I started this blog in May 2011 as a way to keep friends and family back home updated about our life in Melbourne. Since then we have faced some huge upheavals and this blog has become a place for me to get my thoughts and feelings out into the written word so that i can begin to understand who i am and who i want to be.
Monday 30 September 2013
October is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month
Day 1: Who are you? Share as little or as much about you in general.
Monday 23 September 2013
The article I wanted to write for the paper
8 weeks ago the Wyndham Leader ran a story about our family and the bears donated to the hospital in memory of our daughter. I had contacted the paper directly to request they help me to pass on my heartfelt gratitude to the community in which we live. While pleased that the bears and the sibling bear program at the hospital was receiving attention i was disappointed when the story did not really convey the depth of our appreciation to the Point Cook community.... this is the story i wanted to write...
Ten weeks ago my family suffered the tragic loss of our daughter Melinda Grace Currie who was stillborn at 38weeks and 5 days, at Werribee Mercy Hospital. The events that followed have been nothing short of humbling and we would like to thank the community of Point Cook and surrounds for their encouragement, love and support.
At 3:30am Wednesday morning the 17th of July I woke up and, as i had countless nights previously (as you may know this is nothing unusual for a pregnant woman and in fact had been a common occurrence for the last 10 or so weeks) , I lay in my my bed waiting to feel little flutters and kicks before rolling over and going back to sleep. But they never came. At first I tried to ignore the feeling of dread, afterall we had been in the hospital the evening before for a quick check of bub as I had been feeling anxious, She was perfectly fine and we had headed home for a normal evening together as a family. But when in the dark that morning I didn't feel any movements for over an hour I began to panic. Trying all the tricks I knew to make her move, nothing worked and when in a panic we arrived at the hospital around 6am, our sleepy 4 year old daughter in tow, we were absolutely devastated to discover that there was no heartbeat, our precious daughter had left us. What followed was truly the hardest day of our lives. After losing our son 2 years ago at 18 weeks pregnant (2 weeks after our relocation to melbourne) we had finally come to believe we would bring Melinda home, we thought we were safe with this our precious baby girl. It was a crippling blow.
Upon hearing the news of Melinda's passing one of our friends from Lightpoint church posted of her shock and devastation in one of the Point Cook mothers groups on Facebook. Quickly word passed of our loss and the community responded with open hearts. Messages of love and support filled the mums pages, meal rosters were organised, tears were shed for our angel, an online event was organised to coordinate donations and suggestions. Overnight a community was united in love for our precious girl.
Melinda was born sleeping at 8:45pm on Wednesday night (17th July) she weighed 3.57kg and was a perfect 52.5cm long. With the tender care and support of four beautiful midwives, over the next 2 days we spent some time with our stunningly beautiful girl. Soaking in her features and trying to remember every single detail of her. During our stay a volunteer from the organisation Heartfelt arrived to take some photos of us and Melinda, we will cherish these photos forever (if you would like to see them we are happy to share, they are tastefully taken and absolutely beautiful) When we left the hospital on the Friday morning our arms were empty and our hearts broken.
We arrived home to a house full of flowers, a pantry and fridge full of groceries and many messages of love. That night the first of many meals arrived on our doorstep ready to eat. I had never met the beautiful lady who provided this meal and offered her heartfelt sympathies via my mum who answered the door. Every afternoon for nearly four weeks without fail a meal arrived at around 5:30pm cooked with love by a stranger (and often paid for by a different stranger as I've been told). When the community learnt we needed our yard tended to a local gardening business (grassmasters) volunteered to help. The owner of this business and his wife worked tirelessly for 4 hours to tame our vegetation. We were overwhelmed by their generosity. Over the coming days as we learnt the dance of grief no parent should ever have to know our every need as tended to. The mothers groups organised activities and gifts for our 4 year old daughter Elianna. A local hairdresser Leanne Cassar donated her time and skills to cut locks of hair from each of our heads to place in with our baby when we said goodbye. She also returned on the day of the memorial to do my hair as I was too distraught to contemplate it.
