Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Right Where I Am - One Year, 8 Months and 22 Days

Thanks to Angie for initiating this project. Read more here.

I miss her still, pure and simple. But it is more fuzzy these days, it is a sad story, a tale in the past, one that is told and retold in my head over and over. I play back my memories and the littlest things bother me. I don't remember kissing her, how could I have not kissed her!  But now, at least, the replay is not on repeat, I can put it back in it's case and leave it on the shelf. But her absence pops up now and then and it bites like a dagger to the heart. The mother with a baby and toddler, a "born in 09" t-shirt in the pile of second hand clothes, her name mentioned, silly little things.

I feel my own mortality terribly these days and  I am hyper aware of just how, temporary, everything the sands of time are slipping straight through my fingers. I am very mindful of everything, happy moments, pretty objects, sunny days, delicious food, people I love, every little new thing Kira does. I make a very deliberate effort to find simple things to be happy about, even if it is just that nothing is going horribly wrong at this very moment, or that we have a roof over our heads. This has stopped me from going over the edge and ending up with more of the little razor blade scars I have on my arms from when I was a teenager. 

I have still not visited her grave, in fact is has now been so long I wouldn't even know where it is any more. I feel terrible that we couldn't afford her a proper grave with her own headstone. She's in a space for 12 lost babies, it pains me that I don't know where she is. So much of the time I can't face the reality directly, it still feels so raw, like going there and seeing it would be just too real. I bought a little stone with her name on and I've been meaning to take it to her for over a year but can't quite bring myself to face it. 

I have identical baby boxes for all my children, neatly labelled with their name and date of birth on.  I have become almost scared of her feels like that scene from Dune "what is in the box? .....Pain"  The first thing on the top is my husbands poem to her "A Letter To My Lost Daughter" too much for me, just too much to bear to read it.  

I'm meeting a lot of new people, going to all the baby groups and such, discussion always turn to how labour went and how many kids you have. Mostly I edit Bella out and I feel guilty for doing so but I can't stand the horrified looks you get and the dark atmosphere it brings when you talk about it openly, which is only as everyone can empathise with how it would have been to lose their child. There was one discussion about reduced fetal movements and going into hospital to get it checked out and how silly they felt when everything was fine, and the "oh yes I did that too, ha ha" from the group. I kept my mouth shut and felt bitter about it as I have learned to do.

I am far more cynical and impatient, trivial facebook posts about just how terrible life is irritate the hell out of me beyond belief. I have become a fundamental atheist, God talk makes me rage, those little pictures with little bible sayings, or "everything happens for a reason" type stuff. I have however retained my sense of humour, pitch black though it now may be. Actually thinking about it I really am a very strange mix of crazy happy high on life itself  "look rainbows YEY!" and dark cynical "F&*K your pathetic drama" . Who knows *shrug* I lost myself and now I'm a complex mash of all my experiences..... but then again who isn't I suppose. I'm running through life, kicking and screaming, laughing and crying and almost, almost enjoying the rollercoaster again.

Here is something that made me smile today...this guy is currently ranking number 1 in the Next Catalogue model competition, awesome! ...go vote for him :D Reality FTW!



  1. Oh that last paragraph, oh yes. I cannot abide petty drama and my atheist convictions have taken deeper root.


  2. I related to so much of this post. Particularly being afraid of my own mortality. I get almost paralyzed by that some nights, and getting annoyed with the everything happens for a reason stuff. Thank you for participating in this project. It is incredibly powerful to read these stories, and especially the ones you relate to so much. xo

  3. I have been reading these Angie-inspired posts around the blogosphere, and one thing I realize is that grief is transforming, and people cope differently with it.

    I was reading, and re-reading the sentences you have mentioned about visiting Bella's grave. Oh honey, I am so sorry. Not knowing the exact place where she is buried - I know how that pinches. I know.

    I don't think I am over God. But I am no longer impressed with the God's plan part of life really. And crappy life FB status updates? Like a cousin not able to attend a party and hence life is crap? Yes, I want to punch someone.


  4. Katie, your way of loving rainbows, your dark humour, and even your rage are the things that make you, you, and the things I find endearing about you.
    I understand that need to find small things to be happy about, and I too am acutely aware of my own, and my loved ones mortality.
    I don't do the god stuff either.
    I'm so sad you feel awful about Isabella's grave. I hope, if you need to you will find the strength to go, you will when you are ready, I'm certain.
    Keep being you. x

  5. Oh yes, to so much of this. The deeper connection to being an atheist, the trivial FB posts.
    Just so sorry you even have reason to participate in this project. I hate that there are so many of us out here and I know the ones with blogs are just the very tip of the iceberg.
    Thank you for this honest post.

  6. I lost myself and now I'm a complex mash of all my experiences

    Me too, hon.

    And keeping your mouth shut - I've had some practice at that too. Hate it. Hate the bitter line of a closed, angry mouth.

  7. I feel my mortality a lot these days too. Mostly I feel my husband's mortality and that scares the hell out of me. I think that is something that will stay with me forever (well, lots of things will stay with me forever) and that has become completely engrained in my person.

  8. I found your post on BC and I hope you don't mind if I link your blog at mine. I'm well behind you in my very personal journey of grief, with my angel son who'd have been almost 9 months old and my rainbow on her way and yet I feel so alike.
    I'm sorry for your losses. It shouldn't never happen...

  9. Oh, Katie. I am so sorry about your beautiful Bella. I think of you looking at that box and my heart just aches in sympathy. I love that you have a baby box for her, though.

    Thank you for sharing where you are with so much honesty.

  10. I really am a very strange mix of crazy happy high on life itself "look rainbows YEY!" and dark cynical "F&*K your pathetic drama".

    I hadn't thought of it that way but yes ... that's where I am too.

    I'm visiting from Angie's project, thank you for this post.

  11. I was going pick out exactly the same sentence as Fireflyforever. You really nailed that strange mish mash of what goes in my brain these days.

    And when you wrote that you have become almost scared of Bella's box, I felt a shiver of recognition. x