Dear Aoibh

Yesterday I went to the opticians. I know, what an utterly boring sentence to write, but to me it is significant. I was told early on during this whole thing that the toughest part would be when everyone around me started going back to their normal lives. It definitely was tough, when the texts and phone calls started to reduce and that scaffolding of support felt slightly further away. However what I have found even more difficult was the need for me to resume ‘normal’ service.

For me that has meant going to an optician’s appointment, booking my MOT, doing the weekly food shop etc etc. I have found the days which have involved these or similar tasks to be the most exhausting and for a while I wasn’t sure why. When I think about it now I guess it’s because in those circumstances I have to put on a mask. A mask that hides the pain underneath but means that I can pretend I am just on a day off work, or that allows me to decide what to put on my shopping list!

I suppose as with all things this too shall pass and in time I will feel more able to make small talk with a shop assistant and the thought of facing an afternoon full of mundane day to day tasks won’t fill me with dread.

I have to be honest I would take a year full of those days rather than the most important task looming over my head, to go and register your death. As with every day now, and just as you supported me when the optometrist was asking if I was doing anything nice with my time off work, I have absolutely no doubt that you will support your Dad and I through that day too.

Forever yours

Mum xx

My dearest Aoibh

Today you would have been 1 month old. I am writing this as I lay in bed unable to sleep. My mind is struggling to slow down as I have been thinking about all that has happened since we welcomed you into the world a month ago. It feels like only a brief moment since you were lifted up into my arms and I felt that surge of love at first sight, and yet at the very same time it feels like forever ago since I last touched your skin.

The last time I wrote to you I was feeling weak and although I know I will feel that weakness again and again I am glad to be able to say that today I have felt a little bit of strength creep back into my bones. I am sure that you played a part in this and acted through my wonderful family and friends to remind me once more of all the love and support that surrounds you and I.

As you know Aoibh I seem to have unconsciously decided that I am going to deal with my grief head on at any given opportunity. Today was no different when I decided to do some shopping in Mothercare.

When I first entered the shop I silently chastised myself for thinking I could do this, but ultimately I feel much better for having done it. After all I was there for a very important reason, to choose a gift for your beautiful new cousin Éireann. I spent so long trying to pick the perfect gift for such a special baby, and I really did enjoy the experience of looking through all the beautiful baby clothes. I even allowed myself a brief moment to imagine a parrellel world where I would still be picking a outfit for your cousin but also using it as an opportunity to pick a new outfit for you.

While in the queue to pay I was struck by the sight of two women doing their shopping. One looked to be heavily pregnant and was looking at Christmas baby grows, and the other was a mum with her new born baby. I would have given anything in that moment to be either of those women.

As with so many of these things I can’t help but compare today to previous memories. The one that comes to mind is your Dad and I going to visit your Auntie Vicky and Nanny and deciding to have quick look in Mothercare while we were there. I was barely 12 weeks pregnant but I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to immerse myself in the excitement of pregnancy and to share it with your Dad and his family. We looked at baby clothes, maternity clothes, nursery furniture and prams. I loved every moment of that shopping trip, even if most of it was spent persuading your dad that we didn’t need a rocking chair with matching rocking foot stool!!

I can’t help but wonder if I will ever feel that excitement again. I hope that one day your father and I will go on to have a brother or sister for you but I doubt I will feel that fizz of excitement again. I suppose one of the many heart breaking things about this journey is the stark knowledge that in this life there are no certainties, and the burden of knowledge that comes only with a loss such as this will be carried with me during any future pregnancies. Although that being said, I know that you will also walk that journey with me, how wonderful it will be to have an angel looking after me.

Talk soon, forever yours

Mum xx

 “Courage does not always roar. Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying I will try again tomorrow”.

