we had seen her in a scan, 10pm she was dead, how does this happen? We would have to wait until morning for a consultant to come and do a second scan to confirm she was dead. They pulled a ropey uncomfortable double bed out of the wall. My mum and dad were on holiday in Thailand, they were returning the following day, my mum had said the baby would wait for Nanny to come home before she arrived none of us could ever have imagined this. I phoned my Aunty because I just didn’t know what to do, her and my Uncle came to the hospital we told them what had happened we all sat in shock, I don’t know what time they went but I just remember laying on that bed all night I cried all night, I didn’t sleep, Scott didn’t either. I went in with a living baby and now I was lying in hospital with a dead one inside me. I was in hell. We laid there all night crying and just saying ‘why’ out loud, neither of us knew the answer, we didn’t know what to expect, we didn’t even understand what had happened.

The next morning it was confirmed she was gone. That night Betty was born. For a brief moment I thought she would cry, as the room fell silent I forgot for a minute she was gone. She just looked so perfect, so peaceful, this wasn’t how it was meant to be. She quickly became cold, her skin was clammy and she felt empty. I can’t explain it properly that’s the only word I can think to describe it. She was so beautiful, I was so sad I couldn’t see her eyes – I know they would of been huge like her big brothers, I think they would of been green I don’t know why. These are the silly things I just won’t ever know. We took some photos but we definitely didn’t take enough, I wanted to capture her but I almost didn’t feel like I could take photos like we would of done if she was alive it didn’t feel right. But I knew this was all we would have. The nurses kindly took her feet and hand prints and did little imprints in clay, I wish it would of been possible to get a proper cast of her hands and feet. Nothing was rushed, we could stay as long as we wanted. But I felt so conflicted, I needed to see Archie but I wanted to be with Betty. I didn’t know how we were going to tell him but we needed to be with him. We made the decision he would not meet Betty. I think it was the right one for us. He was 4, I don’t think he would of been able to understand that she wouldn’t be coming home I didn’t think it would be easy for him to process seeing her dead as she looked so normal.

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My mum and dad found out what had happened in their airport car on the way home from Thailand – I couldn’t say the words, Scott had to tell them. They came straight from the airport to the hospital with my brother and his now wife, they all saw Betty I’m so glad they did. My mum stayed with me all night and Scott went home to Archie. Mum bathed and changed her and spoke to her all night. I’m glad we had that time. By morning she had already changed her lips had changed colour and there was fluid leaking from her nose, I didn’t like it, she was so different to just a few hours before. They brought us a cold cot to keep her in when we weren’t holding her. I wanted to cuddle her but the more she warmed up the more she deteriorated. Every time I picked her up she was cold from where she had been on the mat in the cot, it was such a contradiction from what should be the snuggly hot water bottle newborn we were supposed to have.

We had to decide if we wanted a post mortem, the priest came and christened her, he said prayers and lit a candle in a little star shaped holder for her which we still have. He was so kind and caring and lovely. I don’t have a picture of me and Scott together with her, I wish I did. We decided although invasive a post mortem had to be done, we had to know how our perfect child was off to the morgue rather than our home.

We had more visitors that afternoon (which I will talk about in another post this week) we then got ready to go, I knew this was going to be the worst moment, the last time we would ever see her. We asked the nurses to take her as we didn’t want to walk away and leave her on her own in the room. So we kissed her, told her we loved her, tucked her up and they wheeled our baby away. 9 months of growing, excitement, love, plans for the future. Our whole life with our son and daughter were mapped out in our heads. Our life lay ahead a blessing to have one of each child, a son, a daughter. Our new life was about to begin without our longed for baby girl. At that moment our loss felt so great it might aswel have been the end of the world. We left hand in hand to embark on a new journey, a journey of loss, grief and pain. If only I could of told that mama that left that hospital that day that she would be ok, where she would be in 4 years time, that she would feel happiness and have hope again I probably wouldn’t have believed her. That was something I had to find out for myself. I had limited resources and people to reassure me of this at the time but I am so proud of how far we have come now.

It was clear from day 1 that I had no choice in this, the decision was firmly taken out of my hands. However unfair it did and still continues to feel it couldn’t be changed. But I did have a choice of how I would move forward, it could break me or it could make me. It could make me stronger, it could make me more resilient, it could make me see the good and it could make me see the bad. It could make me appreciate the small things and it could make me put perspective on every aspect of life. And it did. I was and continue to be sad and upset because my daughter died but I am lucky that I am here. I have so much in my life that I am to be thankful for and I live everyday feeling so thankful that she was ours. I would NEVER change her, because it could of been different and just because she didn’t survive doesn’t mean I have a regret her. In life we have to take risks because if we don’t then nothing wonderful would ever happen. Sometimes, like in our case things do go wrong and it’s hard but we have to learn to adapt to our ‘new normal’ and simply keep putting one foot in front of the other.