Melinda's farewell service was held last friday the 26th july (on her due date) at Tobin Brothers Chapel in synnot st Werribee. A talented local photographer and friend, Jenna, donated her time and skills to help us record Melinda's memorial. We asked people to dress in colour and bring a bear in place of flowers. The chapel was as full as our hearts when we saw the community's response. There were so many people there that we had never met, as well as names I recognised and some of Elianna's kindergarten friends and their mums, Women with whom I had exchanged pleasantries in the hallway at Featherbrook kindergarten and excitedly updated on my pregnancy progress. All came to lend their support or a shoulder and say goodbye to our most loved and wanted princess. Natalie Holt from "Lets Celebrate" party supplies at point cook donated bunches of helium balloons for release and the mothers of point cook organised a pair of doves for our daughter Elianna to release as Melinda was finally driven away.
After the service I was presented with a card made by a fellow mum and filled with messages of love from some of the mums in point cook who had donated time, money or resources to help ease our heavy hearts. These same mums are organising to purchase a piece of memorial jewellery for my husband so he may always carry something of Melinda's with him and have kindly donated a voucher for Elianna to build-a-bear in memory of her little sister. (Photo by Keith Meure)
The 100 bears that were brought to the service and the many more that have arrived at our house and are on their way here in the coming days will be donated to Werribee Mercy Hospital as "sibling bears", Melinda and Elianna's gifts to the big brothers and sisters who will not get to bring their longed for babies home from the hospital. It is our hope that no sibling will ever leave Werribee hospital with arms as empty as ours. Elianna was given a sibling bear by our midwives and has kept it safe and cuddled it every night since. It cannot ever fill the hole created by Melinda's absence but certainly offers her some comfort in this confusing and sad time.
(Photo by Steve Currie)
It is hard to imagine how life continues to carry on as normal after such an enormous loss. We will always love and miss our baby girl. My heart feels heavy with grief and longing, and yet at the same time is lifted up by the love we have felt from this community. We are quiet people. Not overly involved in the community, simply a by-product of a busy life. Since relocating here from Newcastle (NSW) 2 years ago we have often questioned the wisdom of our decision to move so far from all of our family and support networks. But after the events of the last couple of weeks we have realised Point Cook is our home. Community is what you make of it and with the loving souls of the Point Cook mums and the overwhelming support from the members of Lightpoint church we are pretty sure we've happened upon the best community ever. We are so full of thanks for each and every person who has kept us in their thoughts and prayers and promised to hold Melinda in their hearts forever
Sincerely Kath, Steve and Elianna Currie.
Ten weeks ago my family suffered the tragic loss of our daughter Melinda Grace Currie who was stillborn at 38weeks and 5 days, at Werribee Mercy Hospital. The events that followed have been nothing short of humbling and we would like to thank the community of Point Cook and surrounds for their encouragement, love and support.
At 3:30am Wednesday morning the 17th of July I woke up and, as i had countless nights previously (as you may know this is nothing unusual for a pregnant woman and in fact had been a common occurrence for the last 10 or so weeks) , I lay in my my bed waiting to feel little flutters and kicks before rolling over and going back to sleep. But they never came. At first I tried to ignore the feeling of dread, afterall we had been in the hospital the evening before for a quick check of bub as I had been feeling anxious, She was perfectly fine and we had headed home for a normal evening together as a family. But when in the dark that morning I didn't feel any movements for over an hour I began to panic. Trying all the tricks I knew to make her move, nothing worked and when in a panic we arrived at the hospital around 6am, our sleepy 4 year old daughter in tow, we were absolutely devastated to discover that there was no heartbeat, our precious daughter had left us. What followed was truly the hardest day of our lives. After losing our son 2 years ago at 18 weeks pregnant (2 weeks after our relocation to melbourne) we had finally come to believe we would bring Melinda home, we thought we were safe with this our precious baby girl. It was a crippling blow.