My beautiful Aoibh,

So many people have spoken to me about the stages of grief and I really thought I had a good grasp of what to expect. I was wrong. I did not expect that for me these stages would be mixed together in a big pot of grief, each coming to the surface on different days in different strengths. Shock, denial, anger, guilt, acceptance… I feel that I am on an unending loop, and unfortunately over the last few days I seem to have got stuck on guilt.

Before your birth I had so many professionals talking to me about their role in your care. Midwives, nurses, obstetricians, paediatricians, cardiologists all with such confidence in knowing exactly what they would be doing to look after you. No one really spoke about my role, but I knew exactly what it was. My role was to remain completely focused during labour and to ensure that you arrived as quickly as possible so that all these other wonderful people could do their job. Up until now I had thought that I did an ok job. Labour was relatively quick, and when I was told it was time for you to arrive I focused on listening to the midwife and doing exactly what I was told when I was told to do it.

Now however I seem to have a little voice in my head doubting these previous relatively positive thoughts. Maybe I didn’t push hard enough, maybe I could have got you out quicker, maybe that would have changed the ultimate outcome. I then I go back further in my mind, maybe my diet resulted in you not being quite as strong as you could have been when born, maybe I didn’t rest enough, maybe I rested too much, maybe something I did in early pregnancy resulted in your heart defect in the first place. In short, maybe I brought this all on myself, and even worse brought this pain on you, your Dad and everyone else who loved you.

I know these are dark unhelpful thoughts and I also know (or maybe just hope) that in time I will be strong enough to rid these thoughts from my mind and ‘accept’ that I could do nothing to change the path of your short journey.

I made a promise to you that I would be strong for you and I promise I will not let you down but I think for today atleast my courage is just a whisper rather than a roar.

Forever yours

Mum xx

 

Dear Aoibh

I used to think that when you woke me every night at 4am you were letting me know how you planned to spend your nights following your birth. As I think about it now maybe you knew the importance of those moments and what you were actually doing was giving me the gift of a little bit more time with you. I can’t pretend that I didn’t complain about your night owl tendencies, I complained about it a lot! That said I did enjoy creeping downstairs in the middle of the night and embracing the quiet with you. In those moments it was just you and I against the world.

Last night I once more woke at 4am. For the briefest of moments I forgot all that had happened but then it all came flooding back. Instead of feeling you twirl and kick all I felt was emptiness. I hate that I am starting to forget how it felt to be kicked by you.

Following your death my body continued to prepare for motherhood and the day before your funeral my milk arrived. It broke my heart and your dad held me as I cried and asked why my body was making me go through this. Now my body is slowly returning to its pre pregnancy form and I hate that too as it makes me feel a little bit more distant from you every day.

Although in time my mind may completely forget the physical sensation of those kicks I promise I will never forget all the wonderful times we had together before you even entered this world.

Feel free to kick me in my dreams at 4am whenever you want!

Forever yours

Mum xx

 

 

Dear Aoibh

I have to be honest with you and let you know about one of my weaknesses… I love a comfort zone! Stepping even an inch outside my comfort zone fills me with anxiety. I am rubbish at meeting and chatting to new people and I am even worse at pushing myself to try new experiences. This makes me feel like a bit of fraud as I have spent my career in mental health encouraging my patients to get out there and try new things and telling them about the benefits of joining groups and talking to others about how they feel.

When I was pregnant I decided that your birth would be my turning point. I made a promise to you that we would go to lots of groups and classes. I was determined that I wouldn’t shy away from others, I would open up and say yes to any opportunities which presented themselves and I knew that you and I would feel all the better for it.

With all this in mind and despite all that has happened I have decided to keep that promise. I suppose now more than ever I need things to do and I definitely need the opportunity to talk. So last night your father and I went to a SANDS support group for the first time.

I was so anxious before we went; was it too soon to go? Would I be forced to speak? Would I embarrass myself and spend the session crying? Would the other group members be nice?

I am so relieved to be able to say that the group was wonderful. Yes I cried and yes when I started speaking I suddenly thought that this was all to raw to share, but I felt so supported. The other group members were great and although there was so much pain in that room, we all knew we were sharing it together.

