Treasure

g is for...

I found this on a beach today. I was rather excited.
It's now sitting on my bedside table
I might have to go and have another look at it in a minute.
No, it's not a 9 or a 6. It's a g. Yup.
Of course I don't really believe in signs...
Of all the pebbles on all the beaches.

Day 443

George would have been bundled up in his cosy snowsuit and probably tottering between us, Mummy and Daddy with a hand each. We would have let him touch and taste the snow, lie down in it if he wanted. We would have made him a snowman to trample. He would have been rosy cheeked and happy. Definitely happy. It's my fantasy after all, we are always happy.

As it is we made a snowman for ourselves. You can see Ray to the right of this photo and the tracks are his rolling tracks.

He rolled his snowball around and around watched and emulated by several children. I rolled my snowball around a bit less and made the head. We laughed. We gave him a punk hairdo and a winking eye just to be "funky". And left him with the hope that we will see him again at the weekend when we take Ray's sister and niece to play.


After the snowman challenge we warmed ourselves in the car with hot tea and watched a young couple pull up in their car and unload their two young daughters, one just walking. They were all woefully under-dressed for snow. Mum had on her leggings and a "fashion" coat, and Dad's jeans barely covered his bum. I had on four top layers under my coat and two pairs of jeans and I was still chilly (yea I know, wimp). They spent less than 10 minutes in the snow before bundling their girls back into the car and driving off. I hadn't even begun my tea. We chuckled at their un-preparedness and tears quietly pricked my eyes. We could do better. Why not us? It's not bloody fair.

Reading blogs this morning I was struck by a few sentences in Leila's mommy's blog.

"sure, from their standpoint i am free now. i can do all the things that i would have had to give up had Leila not died."

There's no freedom in being parent to a dead baby. Whatever we do he is there, just out of sight, just out of reach. When we are adventuring I sometimes forget to stop myself before I mentally list the things we would need and the things we would do with our boy. Even now after 443 days without him. Maybe it's just the ex-nanny in me but it is exhausting at times and I would dearly like to. let. it. go. I'm trying.

I have spent this last year doing many things with the ghost of my son in my head and the back seat of our car.

I am frightened by the thought that we might not be able to have another child, that I am too old, and that I will only ever get to parent George's ghost. That can't be right.

I try to keep all of those thoughts at bay and live in the moment but I don't always succeed.

I am trying.

Always trying.

George

11:05am

One full revolution around the sun.
4 seasons.

It's cold and damp again and my bones have begun to ache in the cold mornings again.

From time to time the sky opens wide and soaks us with cold rain again,
The sea becomes slate grey and except for the hardy the beach is deserted again.

From time to time the sky is bright Wedgwood blue and it is cold and crisp again.

The earth smells rich and damp and sweetly decayed again and the leaves are turning brown and falling from the trees again.

And the earth turns and turns again and again without you.

And another shred is torn from my heart again.

Oh I miss you fiercely little boy. I miss all that you might have been.

I miss the friends you might have made.
I miss the things you would have investigated.
I miss the grand adventures we might have had.
I miss the future that now seems hazy and indistinct.

But mostly, mostly, I just miss my little George.

Beloved.

Conversations

I bumped into a lady who used to volunteer at the shop today. I just popped into town to deposit a cheque and grab some milk. I don't go very often, and even less by my self.

I always got on ok with this lady, sheesh, I always got on with everyone who worked there, I'm not the sort to not get on with someone for no reason, life is too short. Anyway she's about the same age as my mum but can be rather caustic and blunt at times.

This lady sent me a notelet, not a condolence after the loss of your baby card but a notelet with cute woodland animals on it after we lost George telling me it was "probably for the best". Those words back then upset me immensely. For days. I had many conversations with this lady in my head where I told her exactly what would have been "for the best" for us and our son.

Still, I chatted with her, I'm a nice person you know and I don't care much for conflict. I filled her in on why I wasn't going back to that job with those people. She told me about a friend of a friend whose daughter had been born 8 weeks premature and died after surgery to correct a problem with her stomach. "It was all for the best". Ahem. She then mentioned that our loss had probably been "for the best" too. And so, taking my cue from her own bluntness, I told her.