If today you are crippled with grief or loss and you stayed in bed all day, it’s ok. You can try tomorrow, if all you do is move from the bed to the sofa you still moved, small steps will turn into big ones and the days you have been wishing by will somehow turn into months and then into years, although you will always ‘feel’ your loss it will naturally become less raw and you will learn your own way of dealing with everything that encompasses the death of your child.

Everything we do in life often derives from love and life after loss is no different to this. If you have love you will get there, I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but love will guide you. For anyone feeling their loss today please know I understand and am here for you. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, I am so proud to share my words and my Betty with you all. I wish she was here but this is the next best thing to sharing our wonderful little girl with as many people who want to know about her.

THANK YOU

Jen x

Grief… #41

Published on by bettydora1 Comment

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Grief – definition: intense sorrow, especially caused my someone’s death.

I have been grieving for 1384 days. My journey began on the 16th October 2015, the day my daughter died. She was a full term baby, she weighed 9lb 7oz. Her name is Betty Dora Burborough. I have 2 sons, one who came before her and one who came after. I will only ever know what it is like to raise a daughter in my heart, never in my arms. Betty was stillborn, on October 17th 2015 she became 1 of the 15 babies that died in the UK that day. Betty was that statistic, I am part of that statistic. And here begins my journey, my journey of grief, loss, tragedy but ultimately love.

Nearly four years on I am used to how it feels now, I can deal with it, I can control it. Sometimes I feel worse, sometimes I feel ok. I will never feel ‘better’ I will never feel the same. I have just learnt to live and navigate it all. It 100% doesn’t feel as raw as it did in those first few weeks, months, but it’s still there, she is still gone. I have HAD to deal with it, I have HAD to live without her BUT I will NEVER accept and have peace with what happened to me, to us, to my family. Whoever said ‘everything happens for a reason’ – whilst I appreciate so many more things have happened that probably would not had she lived I doubt that person had experienced the loss of their child. I have said this so many times before but a parent should NEVER have to bury their child. It is not the way life was intended, it should be the other way round. I know it’s not always the case, I have done it – so many others I know now have also done it. We are the statistic, but we each have a story, we each have a child who we are desperate to tell you about, share with you, we want you to see them, admire them, tell us how beautiful they are, just like you would with everyone’s living children. The difference is, we only have a handful of images, we don’t have carefully curated photos of them with balloons on their birthdays, laid on a mat with a cute caption each month when they are babies. Their ‘firsts’ were their ‘lasts’. They will forever be ‘our babies’ because for them life went no further.

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, I don’t need sympathy. I just want you to understand my story so that if you or one of your friends or family find themselves in this position you can help them, be there for them. The death of a child will always be a shock, it will always be in my opinion one of the worst things you can go through or see anyone else go through. But, perhaps myself and others talking about what we’ve been through can help you to guide a loved one or yourself should it god forbid ever happen to you.

 

I’m not here to try and scare you. If you are currently pregnant or grieving yourself then you may not feel you have a place here right now and that’s ok. I understand. But this week I want to try and help, try and educate. I’m not an expert, but I have been through it. There’s no tool kit for loss, but there are some things I would of done differently had I known more about baby loss. That doesn’t mean to say that if you are pregnant you need to read and educate yourself, I don’t want people to go through what should be a wonderful time in your life in fear. I am not here to breed fear. But at least if today or tomorrow or anytime from the moment these words are published you or someone you know find yourself in this position you may be able to help them, this may be able to help them. They might be able to capture the photos I wish I had, or avoid the situations I wish I had.

If you have read this far, thank you. If you havn’t lost a baby but have read this, thank you. Thank you for trying to understand and thank you for allowing yourself to be open to this topic. If you have lost a baby, I am so sorry, I am sorry you have had to come here, I am sorry they died. But please know you are not alone, please know you are going to be ok, please know there is no sugar coating it, life will not be easy from this point, but it will get better. Please don’t feel ashamed, don’t feel isolated, and don’t suffer alone or in silence. In order to grieve we must re-live and talk about our experiences so that we can understand and move forward (not on).

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So welcome, my name is Jen and my daughter was stillborn, my daughter died.

Jen x