I felt exhausted after the group and I am still feeling that exhaustion today but I also feel happy that your father and I went to the group, and I can definitely say that we will be going again.

My next challenge is tomorrow night- I have enrolled myself in a mindfulness course at the local college. I have decided to do it by myself and so will not have the comfort and support of your dad beside me, but I hope with all my heart that you will be there with me.

Once more, thank you for giving me strength that I never knew I had

Forever yours

Mum xx

My darling Aoibh

Today I have taken my first very tentative steps towards my new ‘normal’ and have decided to stay over in our house for the first time since we lost you. As I write this I am curled up with your Dad in my favourite chair with my favourite blanket watching my favourite TV programme.

Its hard not to think about the last time I was tucked up in the same position the night before we went to Dublin to have you. It really does feel like a life time ago. I was full of anxiety, but also hope. I spent the evening trying to imagine what you would look like and chatting to you about what was to come. I thought about the risks involved in your heart surgery but I honestly never considered any potential that you wouldn’t even get the chance to have that surgery. I suppose that’s what makes this all so much harder to believe and understand. My pregnancy was dominated by various doctors explaining your heart condition to me and talking through the plan of surgery and what would come after that. I thought a hundred times about how tough the day of your heart surgery would be, and now I would give anything to be sitting in the hospital waiting to hear how your surgery had gone.

I hate that I should be planning which mother and baby classes to go to once you left hospital and instead I am looking up local bereavement groups. I feel anger that we have been given such a burden to carry, but I also feel gratitude that I now have you guiding my way towards my new ‘normal’.

forever yours

Mum xx

My dearest Aoibh

I have to be honest, and you probably already know this but the last few days have been tough. I woke up this morning after crying myself to sleep last night and struggling to find a peaceful rest. Needless to say my motivation to get out of bed was significantly lacking. Thankfully I pushed through my desire to hide away today.

I’m not sure why the last few days have been particularly tough but I know that I have struggled to banish the darker thoughts from my mind…. was any of this my fault? Did I do something when pregnant that affected the outcome for you? Did I not do enough? And so on and on they spin around my mind. The mind really can be the cruelest and loneliest of places.

I am conscious that it would be easy to keep those darker thoughts to myself and slowly they would build and slowly they would eat away at me. It is such a cliche but it really is good to talk.

I am glad to say that I have the most wonderful people around me encouraging me to talk every day. I think this allows me to focus on the brighter thoughts. I am so lucky to have such kindness in my life. I have people who are gentle with me, people who sit beside me and allow me to just shed my many many tears, people who push me to do activities every day and people who make me smile through the tears.

Today reminded me once more of all that kindness. I talked, cried, laughed and drank way too much hot chocolate (and definitely not enough gin!) And after all of that I felt better. As I write this I am conscious that the physical pain in my chest is a little less than this morning.

Of course I also cannot forget the part you are playing in my healing process. More and more so I find myself talking to you each day, whether that be through these letters, at your grave side or simply chatting to you as I get ready for bed each night and I love each of those moments.

I hope with all my heart that you are out there somewhere watching over your father and I.

All my love

Mum xx

Dear Aoibh

As I write this the house is quiet. Your granny is out and your Dad is asleep. I’m not sure yet whether the quiet brings me comfort or pain. I suppose, as with everything now it is a mixture of both.

Someone told me following your death that I will now forever carry you in my thoughts and I can remember thinking that surely that cannot be true. Surely my brain will allow me time to focus, even just momentarily, on other things.

However it is true, I find that my mind is now almost spilt in two. I can focus on other tasks and conversations and thankfully I have also found the strength to still smile and laugh, but I am constantly aware of the thought of you in another part of my mind. Sometimes it is happy thoughts such as your choice to spend the last month of my pregnancy with a foot stuck in one of my ribs or waking me at 4am every single morning with a very firm kick. And sometimes it is sad thoughts such as all the wonderful experiences that you and I are now missing out on. And sometimes it is simply the image of your face in my mind. But I am glad that the thought of you is always there. I know that you will be with me wherever my journey now takes me, how lucky am I to have an angel looking after me always.