George was perfectly healthy up until his death. The big anatomy scan a week before we lost him showed up NO problems. He was normal to ahead on his growth. He was moving around normally, he hid his face and then flipped over to wave to us. The relief after that scan had been immeasurable; I'd spent the previous night on a ward with women far more pregnant than I listening to a couple of them going into labour and then being wheeled away. They sent us for the anatomy scan, I stopped bleeding and they sent me home. A week later my waters broke and his cord slipped from my body. George died because something in MY anatomy went wrong. I told her that I disagreed with her strongly. Losing our son had never ever been "for the best".

I felt as if I was defending my son's right to his own short little life. And you know, even if there had been terrible problems, even if he had been doomed from the start, even if we had chosen to end our pregnancy to spare him a painful existence, none of it, NONE of it would have ever been "for the best".

I think she might cross the road next time she sees me. Which would be a shame, because she has been one of the few people to even mention our loss. And quite honestly, I relished the chance to say the things I said, and I would have enjoyed "educating" her further.

My George

Today we were walking by the harbour and I heard a girl calling to her brother, his name was George. I felt a catch in my chest and I had to see what this George looked like. This George was about 8. Did he look like my George? Of course not. Would our George have been balancing on the back of the boat trailer where it attaches to the car grinning at his own daring and cleverness as we pulled our boat up the slipway? Oh I'd very much to think so.

It was somewhat of a coincidence. Amy has been blogging about her feelings when coming across a new baby sharing her Liam's name. And working out how to find peace with it. My maternal Grandfather was George but I haven't met another George since we lost ours. It felt a little strange but it was ok.

A dream

I was practising a visualisation technique last night in bed. I relax and breathe deeply, I imagine a beam of light connecting me to the centre of the earth, I imagine a bubble in front of me and ground it to the earth too, I invite my baby-to-be to enter the bubble and see what happens. Until last night nothing has happened. I'm very easily distracted and often catch myself thinking about mundane day to day things.

I saw dark cascading rainbow lights behind my eyelids. It was beautiful. I relaxed and enjoyed the show.

I saw George as a young man. I couldn't see his face clearly but I knew it was George and told him I loved him and he was beautiful. He laughed and asked how I knew when I couldn't see his face. I told him I just knew. He was full of fun and joy whilst I was quite serious. He was just out of reach.

And then I noticed another much smaller boy hiding behind George and peeping out at me. He was scared to come to me, scared that I wouldn't keep him safe. I promised him and I promised George that this boy would be safe.

George laughed and ran, leapt and took flight and then shattered into millions of pieces. For a moment I felt horror and then I realised that he had just gone back to be with the elements of the universe. My son is made of star stuff.

I'm not sure if I was dreaming or this was a figment of my over active imagination but it was lovely and quite interesting.

An adventure

One of our hobbies is searching for the perfect sunset spot.

Yesterday evening we decided to get high.

The air was clear.


It was stunning.

I started a fertility chant upon spotting an amusing penis-shaped rock.
What do you mean it doesn't look like a penis?
Oh dear, am I becoming obsessed?


The sky was awesome.


We rested for a while, drank tea and photographed shadows.


And then Ray got a little higher.

And the sun got a little lower.

And a little lower.

The colours were intense.

It was beautiful.

Not wanting to fall down the tor in the dark we got back to the car just before the light went, sat and drank tea from our sippy cups to warm us up. My hands ached from the cold. I wondered if we had got to keep George whether we would still be having adventures... well wrapped up adventures of course, and I think, hope we would.

I like to think we will have adventures like this when we have our second chance.

And finally.

Boob cat in his favourite balcony sleeping spot.

Hormones 1 Barbara 0

So, the hormones won this morning when, upon hearing the local radio newsreader announce her pregnancy to the local world I burst into tears.

Lying in bed, using the duvet cover as a handkerchief, in between sobs this is what came out;

I miss George. I miss the George that might have been. I miss the George that lives in my head. The George who had to be invented in place of the real one who we didn't know as anyone other than the tiny form who sucked his thumb or cleverly hid his face from the sonographers tools. Our funny baby doing somersaults on screen to entertain us.

I told Ray how wonderful and terrible it is to look at George's photo and see his daddy in that little face. I haven't said this to him before. Ray said that perhaps I shouldn't look at his photo so much. But I can't NOT look. If I don't look I feel as I might forget. George feels so very far away. He says it's hard for him to not look but he doesn't because it hurts too much. He still feels anger. He wants another chance. It's not fair, there is no fair, we deserve some fair.

We talked about other far-too-private-for-a-blog stuff, drank tea and held each other for ages while being stomped on by two frantically brutish kittehs and finally got up at *gulp* 11am!