Upon hearing the news of Melinda's passing one of our friends from Lightpoint church posted of her shock and devastation in one of the Point Cook mothers groups on Facebook. Quickly word passed of our loss and the community responded with open hearts. Messages of love and support filled the mums pages, meal rosters were organised, tears were shed for our angel, an online event was organised to coordinate donations and suggestions. Overnight a community was united in love for our precious girl.
Melinda was born sleeping at 8:45pm on Wednesday night (17th July) she weighed 3.57kg and was a perfect 52.5cm long. With the tender care and support of four beautiful midwives, over the next 2 days we spent some time with our stunningly beautiful girl. Soaking in her features and trying to remember every single detail of her. During our stay a volunteer from the organisation Heartfelt arrived to take some photos of us and Melinda, we will cherish these photos forever (if you would like to see them we are happy to share, they are tastefully taken and absolutely beautiful) When we left the hospital on the Friday morning our arms were empty and our hearts broken.
We arrived home to a house full of flowers, a pantry and fridge full of groceries and many messages of love. That night the first of many meals arrived on our doorstep ready to eat. I had never met the beautiful lady who provided this meal and offered her heartfelt sympathies via my mum who answered the door. Every afternoon for nearly four weeks without fail a meal arrived at around 5:30pm cooked with love by a stranger (and often paid for by a different stranger as I've been told). When the community learnt we needed our yard tended to a local gardening business (grassmasters) volunteered to help. The owner of this business and his wife worked tirelessly for 4 hours to tame our vegetation. We were overwhelmed by their generosity. Over the coming days as we learnt the dance of grief no parent should ever have to know our every need as tended to. The mothers groups organised activities and gifts for our 4 year old daughter Elianna. A local hairdresser Leanne Cassar donated her time and skills to cut locks of hair from each of our heads to place in with our baby when we said goodbye. She also returned on the day of the memorial to do my hair as I was too distraught to contemplate it.
Melinda's farewell service was held last friday the 26th july (on her due date) at Tobin Brothers Chapel in synnot st Werribee. A talented local photographer and friend, Jenna, donated her time and skills to help us record Melinda's memorial. We asked people to dress in colour and bring a bear in place of flowers. The chapel was as full as our hearts when we saw the community's response. There were so many people there that we had never met, as well as names I recognised and some of Elianna's kindergarten friends and their mums, Women with whom I had exchanged pleasantries in the hallway at Featherbrook kindergarten and excitedly updated on my pregnancy progress. All came to lend their support or a shoulder and say goodbye to our most loved and wanted princess. Natalie Holt from "Lets Celebrate" party supplies at point cook donated bunches of helium balloons for release and the mothers of point cook organised a pair of doves for our daughter Elianna to release as Melinda was finally driven away.
After the service I was presented with a card made by a fellow mum and filled with messages of love from some of the mums in point cook who had donated time, money or resources to help ease our heavy hearts. These same mums are organising to purchase a piece of memorial jewellery for my husband so he may always carry something of Melinda's with him and have kindly donated a voucher for Elianna to build-a-bear in memory of her little sister. (Photo by Keith Meure)
The 100 bears that were brought to the service and the many more that have arrived at our house and are on their way here in the coming days will be donated to Werribee Mercy Hospital as "sibling bears", Melinda and Elianna's gifts to the big brothers and sisters who will not get to bring their longed for babies home from the hospital. It is our hope that no sibling will ever leave Werribee hospital with arms as empty as ours. Elianna was given a sibling bear by our midwives and has kept it safe and cuddled it every night since. It cannot ever fill the hole created by Melinda's absence but certainly offers her some comfort in this confusing and sad time.