I had the weirdest realisation on the way to your funeral as I sat with you by my side. I realised that if I could get through that day then fear and worry will no longer have a hold on me. You see Aoibh, I have always been a bit of a worrier. I have lost count of the amount of time I have missed sleep as I have been worrying about how to deal with an issue at work, how I will manage in a meeting, how I will cope with any potential conflict etc etc. But in that moment as we drove towards our final goodbye, I realised that if I could find the strength on that day, then everything else in life will be easier. If I had the strength to let you go, then I can’t imagine any obstacle being too much of a challenge for me now.

I feel that in your short life you have given us many many gifts and I am sure I will continue to write to you and tell you about each of those gifts in turn, but for now I am particularly grateful for the strength you have given me and everyone else who has been touched by you.

All my love, forever yours

Mum xx

 

My beautiful Aoibh

Yesterday I decided to go through your baby bag. I definitely had not realised when I was packing it just how full of hope that bag was.

As with so many things over the last few weeks I am not sure why I decided that yesterday was the right day to go through your bag. It was painful, therapeutic, heart wrenching and comforting all at the same time.

This experience was made so much easier by the fact that I had your Granny Rawdon by my side. I was able to talk through each item one by one. So many hats, socks, mittens, vests and baby grows and we lovingly went through every single item in turn.

So many items that you never got to see never mind wear, but I am so glad to be able to say that there were a few items in there that you did wear. For a baby who only had two short days on this earth, you went through an awful lot of hats!! Now I am able to hold them and know when I do, that there was a time when they touched your beautiful skin. Also in the bag is probably one of my most cherished items, your pink fluffy socks. I didn’t get much chance to dress you, but I was able to put on your socks on our final day together. Those socks were such a contrast to all the wires etc attached to your tiny body- a tiny blast of happiness in a sea of pain.

After we went through each item in your bag and shed a lot of tears, we folded up each item and placed it back in the bag. As I did so I could not help but wonder what the future will bring for those clothes. Will I want to look at them again, or maybe they will stay in that bag untouched for a long time to come? Maybe your father and I might even be lucky enough to look at those clothes again in the future at a time when we experiencing the hope of new life once more.

Regardless of what happens I know for sure that I do not regret buying those items. It is hard to really recall the hope I felt when I packed that bag now, but I know it was there, and with all my heart I pray that there will come a time when it will be there again.

All my love, forever yours

Mum xx

 

Dear Aoibh

As I write this your wonderful Dad is embracing his creative side. He is currently pressing flowers taken from the large number of beautiful bouquets we have received over the past few weeks. He tells me he has big plans for his pressed flowers and that they will be the central part of a picture tribute to you. I am in awe of his creativity but if I’m completely honest I am also a little jealous of his focused mind today.

People told me I would have good days and bad days but I didn’t realise that they would come in such quick succession to each other. I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me. When I have a better day I stupidly think “ok, maybe this is it, maybe this the day that the tears will end” but then I wake up to start another day and I feel like I am back to square one again.

Today I have felt a physical ache in my chest from which I have struggled to break free. I have found myself pacing back and forth trying to find some peace that seems so far away. I have clutched your blanket and it has brought me comfort and pain in equal measure. When I hold it I feel closer to you, but it also makes me angry that I am not getting to tuck your blanket around you.

Although I wish the better days would come soon, I also know in my heart that there is no way to rush this process. I suppose I need to just embrace the good days whenever they do come and make sure to make the most of them.

I don’t think I will be pressing flowers any time soon but then again if this experience can lead your dad to be a flower pressing expert, who knows where I might end up!

Forever yours

Mum xx