Bloody pms hormones make everything just that bit more sharp/heavy/painful/irritating/difficult/oh what e v e r.

Then I opened my email and read something quite delightful which cheered me up no end. Thank you silly girl!

A little later we went out and as we passed Ray dragged me to the jewellers to buy us two clip charms for my Pandora bracelet. Damn damn damn but I love that man!

I'm ok now.

Really.

Honestly.

Probably.

I think.

Today I miss my son

I miss the things we would be doing with him.

I miss him watching our kittens.

I miss him taking over our lives and filling our home with even more chaos.

I miss falling in love with him every day, all over again.

I miss him snuggling with us in bed in the morning.

I miss taking him out on an adventure.

I miss watching his dad kiss his nose.

I miss my George every day.

Sometimes

It's as if I forget.

And then I remember.

And then I feel the weight of his absence.

George.

Every so often...

...grief grabs me by the throat and squeezes so very hard.

I was just looking through my photos to see what needed backing up and clicked on George's ultrasound at 16 weeks 5 days and almost howled with sadness.



It's not bloody fair.

Social engagement

Ray's sister invited us for dinner. We haven't seen her much since George died because she's been dealing with her own grief over the death of her sometimes estranged husband who was the same age as me. She's doing ok.

She is the first person to ask for the intimate details of George's death and birth. She wanted to know if he took a breath, when I stopped feeling him move, and what the birth was like. No one, not one other person has asked us these questions before and I quite surprised myself by not crying as I answered. I think I love her. Her 5 year old daughter calls us auntie Brarb and auntie Ray, likes singing Abba songs and has no volume control (she told me when I asked). I quite like being an auntie.

It's been a day for talking about babies today. I saw my Mum this afternoon and a family friend who talked about her daughter who lost three babies after her two boys and before her daughter. I heard of the people who told her she shouldn't grieve because she had two living children. That it was her fault because she wasn't satisfied with two boys and tried for a daughter. The insensitivity and downright meanness of people never ceases to amaze me.

My Mum told me once again to be patient. Today she and my Dad saw "the most beautiful rocking crib" ... ahem, who needs to be patient?



I'm so enjoying stamping names into jewellery and I think about each of our sweet babies as I do it. I'm just waiting for my little boxes to arrive and then I can start posting!

I think I'm going to need some more silver... and some more hours in the day to keep up with your blogs!

Names

This morning I got busy with the jewellery. It feels good to be making something and even better to be making things in remembrance of your sweet children. Thank you thank you thank you thank you for your support, for putting your trust in me and for ordering something if you did. If you did order, I'll get your item to you as soon as I can. Thank you again!


This afternoon we went for a little drive. We wandered around a little harbour that had obviously just finished building new floating docks for the boats. They were named. One was called George Seagull dock. Ray called me over, "Look, they've named it after our son". I haven't grinned so widely for a long time.

Dreaming

After yesterday's walk in the woods I had a sort of waking dream of George darting about that place like a woodland sprite.


A naked, skinny, dirty little boy playing in mud puddles, climbing trees and making dams with sticks and stones.


I'm missing him an awful lot today.

Come for a walk with me

Up to a bit of wild wood on a hill.

Spring is coming here,

Se that man in front of you? That man lost his son and misses him. You would never know if you passed him walking in that wood, but that man in different circumstances might have been carrying a baby close to his chest.

There's a stream that runs through this wood,
The water is flowing fast today after all the rain. You can listen to the sound.


Turn a sharp corner to the left and climb the path to the holly tree, look back down to the path you walked along. What a view.

Look up at the tall trees stretching skyward.

This is where we left our son. George's body rests here in the shade of the trees, with spring bulbs planted around. They are growing well but not yet blooming. We'll be back to see them when they are. Ray's Mum scattered her dear old dog Sally's ashes around George's spot. "Someone to play with."

This morning Ray said he wanted to go and see his sister, "we'll go and check on the bulbs too shall we?" Ray's sister lives on the road that leads to the wood. This is the first time we've been back since Ray dug his son's grave in October. He didn't take photos today and he takes photos everywhere. This is a sombre place for him but he's glad the bulbs are growing and the ground hasn't been disturbed.

After visiting the wood, we called on his sister and brother in law. "We've been to see George and Sally" Ray doesn't say George's name often, neither do I to be honest, except on the inside. It made me feel warm to hear him say it today. "We're going to be trying again soon". Yes we are.