Being Me

You say you cannot imagine what it is like to be me

My advice: Don’t even try

I reluctantly wake in the morning

I am in no hurry to begin a day

My first thought is of Bea

Is she alive?

If I look at her before I am fully conscious

She always looks dead to me

I have to check her breathing

Feel for her warmth

She wakes

She feeds

I change her

We go downstairs

I rehearse in my head

As we walk down the stairs

Saying good morning in a sing songy voice

Saying jolly positive things

It is always a horrible grumpy comment

That actually comes out of my mouth

Breakfast is often okay

Bea is happy in her chair

We eat and chat and have stories

I race around getting school things together

Getting myself ready for the drop off at school

Esther and William clean their teeth, get dressed

If time, have a play before school

Often we are hurrying them up

Urging them on

Trying to get out of the door on time

The longest walk covering the shortest distance to school

The awkwardness of the playground before the bell goes for the line

Esther and William go off into class

Never seeming quite sure that they really want to go

Home to frustration

Being with Bea

Struggling to get much of anything done

No motivation to do things

Even if I could

I love Bea

I adore her

I enjoy her so much

Yet still I feel lonely

The house feels emptier than it should

And I feel I am facing it alone

Too scared to drive my car

We are stuck

Alone

I prepare a fun snack for after school

Setup an activity or cinema room

I walk to school to collect the twins

The tired, emotional twosome

As we walk home we unravel their day

Too often one or the other of them is wet

Having not made the toilet on time

At home we have a good routine

They change into play clothes

Have a snack

Do a special activity

Have tea and a play

The time is all too soon gone

Though some days it cannot pass quick enough

When they are tired

And Bea is unsettled

And the cacophony fills my head

Which is rattling away with all the jobs to be done

The reason why my children are wetting themselves so often at school

Wondering what might be wrong with Bea

Why at this time she finds it so hard to settle

And I want to be nice

Energetic and fun

Instead I am none

I cannot find it in me to be that Mum

Life is too hard

And I hate it

I am irritable

And obsess over stupid things

I do not choose them

Cannot control them

They take over me

And stop me being the mummy, wife, person

I want and need to be

My family and friends want and need me to be

And when I try

Really try to be positive

Something comes along and slaps me down

Yesterday David got a puncture in his car tyre

Someone ran him off the road

Someone had already smashed the wing mirror off my car

Tonight we have water coming through the ceiling

It just seems to be one thing after another

David and I have shouted and screamed and sobbed the past few nights

Because nothing we do seems to make things better

Day by day things are feeling worse

And our capacity to deal with the little things weakens

Making the smallest things feel enormous

Grief has robbed us of our sense and sensibility

Death has made us doubt ourselves

Loss has ripped away our confidence

Fear, anxiety and devastation have stolen our happiness

And we are trying so hard to piece it all together

To keep our family together

We have forgotten who we are

We cannot remember ourselves anymore

We are lost to each other

To our children

We are drifting

Drowning

As we approach two years without Tilda

We are feeling more alone than ever before

Abandoned to fend for ourselves

And we are failing

And the heartbreaking thing

Is I know it by the look in our living children’s eyes

They need us to be

What we so long to be

But know not how

When such a huge part of us is missing

I started this post with facing the day

You would think the night would bring relief, respite

The night brings panic and terror and fear

And hoping and praying that come morning

We will all still be here

raising rainbow big

You say you cannot imagine what it is like to be me

My advice: Don’t even try

16 thoughts on “Being Me

  1. I just want to hug you. I want to make everything better for you. I have no idea how you must be feeling but you are incredibly strong without knowing. when we lost my cousin, my aunt said that she was thankful to have her other child otherwise she would never have got out of bed or worse. He was her reason for surviving each day, even though it came with so much heartbreak and weakness. She had to paint on that smile and get him to school and make sure he had everything and felt loved. You have no idea how amazing you are. I know you don’t think you are, and you didn’t ask for this shit but you’re allowed to hurt and be breaking inside but i’m thankful you’re still going for the sake of Matildas siblings. I wish you luck hun xxxx

  2. 13 years on in a similar journey, it does get easier to cope and live with the pain, but never at missing ones anniversaries. That’s when everything goes wrong and it nothing plans right. Though a holiday of escaping together for those ‘dates’ does help. We have the advantage of home education and self employment, so can be free to escape when we need together, the freedom of not hurrying if little ones and bigger ones aren’t ready. Peace and space together helps in time. Thinking of you lots x

  3. Oh Jennie. I’m so sorry you feel this way.

    I so wish there was something I could do to ease your pain. If there ever is anything I can do please say.

    I can only think of hugs right now to let you know you aren’t abandoned.