(Photo by Steve Currie)
It is hard to imagine how life continues to carry on as normal after such an enormous loss. We will always love and miss our baby girl. My heart feels heavy with grief and longing, and yet at the same time is lifted up by the love we have felt from this community. We are quiet people. Not overly involved in the community, simply a by-product of a busy life. Since relocating here from Newcastle (NSW) 2 years ago we have often questioned the wisdom of our decision to move so far from all of our family and support networks. But after the events of the last couple of weeks we have realised Point Cook is our home. Community is what you make of it and with the loving souls of the Point Cook mums and the overwhelming support from the members of Lightpoint church we are pretty sure we've happened upon the best community ever. We are so full of thanks for each and every person who has kept us in their thoughts and prayers and promised to hold Melinda in their hearts forever
Sincerely Kath, Steve and Elianna Currie.
Losing Friends, finding me...
On Saturday I lost a friend.
To be fair its probably been a while coming given her parting words to me were "you just don't seem to have time for anyone but Lisa anymore." That hurt. One thing I pride myself on is being a good friend and being there for my friends. Normally this kind of comment would have me rushing to fix things and smooth things over with the injured party. I hate the thought that someone doesn't like me, it sits in that uncomfortable place under my ribs until I do something about it. But I've come to accept that sometimes it isn't about me. its about them and what they have going on. All I need to do is stay true to myself, true to my beliefs and my needs and I will be okay. Just another lesson from my little angel
Still it hurt to lose a friend. As usual I thought about it from her point of view for a moment. Although she came in to meet Melinda at the hospital, I haven't seen or spoken to her in person since that day 9 and a half weeks ago. There are some moderately big things going on in her life at the moment, including an illness in the family and a resulting move interstate that I am aware she doesn't really want to make. She probably needed a friend to talk to in the past few weeks, and normally I would have reached out to her. But I've been a bit busy mourning my beautiful daughter. And that is okay. I pray that someone will come forward to help her as she needs it, but I accept that it cannot be me at this time.
What stuck with me in the days since is the terrible feeling that perhaps more of my friends could be feeling this way. I have spoken to other Angel mums and I have discovered that this is a common complaint from friends after an undefined period of time has passed since the loss of their child. Apparently grief has an expiry date?? Thankfully I am blessed to be loved by an amazing group of friends both online and IRL who support me unconditionally, who have allowed my grief to proceed organically and are simply there with a hug or a thoughtful message... But i am aware that there are some friends who cannot and will not ever understand. That they may be feeling neglected or feel that I don't rate them as important enough to spend time with or to answer the phone to. And that is so far from the truth, but I also understand that without me talking about it and sharing how I am feeling that they will never know that.
I realise that from the outside looking in, at photos on Facebook, at conversations with some people... I may look like I'm okay. Like everything is back to normal. Yes, there are photos of me smiling. Yes, I have laughed in the last 9 weeks. Yes I am getting out running and cycling and generally taking an interest in my health again. But No, I am far from okay. I am however coping .
Everytime I see another baby and my mind flashes to Melinda and what we would be doing now... I make the decision to cope, to smile and to remember the hope a new baby brings... no matter how much that hurts.
Everytime I spend time with pregnant friends and laugh with them and support and encourage them in the face of their very real worries... I make the decision to cope and to put aside my own feelings to be there in this time of need (especially since i feel responsible for a lot of the worry)
Everytime I walk past Melinda's fully set up nursery and feel the urge to sit in there for hours sobbing at the injustice of it all.... I make the decision to cope. To go on living.
And often the decision isn't an easy one. Often its just too hard to keep coping ALL THE TIME and sometimes i break. i cry, i rage, i throw things, i hibernate inside and ignore texts and phone calls. But then i make that decision in honour of my babies in heaven... the decision to cope. Melinda and Jonathon are not here, but by living my life to the fullest they will live on in my every footstep, in every smile or laugh, every single time i make the decision to live I will honour them.
Losing Melinda has been impossbly hard but it has shown me what is important in life, the things i cannot live without... My family, My friends and most of all My Faith.
Faith in a loving Father in heaven who has amazing plans for my life. Who is already using my love for my daughter and this pain I am experiencing to make big changes in my life, to help me see who i am and who i want to be, to give me purpose again. That still small voice inside that says, don't give up, My promise awaits you...
