Matilda’s funeral is one week away and I am struggling.
Really struggling.
I thought that having a week away as a family would help but it hasn’t not really.
The week I had thought about having bracing walks by the sea and pottering on the beach has not happened as Esther is scared of the sea and so refuses to go anywhere near the beach.
My plan of scattering Matilda’s ashes in the sea does not seem such a good one now that her older sister would be terrified of going anywhere near it.
The weather is very cold and so we are not able to be outside for any length of time.
Esther and William are refusing to walk ANYWHERE so if we do go out it just means carrying them everywhere.
Which means that we can stay for a few days of soft play or just go home.
I am not doing well and think we would be better at home.
I don’t see the point of staying here.
I know that I am overreacting to Esther and William.
They liked the Oceanarium and they quite liked the ride on the land train at Hengistbury Head but apart from that they would really be better off at home with all their toys and doing their usual things.
All I want to really do is have some peace.
I am trying desperately to write Matilda’s funeral service.
I am trying to summon the courage to say the words I am writing myself in the church.
I am terrified of travelling in the car with her to the funeral.
I have seen her body.
It was horrible a week ago.
I am not sure I can travel with her coffin knowing that what lies inside is not my baby girl.
It might be the rotting remains of her body but it is not my baby girl.
I am so confused about why we need the body at all at the church?
The commital happens at the crematorium.
The church is a celebration of her life.
Her spirit and soul are no longer with her body.
It is an empty vessel and I do not know why it has to be there.
I am not doing well today.
I am hurting and I am frightened and I don’t know what to do.
Being happy all the time for Esther and William is tiring.
Trying to find something they will be happy to do is exhausting.
I want some peace and quiet to miss my baby girl.
I am a mess today.
Everything just feels wrong today.
I wish I knew what to do.
You Don’t Know How I Feel
Author UnknownYou don’t know how I feel–please don’t tell me that you do.
There’s just one way to know–have you lost a child too?
“You’ll have another child”–must I hear this each day?
Can I get another mother, too, if mine should pass away?
Don’t say it was “God’s will”–that’s not the God I know.
Would God on purpose break my heart, then watch as my tears flow?
“You have an angel in heaven–a precious child above.”
But, tell me, to whom here on earth shall I give this love?
“Aren’t you better yet?” Is that what I heard you say?
No! A part of my heart aches–I’ll always feel some pain.
You think that silence is kind, but it hurts me even more.
I want to talk about my child who has gone through death’s door.
Don’t say these things to me, although you do mean well.
They do not take my pain away; must go through the hell.
I will get better slow but sure–and it helps to have you near,
But a simple “I’m sorry you lost your child” is all I need to hear.
Oh Sweetie there really are no words we can say. Just follow your heart and do what feels right to you! You are so strong and you will come through this! Your baby will always be with you in your heart. You’re right, you don’t need a body to prove that. Sending big hugs. Xx
I’m so sorry your time away is not going as you planned, Jennie. And I’m so sorry about your anguish regarding the coffin, funeral and car arrangements. I don’t know how I would feel, but I know this run up to the funeral must be absolutely horrendous for you. We’re still all here trying to offer some kind of support – to let you know you’re not on your own. Even though we know you feel so lonely right now without your baby girl.
Again, I’m so so sorry. x x x
Sending you endless hugs of support and love.
I hope you find peace once you’re back home and once the funeral is over. I hope it helps and a weight is lessened, if not lifted. I truly wish I could be there for you, but I hope you know just how much I’m thinking of you all.
Jennie I am so sorry that you are going through this. Do what feels right for you, if that’s being at home then do that.
I am so very sorry that you lost your darling Matilda Mae.
Oh Jennie. I’m so sorry. I wish more than anything that there was a way to take the pain from you, for you to let us carry it for you, as there are enough of us who would do that. But we can’t do that. I’m sorry your week away hasn’t gone as you wished and I’m sorry you’re feeling so frightened. I’m not at all surprised that you feel this way. I am sorry.
xxxxx
xxxxxxx
There are no words. I can’t find them.
It’s true, I don’t know how you feel and never want to. Go home if that’s what you want / need to do. Trips away can wait – and you need your own pillow to cry into at night.
Take care – the funeral will happen and somehow I expect you will find the inner strength to celebrate Matilda’s short but important life.
