Trust the process (saying): Having a belief in a plan or journey, even when immediate results aren’t visible
As Summer’s sixth birthday has been and gone (9th March), I’m only now able to take time to reflect on what a whirlwind it’s been. Both in the short term and long.
Six years since she was born and died, three years of being a mother to living children.
I’m somewhat fortunate that Summer’s birthday fell early in the month, as this March we had a lot of family milestones to mark (Jasper’s 1st birthday, James’ 40th, our 20 year anniversary as a couple and today is our 14th wedding anniversary), so it was very much an example of gratitude growing around the grief. I’m sure everyone’s seen that diagram by now; how grief doesn’t shrink, how it’s always there, but life grows around it, getting bigger with time. That’s certainly something that resonates with me more now – although I found it awfully trite when I was in the thick of it. I never was any good at trusting the process.
The Long and Short of It
Long term thoughts…
In all honesty, I know objectively that it all happened – we lost three babies, consecutively and increasingly traumatically – but a lot of the time now, it feels as though it happened to someone else. I guess this is part of the bewildering gratitude when you come out the other side. After all, I’m the lucky one that got to live in the happily ever after, as I now have two beautiful, happy, healthy children to cherish and raise.
It’s not lost on me that there are lots of people now that only know the shinier, “newer”, happier version of me – the version of me as a mum. I’m aware that I may subsequently at times seem hollow, talking vapidly about eating habits and nursery settles (I’m still on maternity leave), upcoming school open days and how “advanced” my three year old is (yes, I am self-aware enough to know that ALL parents think this about their own!). But after a number of many dark years trying to build a family, I’m okay with letting in the light and enjoying the superficial for a time. I give myself that grace, for there’s still a lot of depth, in the apparent shallow. I know this, because I know me.
Despite the day to day, my baby loss history does still abruptly collide with my present. The judgement persists (I still can’t believe the unjustness of the fertility dice – those who get to raise children and those who don’t) and I still don’t always like receiving pregnancy announcements, black and white baby scans or invites to baby showers. Although I wish these things were different (I want to be a bigger person, now that I have two living children), the fact remains that I still carry the heavy losses. And they’re not carried with gratitude, but lingering regret and anger, sadness and shame. Although I want to make complete peace with my past due to my very fortunate present, the fact remains that it’s still very complex – it’s not a case of “it was all worth it” or “I’d do it all again, to have these two babies in my arms”, because three babies died. And if I believe (and I really do) that the two in my arms are the best babes ever ever ever, then of course I would have felt the same about my first three too. That’s what parenthood is.
Short term thoughts…
This year Summer’s birthday fell on a Monday and as I’m still on maternity leave, I had both children at home by myself (usually my mum would be over to help, but she was on holiday). I knew it would be a full-on day with them, so I was pre-emptively forgiving myself in case there wasn’t a lot of time for reflection or sadness. Turns out I needed have bothered, I (gratefully) woke up with a feeling of heaviness, but it was lightened with the rays of Summer, so lovingly sent by friends and family.
This year for the first time, I realised how lonely Summer’s birthday would be, if we were the only ones to remember. One of the hardest parts about grief, is how the world keeps turning, seemingly unaware of how it’s been completely altered for those who have experienced an unfathomable loss. Having our First Day of Summer tradition therefore really helps me to mark the day in my extrovertly acceptable way. I say that because noone knows for sure what type of parent they’ll be, but it turns out that I’m the mark-every-occasion type. I even create tenuous reasons to gather people – evidenced perfectly by my nonsense “mummy-tines” and world book day (for pre-literate babies) gatherings this year. That’s basically my wordy way of saying: if I host events for random days, I really should be marking the ones that REALLY mean something, so I’m very relieved we have our tradition to do just that, especially given that remembering the birth and death of a child is not an easy or obvious date to commemorate.
As always, there were strange little glimmers of Summer. It started out with Ellissa asking me for ice cream for breakfast! She’s never done that before and had I had some in, I actually would have given her it (it being the First Day of Summer after all!), but she settled for some cake as a special birthday treat instead.
This year I toyed with telling Ellissa a bit more about Summer and as I was pondering it, thinking she’s perhaps still a bit too young, it was a bit of a shock when out of the blue, nibbling on her cake, Ellissa said “that girl really loves you, who know”. I replied “what girl?” And she responded “that girl, she will love you always” and then as three year olds do, she abruptly changed the subject again.
Just a short while later, we heard a little bang from the living room. When we went in to investigate, we noticed that our little “S for Summer” ornament had fallen off the bookshelf. Absolutely bizarre. It’s a sturdy bookcase, there was no breeze in the room and both the “E for Ellissa” and “J for Jasper” remained rooted to their spots. I smiled and text my baby loss friend “lots of weird stuff is happening this morning!!!” and she replied “of course they are”.
It’s only now – this very moment – that I realise, it was three for three. Summer was our third baby. Perhaps “that girl” wasn’t Summer, but My Baby – I always thought our second baby was a girl. And mischievous big brother BoC clearly wanted Ellissa to have the ice cream. It’s a nice thought.
All in all, it was a sentimental, wholesome day. Overwhelming gratitude amidst the grief. Taking Ellissa and Jasper to a local playgroup, I marvelled in them existing, playing, laughing, loving. Later, we three had a picnic together in the garden. It was simple, it was lovely. It was all the sweeter, with people remembering and marking the journey alongside us. So thank you, to all who sent photos, cards, messages, gifts from far and wide, the whole world over – every year, I continue to be blown away by the love and kindness. I’ve already made Summer’s 6th birthday scrapbook and it’s bursting with gorgeous photos (these can be found on my Mumoirs Instagram profile, in the highlights section).
Tough as the juggle can be and the journey has been, I’m also well aware how INCREDIBLY LUCKY I AM. I still cannot believe I now have two children in my arms and that THIS is my life. I do frequently take moments to appreciate that. Most often when I’m standing in the dark, back aching, rocking a child. As I send them off to sleep, I know that my wildest dreams did somehow come true. And though I wouldn’t wish the journey or the loss on anyone, I do believe I am a much better parent for it. So as always, thank you to my three for making me a mother. I think this is the first time I’ve ever really TRULY thought of them like that*. And happy birthday Summer, I can’t wait to see you again.
* As this previous “Am I even a Mum?” blog well proved
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