...stay tuned I'm going to do great things through He who strengthens me...
but while i am not giving up there are and will still be times that i fall, stumbling over my grief, stuck in the whys? and hows? overcome by the sadness of the empty pram, the silence in the night. However, I am determined to keep getting up again. Determined to leave a legacy that my children will be proud of
So to my friends whose phone calls i have not answered.
To my friends whose texts i haven't replied to
To everyone who sent a card of sympathy or support
To everyone who came to the funeral and brought a bear for the sibling bears program
I am sorry I have not answered your calls or replied to your messages or sent the thank you cards i keep meaning to write. I appreciate you and I thank you for thinking of me and reaching out to say you are there
Please be patient with me. I'm just trying to work out how this life works without my baby here. I promise i will keep fighting and surviving and one day i will answer that phone.
To be fair its probably been a while coming given her parting words to me were "you just don't seem to have time for anyone but Lisa anymore." That hurt. One thing I pride myself on is being a good friend and being there for my friends. Normally this kind of comment would have me rushing to fix things and smooth things over with the injured party. I hate the thought that someone doesn't like me, it sits in that uncomfortable place under my ribs until I do something about it. But I've come to accept that sometimes it isn't about me. its about them and what they have going on. All I need to do is stay true to myself, true to my beliefs and my needs and I will be okay. Just another lesson from my little angel
Still it hurt to lose a friend. As usual I thought about it from her point of view for a moment. Although she came in to meet Melinda at the hospital, I haven't seen or spoken to her in person since that day 9 and a half weeks ago. There are some moderately big things going on in her life at the moment, including an illness in the family and a resulting move interstate that I am aware she doesn't really want to make. She probably needed a friend to talk to in the past few weeks, and normally I would have reached out to her. But I've been a bit busy mourning my beautiful daughter. And that is okay. I pray that someone will come forward to help her as she needs it, but I accept that it cannot be me at this time.
What stuck with me in the days since is the terrible feeling that perhaps more of my friends could be feeling this way. I have spoken to other Angel mums and I have discovered that this is a common complaint from friends after an undefined period of time has passed since the loss of their child. Apparently grief has an expiry date?? Thankfully I am blessed to be loved by an amazing group of friends both online and IRL who support me unconditionally, who have allowed my grief to proceed organically and are simply there with a hug or a thoughtful message... But i am aware that there are some friends who cannot and will not ever understand. That they may be feeling neglected or feel that I don't rate them as important enough to spend time with or to answer the phone to. And that is so far from the truth, but I also understand that without me talking about it and sharing how I am feeling that they will never know that.
I realise that from the outside looking in, at photos on Facebook, at conversations with some people... I may look like I'm okay. Like everything is back to normal. Yes, there are photos of me smiling. Yes, I have laughed in the last 9 weeks. Yes I am getting out running and cycling and generally taking an interest in my health again. But No, I am far from okay. I am however coping .
Everytime I see another baby and my mind flashes to Melinda and what we would be doing now... I make the decision to cope, to smile and to remember the hope a new baby brings... no matter how much that hurts.
Everytime I spend time with pregnant friends and laugh with them and support and encourage them in the face of their very real worries... I make the decision to cope and to put aside my own feelings to be there in this time of need (especially since i feel responsible for a lot of the worry)
Everytime I walk past Melinda's fully set up nursery and feel the urge to sit in there for hours sobbing at the injustice of it all.... I make the decision to cope. To go on living.
And often the decision isn't an easy one. Often its just too hard to keep coping ALL THE TIME and sometimes i break. i cry, i rage, i throw things, i hibernate inside and ignore texts and phone calls. But then i make that decision in honour of my babies in heaven... the decision to cope. Melinda and Jonathon are not here, but by living my life to the fullest they will live on in my every footstep, in every smile or laugh, every single time i make the decision to live I will honour them.
