Butterflies and Elephants

My neighbour gave me a card and it made me cry. Sophia (her four year old) told her Matilda is in heaven chasing butterflies and elephants. I hope so.

Two years ago she was here and alive for what now seems like the blink of an eye.

Two

Happy Birthday my precious baby girl. We love you and miss you every single day. I wish you were here waking us up early this morning and we could give you presents and cake. Instead we'll take your brother out and look for you in the sun and the sky and everything else that's around us.

xx

Two Very Different First Birthdays

Last week was Max's first birthday - there was cake, laughter, lots of friends, and everything I always dreamed of. I just wish we'd been able to have that sort of celebration for Matilda instead of tears and hiding ourselves away from the world and wishing the day away.

Just before Max's first birthday I unexpectedly became a friend's labor support partner. I actually coped better than I thought I would especially when there started to be a lot of decels just before the delivery. Though I was anxiously watching the monitor to see the heart rate come back up after each one.

The next day the emotion all caught up with me and I cried in the shower and my heart broke all over again for those of you that have labored with stillborn babies or have had that estatic moment of delivery quickly change to heartbreak and devastation. Even with all we went through in losing Matilda, I can barely fathom what that must have been like for all of you.

Tears

I don't cry as much now - for a long time there were at least some tears everyday but not now. But as Matilda's birthday approaches for the 2nd time, the tears are closer to the surface.

Our health fund was bought out recently and new cards were sent to us. They were in my maiden name so we needed new ones which was expected. What wasn't was seeing '3 Baby 30/10/2009'. Because Matilda's life was so short there weren't many things to remove her from but almost two years down the track, our health fund obviously still thought she was alive. I emailed them about the name change and the fact Matilda had died and we now had another baby to add to the fund. A couple of days later, three letters turned up in the post. One to me, my DH, and Miss Baby Taylor. The first two had our new cards with Matilda removed and Max added. The third stated the start and finish dates of Miss Baby Taylor's policy. It hurt - no one ever imagines they'll be removing a child from the family affairs. I was going to through out the old cards but I couldn't and instead put them in Matilda's memory box - we've got so few things that acknowledge she was here and alive and part of our family.

The first Melbourne Cup ad's have started appearing - it's the 1st of November this year (first Tuesday of the month every year) but it will always be linked with the day Matilda died. Just before we went down the nursery early in the morning she died and found out things were really bad, we were sitting watching the Melbourne Cup lead up while I pumped. While my daughter had started dying.

Remembering Hope and overjoyed to hear of Juliet's safe arrival.

Still

When Matilda died and getting through a day felt like an impossible task I didn't think about what it would be like almost two years down the track - I couldn't fathom making it to here. And here I am and the pain can still come from nowhere, take my breath away, and have me in tears.

'Before' seems like so long ago now. Today a song came on the radio that was big the summer before our wedding. Only just over 2 years ago but the person I was then just seems so young and unhurt looking back. It made me cry.

Baby girl we still miss you as much as ever. Mummy xx

18 Months

Yesterday you should have been 18 months old. Today I looked around the park and wondered what you would have looked down. I'll never know and always wonder. I don't know how many ways there are to say it but I love you and miss you and always. My sweet baby girl Matilda. Love your Mum.

'I kept myself alive'

My favourite columnist in our paper wrote about
grief last week. One paragraph jumped out at me:
Oates' book ends with a chapter headed The Widow's Handbook, which reads in its entirety: "Of the widow's countless death-duties there is really just one that matters: on the anniversary of her husband's death the widow should think I kept myself alive."