    Thinking of you and your family xx

  4. I know you are too hard on yourself. You are doing well and if you aren’t always the perfect parent, which one of us can claim that anyway. Certainly not me. I don’t know what help you are getting and I have not gone through the pain you have but if you are not getting help (medication or counselling) please do think about it and if your heart cries out that is not right for you, question whether with all you have to contend with you are the best person to judge that. It took me 10 years to seek help with my issues (very different to yours and not comparing) and it has changed my life by reaching out for that support. I have probably said too much and if I am I am so sorry but I do think you can smile again and become more of you again although some of us think you are amazing anyway and not only because of the awful loss of your daughter. The wetting issue can be incredibly stressful – my daughter has only just stopped having accidents every day and night. I don’t tell anyone that but wanted to you to know that is another issue that you do not face alone and it is OK to find it tough. If I am less than helpful, always let me know and I will stop commenting.

  5. I must try to imagine what it is like to be you if I am to feel compassion and in any way help. I feel that you do need help. Have you thought of joining a grief support group made up of other parents who have lost a child? It is my feeling that this could help you a great deal. I have belonged to a support group and the difference it made for me was significant especially in relieving guilt, anger, and more than anything else decreasing the life robbing depression!

  6. Oh Jennie, I wish I could help you but I live on the other side of the world. I hate to think that you feel such loneliness on top of everything else. I know grief is a lonely lonely path but I feel that you also feel so isolated. Is there anyway you can see a path to start driving again? Do you take B to any baby groups, or is it too painful to see other babies? Don’t underestimate what you do achieve day in day out. You have four children, three here who are very very young, it’s a tiring gruelling stage of life anyway with such young children and you are coping with it all, with minimal support and whilst grieving for Tilda. You are an inspirational woman, I am a better mother to my 8 and 6 year olds because of your blog…your and Tildas legacy is far reaching. Sorry this is rambling now but Jennie be kind to yourself and please look for support, you do need some more support.

  7. Hi Jennie.
    I hope you don’t mind me commenting, and don’t feel that I’m underestimating your feelings. I’ve never lost a child, and I’m sure that pain will never heal, though I hope you continue to find ways to handle it.
    I had four children quite close together, and when you talk about your day, how you plan your positive greeting, trying to make things nice, your guilt and how you never feel good enough, I recognise all of that so keenly. I felt terribly overwhelmed, on and off, when each baby was small; when I was tired, lonely and everything felt a struggle. I vividly remember days doing the school run and pushing a buggy, thinking, I’m swimming but getting nowhere but I can’t stop, or I’ll drown. I still often think how far short I fall from the Mum I want to be…My marriage didn’t make it through, and now my youngest is three, I feel sad about that, because I have a feeling that we lost hope when there was light at the end of the tunnel. All those years of no time for each other (and I wish we’d made more time) and now I’m beginning to find a little time here and there for myself, or enjoy the odd night out every couple of months. Try to hold onto the thought that you will find more time to fit (nearly!) everything in as the children grow.
    Mothering small children is so demanding, and you have the added burden of grief and fear weighing you down. I wonder if you’d think about talking to your GP about it. If you have a good one, they can be so helpful, and one day you will look back and see that it was a bad patch, and that you ARE doing well, and you are being a good enough mother, and on days when you can be Super-Mum, you will be. But some days, you can’t be. And that’s OK!
    Be kind to yourself: your children love you and know they are loved.
    But don’t be afraid to look for help if you need it.
    I hope tomorrow is a better day.
    A

  8. Just a thought about your worries about ‘wet’ children. Are William and Esther confident about asking to use the toilet? Do they have the language? Have you practised the scenarios with them? I know that at some schools children are only allowed to use the toilets at break-time which can be too long for some to wait, or too crowded for the younger people to get a look in. Then there’s the issue of the bigger boys/girls being a bit bullying. Or, if they can go out in lesson time, do they come across larger children (still infants… but some 7-year-olds can be very big)? I don’t know why I’m telling you all this as you probably know it all from being a teacher. But I do recall all these problems arising with my first born, and the children of friends too.

    • Hi Rosie
      I think the wetting problem is lack of adult support / supervision at lunch time. Esther and William do have the language but I think there is not always anyone to ask. On Friday I had a talk with Esther and told her to ask an older child to help her and she did. I have spoken to school about making sure Esther and William are reminded in the excitement of the day to go to the loo regularly. It is one of the many reasons I think starting school when you are only just four is really really hard, especially for summer born premature babies x

      • Thanks for replying… with all that you have to do. Yes, starting school at 4 is hard, and even harder for a premature baby. You will be in my thoughts tomorrow; in truth you are never far from my thoughts.

  9. A bereaved parent on the Compassionate Friends recently posted their wishes for how they are reacted to – reading the comments (which I appreciate are well intentioned), this one springs to mind:

    • I will have emotional highs and lows, ups and downs. I wish you wouldn’t think that if I have a good cry my grief is over, or that if I have a bad day I need psychiatric counselling.

    Sometimes you need to just SAY how you feel without needing to be given solutions.

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