Dreams, thoughts, how am i? almost two years on…

I had a strange dream last night. My husband and I were on a plane on our way to Durban, SA for a conference on adoption. We arrive at our destination and it switches scenes, where I am now walking into an adoption home and he is already there and already chosen a baby, a little girl. She was beautiful and then she wasn’t, she wasn’t as beautiful as Zia owuld have been I kept thinking. Switch scene and I am holding the same little girl and sitting with my husband accross what must have been a Counselor. The next thing I know I am crying my eyes out about my daughter who was stillborn, I couldn’t care less whether she thought was unstable I just went on and on crying about how awful it was to lose Zia. And then I woke up.I had one of those awful weekends, I missed Zia more than usual and I kept thinking back to 16 July 2013, the day my whole world came crashing down around me. I kept replaying the nurses and the doctor trying to locate her heartbeat. I kept thinking “come on baby be okay” and she wasn’t. How is it even possible that she wasn’t okay? It’s been almost two years and I am still so angry, so very angry. I spent the last two days in bed, moping, reading, sleeping, being annoyed. I didn’t cry, I didn’t want to, I just wanted to feel the misery of this life without my daughter. I am okay now, better, back into the swing of things. I hate the end of June because it brings with it July and I hate July. I wish it never existed, I wish I never had to go through this month all over again on an annual basis. I wish I could fall asleep and wake up in August. 

One of those things

Today we went to view a school for my son who is starting Grade 1 next year. When we got to the toilets I automatically said my husband should view the boys and I would view the girls. When I walked through the door I realised what an idiot I’d been. I don’t have a daughter who will ever attend that school do I?

So I did what I do best, inwardly recoiled, stepped into the boys toilets with my boys and said, it’s the same that side. My husband pointed at the urinals, I rolled my eyes. No – one realised how dumb I’d been. I don’t have a daughter to take anywhere. She’s gone.

Hope

Glow in the Woods has started a beautiful kitchen table discussion. You can read more about it here: http://www.glowinthewoods.com

Below are my thoughts

1. What does hope mean to you?

Hope is what remains when everything you’ve ever known crumbles before you like dust. Hope is trusting that a new day will come and with it new chances to do better and be better. Hope is what allows you to believe that your living child will be okay,  even after losing your other child so unexpectedly. Hope is understanding that life is oh so fragile yet oh so beautiful.

2. What hopes did you have for your baby(ies) who died?

I hoped that Zia would dance to the rhythm of her own song, that she would grow  up strong in stature and spirit. I hoped we would have lunch together once a month when she was old enough to do so. I hoped we would laugh together and share our hopes and dreams. I had hoped I could be to her the mother I never hard. I had hoped she would be to me everything I had dreamed she would be.

3.  How has hope changed for you since your loss(es)?

Hope for me was redefined the day I held my lifeless child in my arms. I used to associate faith and hope with a God. I used to be very religious before then.  But when I held her,  so precious and fragile in my arms, she was gone with no reason why. I knew then and there that the initial place where I had placed my hopes in didn’t exist, I would have to start over. I would have to find a way to hope again and I did.

4. What do you hope for now?

I hope that I will find true peace in my way of life. I hope I can connect to the energy of the earth in my life journey. I hope to mother my son wholeheartedly. I hope to dance with him on his wedding day to “Kingston town” by UB40 while my grey haired husband looks on, tears gleaming in his eyes for a life well lived. I hope to continue to share our daughters story in the hopes of helping other families know that they are not alone and that their children matter. I hope to express my love for her everyday by allowing myself to live another.  I hope to live and love, laugh, cry and simply be.

5. What do you hope people remember about your baby(ies)

Simply that she is, that she lived and died, that she remains my child, my daughter, my Zia. She has a name, a spirit and soul.💛

Forever Sunrise

There is truly nothing more incredible than watching a sunrise above the clouds. I was gifted with the most incredible sunrise on my flight from South Africa to Dubai, UAE last week. A sunrise of sunrises. I looked around at my fellow sleeping travellers and I pitied them for their paramount loss. There are no words to adequately capture the beauty of the colours wich blended magnificently together, the different hues of red that gave way to oranges, yellows, greens, blues, pinks, purples and lavender. A melody of colours dancing over the sky before me. I had no camera with me so I did what I do best, I captured the sight in my memory and even now, when I close my eyes, I can see it so vividly. A truly glorious wonder I will never see again. A glorious wonder I could share with no-one. Such are you my child, a wonder we only beheld once, a wonder of such great magnificence there truly are no words, there are no pictures of you, you remain only in our memories, dancing through our souls with your own rhythm. Our forever sunrise.

Right now

Life without Zia in some ways is just the way it was before her, sometimes it is like she never was. I still only have one child to dress, one child to hold, one child to kiss, one child to discipline then feel crap about, one child to play with, one to laugh with, one to play with, one to shout at, just not one to love because love her I do. It’s frustrating though, not being able to see her or talk about her to a pregnant colleague for fear of freaking them out. Those first time pregnant mothers deserve some naivety don’t they, as I did 5 and a half years ago, awaiting the arrival of my son. I want to have two children here, I want to fuss over them both, plan their future, I want that but I know I never will. Its been 21 months since she died, some months are far better than others, some days I simply go through with her as a mere thought at the back of my mind, other days she is right there at the forefront. Lately I have been feeling deeply anxious, I want to do more with her memory to help others, I just don’t know how. I’ve considered a few options and will see how that works out. I am stronger than I ever thought I would be all those months ago, there was a time I wondered if I would ever survive this, this loss of my child. I am. I can walk, I can smile, I can dance, I can work, I can do so many things but at times I am more vulnerable too. It can be such a contrast. I have a feeling it will always be that way because I will always be without her. The sadness comes and goes, the longing and yearning remains, that is my life right now.

It still hurts

It still hurts but I can breathe
I can savour the sweetness of the smell of my son’s hair and skin
It still hurts but I can smile
I can sit outside and soak up the sunshine like I used to
It still hurts but I can walk
I can hold out my hand and caress the petals of the roses blooming in my front garden
It still hurts but I can sing
I can listen intently to the chirping of the birds in the trees
It still hurts but I can dream
I can lift my eyes to sky and see the blue again
It still hurts but I can hope
I can look to the sunset in the evenings and whisper I love you to the wind
It still hurts but I can live
I can open my heart and let grace in
It still hurts but I can share
I can hold hands with another and let love in

Mother of sadness

She carries sadness in her arms
Cradles it against her chest
Nutures it with tears and heartache
The mother of sadness is she
She whispers to sadness in her darkest hour
She calls to it in her deepest need
Sadness engulfs her
Sadness overwhelms her
The mother of sadness is me

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