Losing Melinda has been impossbly hard but it has shown me what is important in life, the things i cannot live without... My family, My friends and most of all My Faith.
Faith in a loving Father in heaven who has amazing plans for my life. Who is already using my love for my daughter and this pain I am experiencing to make big changes in my life, to help me see who i am and who i want to be, to give me purpose again. That still small voice inside that says, don't give up, My promise awaits you...
...stay tuned I'm going to do great things through He who strengthens me...
but while i am not giving up there are and will still be times that i fall, stumbling over my grief, stuck in the whys? and hows? overcome by the sadness of the empty pram, the silence in the night. However, I am determined to keep getting up again. Determined to leave a legacy that my children will be proud of
So to my friends whose phone calls i have not answered.
To my friends whose texts i haven't replied to
To everyone who sent a card of sympathy or support
To everyone who came to the funeral and brought a bear for the sibling bears program
I am sorry I have not answered your calls or replied to your messages or sent the thank you cards i keep meaning to write. I appreciate you and I thank you for thinking of me and reaching out to say you are there
Please be patient with me. I'm just trying to work out how this life works without my baby here. I promise i will keep fighting and surviving and one day i will answer that phone.
Tuesday 3 September 2013
An exclusive Club no-one wants to join.
So here we are again,
Somehow, unbelievably we are once again staring down the unimaginably long and lonely road of coming to terms with the emptiness that comes with being just three again. where once three respresented "team Currie" the three amigos, complete in our happiness; now three is a reminder of what was once four and could have been five.
I now have more children in heaven than on earth, and that makes me so very sad. no wonder my life feels so out of balance.
When we lost Jonathon at 17 weeks it was an absolute shock. We had never contemplated that we might lose him once we had safely made it past the "safety point" of the 14 week scan. I remember what hurt the most was the silence from those whom I loved, who were so concerned with possibly saying the wrong thing that they elected to remain silent rather than risk hurting us further. What they failed to see was that nothing could make the pain worse and in fact their silence was deafening.
When we fell pregnant with Melinda we were acutely aware that there was no safe zone. I even refused to make any purchases until after 36 weeks; when we bought the cot mattress and set up her room. I know that my friends and family hoped and prayed along with us that we would get our "happy ending" this time. I'm fairly sure once we reached term everyone believed it was a done deal, we were home and hosed! Evidently that was not to be, and one day i will share Melinda's story with you all here on my blog... just not yet, I want to make sure i get it perfect. What has struck me this time is not the silence; my friends have been amazing, particulalry a select few who have sent me constant messages of support, sent me pins on pinterest, emails of love and encouragement and cards of empathy and warmth. Melinda has touched so many people in so many ways, more than i will ever know as her life and death sends shockwaves in communities far from us. i know that she will live on in the hearts of so many and will always be remembered in many small acts everyday.
No, rather than the silence, what has struck me so hard this time is the loneliness. Once again i have been handed a membership card to this most exclusive of clubs. To be an angel mummy twice over, in this way, is just unbelieveable to me. i still cannot really comprehend what has happened, and the hows and whys are far out of reach. i feel so lost and alone in this great sea of life, Im always concerned that when i post something on facebook i risk over stepping the bounds of what is socially accepted, i wish there was a way that i could know that people understand what this is like, and could continue to accept and respect this journey we are one. Even if its just so that when this happens again (which it will, 1 in 200 births end this way, inevitably someone else will suffer this agonising loss) people will be able to offer compassion and understanding to the grief-stricken family, long after the time period that society deems sufficient for mourning.
One morning a few weeks ago I was feeling particularly alone and bereft; I felt that no-one understood and that eventually people would get sick of me posting and talking about Melinda and then she would be forgotten. I was lost that morning in a sea of tears and fear about the future and i cried out to God for comfort. i didnt know how I could go on for the rest of the years of my life feeling this alone when i recieved a message from a dear friend from our church in Newcastle. Sheree's words struck me to my core. Here was the truth written in black and white. and with her permission id like to share it with you.