Thinking of you all at this difficult time xxx
I am sorry your week away hasn’t been what it should have been, I knew you were hoping for a break. It sounds like you need a bit of time to yourself to try and grieve and process. I’m sure it would be hard to have time away from E & W but maybe it would be good to take a break and return to them a little better. Thinking of u Jennie. Xx
Dear Jennie…I know you must be getting lots of advice and opinions so I hope this doesn’t overwhelm you, but yesturday I went to a funeral. In the morning was the cremation and it was immediate family only. The funeral itself was a ‘Thanksgiving’ of his life. There was no coffin, or anything like that present, but joyous hymns and someone read a story of his life they had written and someone else read a poem. There was a couple of love based prayers and a love-based bible reading. It truely was a celebration of his life. It felt very gentle and warm.
When you first mentioned your memorial garden for Matilda, it was an idea I had wanted to tell you as this is what we did for my cousin. She was too young too. Her ashes are buried under a wonderful tree in her garden and my auntie takes great pleasure and comfort tending to the garden.
I hope you don’t mind me telling you these things, but it may just help you to decide what you feel is right for you and your family.
xxx
Oh I wish it had been all you needed. Everything is so raw and it’s so hard to keep putting on a happy face for little ones who just want to play. I think it is so so hard preparing for the unthinkable, a funeral for your little girl, and knowing that so many want to say goodbye to her when how you feel is that you won’t be saying your goodbye at the same time. Does that make any sense? I’m not sure how you say goodbye or when you feel you have said it. Much love xxxxxxx
So heartbreaking to read Jennie. As Susan says above, just do what feels right. xxx
Dear Jennie,
I am so sorry for all this pain you have to endure.
One of my daughters talked once of when before she was born as “when I was waiting to be in your tummy”. I like to think of the soul of my baby born asleep as part of all that is beautiful around me, before I was even expecting him and after he left me. That might be why it is often considered of some importance that the body is present at the funeral, to acknowledge and remember that it was once the home to something as beautiful as a soul? As if the soul was a shining bright flame, extinguished to shine somewhere else when we die but somehow there is still a tiny brazing speck, our body, like the wick of a candle… I, too, am still trying to understand what happened, in my case a long time ago. In the end I hope you’ll find what feels right for you… xxxxxx
I’m so sorry Jennie, nothing we can say can truly help xxxxx
I didn’t know if I would be able to attend my son’s funeral. I thought I might just stand outside the crematorium whilst it happened (but, on the day, I did find the strength to enter the building and witness the service). I wrote the service with my husband with the help of a bottle of wine. I wrote a poem and asked my mother to read it for me.
You must only do as much as you can. The bits you can do, do well. Ask others to do the things that you are not able to. There are no right answers. The right way to say farewell to your beautiful baby is the way that feels right to you.
xxx
oh Jennie, I wish I could do something to help ease the pain, like others have said there is no ‘right’ thing to do, you do what you want to do and the rest will fall into place somehow, it is also ok to be just sad, Ester and William will understand, hug them and david, and cry and scream and sit silently if thats what you need x
Jennie i wish there was words or something i could do to ease your pain but i cannot find the words or thing to do. All i can say is do what is right for you whether that be go home or stay. I am so sorry your break away as not gone as planned and also your anguish over the funeral and cars and coffin being at the funeral. Do as you feel is right thinking of you xx
Oh Jennie, my heart goes out to you. No words can even come close, I truly do not know what to say but once again just can’t read and say nothing. Sending you all my love and continuing to think about you every day, stay strong sweetheart and do what is right for you xxxx
I am so sorry you lost your precious baby girl – with all of my heart.
There really aren’t the right words for this – it’s beyond anything I can express, but I am thinking of you so much.
I read this on my phone earlier today, and have been thinking of you. I didn’t want to read without commenting, so I have come back here to write something before I try to sleep. Everything I think of to say seems so inadequate, but I think, I hope, it’s better to try than not say anything. I’m so so sorry you lost your baby girl. I’m sorry today has been hard for you. I hope you get some sleep tonight, and some clarity tomorrow about plans for the rest of the week, and for the funeral. Do what you and David feel is right, not what you think you should do. Sending you love, and wishing you strength to get through another day xxxx
Don’t feel the need to rush with the ashes. We spread our some of our daughter’s ashes at the beach and it was very peaceful, but I wasn’t ready until the last day we were there. If I hadn’t felt ready by then, I wouldn’t have done so. You can’t control some things, such as the impending funeral, the twins’ behavior, your own grieving, etc. so this is something you can control. Take advantage of it. Do what brings you peace. There is no timeline.
i am so very sorry you have to go through this. So so very sorry