If you know me in real life and have found this blog, please honour my wishes and don't read on. I need this place to freely write my feelings to help me to heal and if you're reading, I'll censor myself. I have no way of knowing who is reading so all I can do is trust you to honour my wishes. Thank you.

(this doesn't apply to any of my fellow mums of angels I've been lucky enough to meet in real life)

Sunday, February 28, 2010

February Has Messed Up My Counting

Matilda was born on the 30th of October (she missed being a Halloween baby by 15 minutes). So each month on the 30th marks another month since she was born. February has only 28 days though so that day didn't happen this month.

I can't believe it's been four months. Like lots of other baby loss Mum's it seems like it's been the longest 4 months of my life but also when I think about that last day and what followed the pain seems as fresh as ever.

In the first few weeks I never would have imagined I'd be this functional and actually able to enjoy some things by now. I thought that intense pain that wouldn't let me do anything except think about Matilda, read blogs of other Mums going through this, and books about babies dying would last a lot longer. Instead I can talk to Mick and laugh, I can see close friends and enjoy catching up with them, I can read novels, and I can feel some hope for the future.

On the other hand, my baseline mood is low and I have a lot of fear for the future. Will I get to bring my next baby home? Or will there be more heartache along this road? I can barely cope with the thought that might be the case yet I see others out there having to live through this. My old soccer team is having a catch-up next month and I don't think I can cope with going. I played soccer for five years - last year being the first year I hadn't. In that time I went from a single girl who played hungover every Saturday to engaged and retiring because I was pregnant. I've always been involved in all the social outings of this team but yet I don't feel like I can go. To sit surrounded by happy people who used to know me as outgoing, loud, and at the center of things to sitting in the corner thinking 'what am I meant to talk about - my life is all about my dead baby but that's not really appropriate for a get together like this'. I just don't think I can do it.

I've been thinking about it and I think the difference is that I used to be fundamentally happy and if something went wrong my mood would drop and then come back up again to my happy baseline. Now I'm fundamentally sad and withdrawn and if something good happens (catching up with a friend or enjoying a book) my mood comes up but then afterwards it drops back to this sad, withdrawn, and scared place.

And what really scares me is that I always knew that intense all-consuming pain wouldn't last forever. But where I am now feels like it could last for a really long time.

It's raining today. I lost Matilda at the start of a bright sunny Queensland summer. Today the weather feels in sync with my mood - it doesn't feel wrong to hide inside and curl within myself.


  1. One thing that I have found to be true is that grief does not follow a pattern, it does nothing that is logical. Sometimes the best thing you can do is find a support group and make sure that you get there, or if you have one really strong friend ask them to be your support. If your gut feeling about the soccer team get together is to stay away then maybe you should stay away. Is there someone on the team that you could explain to how you are feeling? Maybe they could take that information back to the others, when people have the right information they are usually more compassionate and less inclined to
    gossip. Maybe the best thing would be to ask the team to give you more time before they expect you to be like your old self.

    We both know that our new self will always be different to our old self. More compassionate, stronger and less materialistic but different. Take care.

  2. Thinking of you often. I wish I could make your pain go away. (((HUGS)))

  3. My significant number is 27 and that came and went for the first time this Saturday since my son was born still.

    I, too, am surprised sometimes how I'm able to function when just a month ago I thought I'd never be able to do more than move from the bed to the couch, watch tv, and eat bowls full of cereal. But it's still always ALWAYS there, and like you, I'm not sure to talk to people about anything else. For now, this *is* my whole life.

  4. my friend told me her husband had said something similar about me - that i will be finding this very hard to cope with, *because* i am usually a happy and upbeat person. and i think he's right.

    i'm thinking of you. take care.