The Space Between
Where are you in the Space Between?
What is between the Knowing and Believing?
One day is hope and expectation, all promise, and the next is devastation and the bleak unreality of absence.
It can’t be true. A world with such a black hole cannot be.
The rip is not just of your heart, but in the nature of reality itself, and such a gaping wound cannot exist.
And yet you know it does. It sucks all light, all life towards itself.
But still you don’t believe. You can’t believe.
You’ve touched the tiny perfect nails, held your cheek to perfect lips, and kissed the softly perfect brow.
You’ve held the little person that you’ll never get to know.
How can you say goodbye to all the might-have-beens? All the possibilities of yesterday, the plans, the musings: will this small one grow to be quiet, boisterous, bookish, loud, sporty, arty, funny, sweet? How can you bear not knowing? How have all tomorrows, in a blink, been swept away?
So long waiting, so long hoping, with anticipation building up to joy, so very, very close. And then – gone.
In your arms, but never to gaze into your eyes, never to smile and gurgle and laugh. In your arms, but so soon to be taken from them forever.
How can anyone believe this thing is real? To believe it is a travesty, a crime against everything that’s right. It makes no sense; a cruel mistake of God. Why would a tiny life be created, nurtured and loved, only to be snatched away before the first breath?
And so there is the Space Between.
It begins the moment that you Know.
You try to push away the Knowing, but that tiny precious body without life cannot be pushed away.
But as you kiss that cherished little cheek for one last time and walk away, you know you don’t Believe.
It isn’t really true and you’ll wake up and those treasured eyes will open and the chest will rise and fall, and those tomorrows that were stolen will be poured back like a stream into a parched and thirsty land.
The world flows on around you. You’re drifting through a semblance of your days, but it’s really just your shadow filling in, fooling others that you’re there.
For you’re wandering in the Space Between, in twisting paths and rocky trails, with Knowing far behind and Believing far ahead, and the universe is made up of your pain.
No signposts there to show, ‘This is the way, back into life’.
There are only those who walk beside, whose tears mingle with yours, who hold your hand, the anchors while you roam and float and drift. Only those who never let you go, who wait with patience, month on month, until one day another you emerges. But an older, sadder you.
Because, though happiness may come, a piece of your heart’s joy and life will always stay with the child that you never got to know.
Thank you Sheree for understanding, for taking the time and effort to write it down, and for allowing me to share it here. I wish no-one understood, i wish i didnt have to expose so many of my friend and family to this heartbraking sadness.
Most of all i wish you were here Melinda Grace Currie. I. Love. You.
Somehow, unbelievably we are once again staring down the unimaginably long and lonely road of coming to terms with the emptiness that comes with being just three again. where once three respresented "team Currie" the three amigos, complete in our happiness; now three is a reminder of what was once four and could have been five.
I now have more children in heaven than on earth, and that makes me so very sad. no wonder my life feels so out of balance.
When we lost Jonathon at 17 weeks it was an absolute shock. We had never contemplated that we might lose him once we had safely made it past the "safety point" of the 14 week scan. I remember what hurt the most was the silence from those whom I loved, who were so concerned with possibly saying the wrong thing that they elected to remain silent rather than risk hurting us further. What they failed to see was that nothing could make the pain worse and in fact their silence was deafening.
When we fell pregnant with Melinda we were acutely aware that there was no safe zone. I even refused to make any purchases until after 36 weeks; when we bought the cot mattress and set up her room. I know that my friends and family hoped and prayed along with us that we would get our "happy ending" this time. I'm fairly sure once we reached term everyone believed it was a done deal, we were home and hosed! Evidently that was not to be, and one day i will share Melinda's story with you all here on my blog... just not yet, I want to make sure i get it perfect. What has struck me this time is not the silence; my friends have been amazing, particulalry a select few who have sent me constant messages of support, sent me pins on pinterest, emails of love and encouragement and cards of empathy and warmth. Melinda has touched so many people in so many ways, more than i will ever know as her life and death sends shockwaves in communities far from us. i know that she will live on in the hearts of so many and will always be remembered in many small acts everyday.
No, rather than the silence, what has struck me so hard this time is the loneliness. Once again i have been handed a membership card to this most exclusive of clubs. To be an angel mummy twice over, in this way, is just unbelieveable to me. i still cannot really comprehend what has happened, and the hows and whys are far out of reach. i feel so lost and alone in this great sea of life, Im always concerned that when i post something on facebook i risk over stepping the bounds of what is socially accepted, i wish there was a way that i could know that people understand what this is like, and could continue to accept and respect this journey we are one. Even if its just so that when this happens again (which it will, 1 in 200 births end this way, inevitably someone else will suffer this agonising loss) people will be able to offer compassion and understanding to the grief-stricken family, long after the time period that society deems sufficient for mourning.
One morning a few weeks ago I was feeling particularly alone and bereft; I felt that no-one understood and that eventually people would get sick of me posting and talking about Melinda and then she would be forgotten. I was lost that morning in a sea of tears and fear about the future and i cried out to God for comfort. i didnt know how I could go on for the rest of the years of my life feeling this alone when i recieved a message from a dear friend from our church in Newcastle. Sheree's words struck me to my core. Here was the truth written in black and white. and with her permission id like to share it with you.
Where are you in the Space Between?
What is between the Knowing and Believing?
One day is hope and expectation, all promise, and the next is devastation and the bleak unreality of absence.
It can’t be true. A world with such a black hole cannot be.
The rip is not just of your heart, but in the nature of reality itself, and such a gaping wound cannot exist.
And yet you know it does. It sucks all light, all life towards itself.
But still you don’t believe. You can’t believe.
You’ve touched the tiny perfect nails, held your cheek to perfect lips, and kissed the softly perfect brow.
You’ve held the little person that you’ll never get to know.
How can you say goodbye to all the might-have-beens? All the possibilities of yesterday, the plans, the musings: will this small one grow to be quiet, boisterous, bookish, loud, sporty, arty, funny, sweet? How can you bear not knowing? How have all tomorrows, in a blink, been swept away?
So long waiting, so long hoping, with anticipation building up to joy, so very, very close. And then – gone.
In your arms, but never to gaze into your eyes, never to smile and gurgle and laugh. In your arms, but so soon to be taken from them forever.
How can anyone believe this thing is real? To believe it is a travesty, a crime against everything that’s right. It makes no sense; a cruel mistake of God. Why would a tiny life be created, nurtured and loved, only to be snatched away before the first breath?
And so there is the Space Between.
It begins the moment that you Know.
You try to push away the Knowing, but that tiny precious body without life cannot be pushed away.
But as you kiss that cherished little cheek for one last time and walk away, you know you don’t Believe.
It isn’t really true and you’ll wake up and those treasured eyes will open and the chest will rise and fall, and those tomorrows that were stolen will be poured back like a stream into a parched and thirsty land.
The world flows on around you. You’re drifting through a semblance of your days, but it’s really just your shadow filling in, fooling others that you’re there.
For you’re wandering in the Space Between, in twisting paths and rocky trails, with Knowing far behind and Believing far ahead, and the universe is made up of your pain.
No signposts there to show, ‘This is the way, back into life’.
There are only those who walk beside, whose tears mingle with yours, who hold your hand, the anchors while you roam and float and drift. Only those who never let you go, who wait with patience, month on month, until one day another you emerges. But an older, sadder you.
Because, though happiness may come, a piece of your heart’s joy and life will always stay with the child that you never got to know.
Thank you Sheree for understanding, for taking the time and effort to write it down, and for allowing me to share it here. I wish no-one understood, i wish i didnt have to expose so many of my friend and family to this heartbraking sadness.
Most of all i wish you were here Melinda Grace Currie. I. Love. You.
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