Dear newly bereaved mother

Dear newly bereaved mother,

I couldn’t help but see you today at the cemetery. I saw your slow walk from the car to his special spot, I noticed the pain in your eyes as you loving tended to your boy’s grave and the way you lent on your husband for support. Emotions so familiar to me were painted on not just your face but on your whole being. I wished I could have jumped out of my car and offered you some comfort. I desperately wished there was something I could do. But when it’s been one month since your baby died, what comfort is there to be had? What answers could a stranger possibly have, especially when you are standing at the exact place you said your final goodbyes to your precious son?

Sweet mumma, I know what it’s like to be so overcome with the need to go to your baby’s grave but so overcome with pain when actually standing there. I know how wrong it is to place flowers on a grave when you should be placing your baby in the cot. The need to have everything perfect at your baby’s special place is one I am well acquainted with and one that hasn’t yet gone away. I know what it’s like to mother a memory, rather than mother a cooing baby. I know how hard it is.

My story is no doubt different to yours, as each of us travel along a similar but unique path. But newly bereaved mother, it’s only nine months since I was you; nine months since my daughter was born silently and still. To those further along this road than me, I am still newly bereaved. But even nine months along, I want to offer you hope. Going to the cemetery (or holding your baby’s ashes) won’t always be so painful, one day it might bring you peace. The walk from the car to your baby’s grave will get easier, and while your husband’s support is always there, you will get stronger and be able to do more on your own.

Dear mumma, I know you worry that letting go of the intense grief and pain is somehow the same of letting go of your little one. But it’s not; nothing will take away the love you have for them. I know you think about them every day and feel a flood of guilt if there is one day when you don’t. I want to encourage you that even if you don’t actively think of them, their memory is always with you, actively remembered or not. I know the outrage you feel when someone says something that implies your little one is unimportant. Don’t listen to them – your gorgeous baby matters, they are and will always your much loved child. You have every right to walk away from people who believe otherwise, but I know that sometimes walking away takes more strength than you have. My prayer is that there will always be someone alongside you to either help you walk away or comfort you in the pain of other’s words. Not everyone understands this pain, dear mumma, but some of us do. Even though you feel it at times, you are never completely alone.

Your baby is precious, and I’m so very sorry you don’t have them in your arms. It isn’t fair.

Sincerely,

The other mum at the cemetery

Six months, baby girl

I'm not a fan of the end of each month. There are too many dates that hurt.


27th - the last time I felt Ariella move and, I believe, the day she died

28th - the day our hearts shattered when we discovered our baby had died

29th - the day I was induced and labour started (although I didn't mind labour and this day normally hurts simply in anticipation of the 30th)

30th - the day we met our sweet Ariella

31st - the day we walked out of the hospital with empty arms


Every month, those dates hurt. But this month they hurt more than normal, because it's now been six months since our Ariella died and was born. SIX MONTHS. I struggle to think that we've made it through half a year without her with us. It seems crazy. I didn't think I could live without my baby girl and with such heartache. But it turns out you can.

I've had a tough few days in the lead up to today, and I did wonder if the anticipation of today would be worse than the actual day. I think it was. I didn't have to go to work today (for unrelated reasons), so I took some time for myself this morning, then grabbed some lunch to go eat with Ariella. They were mowing the lawn when I arrived, so I sat in the car for a while, observing all that was going on. 

Two of Ariella's grandparents had visited earlier, and left some gorgeous gerberas. I added the white daises, and then headed home.

I may not have done a lot these past few days, but I'm pretty proud of the fact that I simply got out of bed. I even got a load of washing done today. I had heard that a lack of motivation is a normal part of grief, and I'm definitely feeling that lately. Sometimes I feel like I should be "doing better" by now, as it's been six months. But it's ONLY been six months. That's no time at all really. So on a hard day like today, when I get out of bed, get dressed and even get some jobs done, that's good enough for me.

Also, just wanted to say thank you to our wonderful friends and family who have messaged today and yesterday. We're so grateful to know that Ariella is loved and missed by others too, and that we aren't forgotten.

One of those days

Today was one of those days when just getting out of bed was a victory. Yet alone getting dressed, eating and going out. I just miss her so badly. I miss her smell, her perfect little fingers and her sweet little nose. I wish I could say "I miss her smile" but I don't know what her smile looked like. I bet it was cute, and probably a little bit cheeky (if she was anything like her daddy or me). 

After I eventually got up and dressed, and had some Nutella toast (perfect to give me at least a little smile), I decided to drop into the cemetery on my way to church. Only to drive up and see them digging a new grave in Ariella's section. It's awful. My heart just breaks whenever I see a new hole. There's been too many recently. After finishing at church, I decided to go back to the cemetery, as I knew they'd be finished and I'd be able to actually get out of the car and sit with Ariella. I arrived, only to discover that they'd actually dug two holes this morning. TWO. And they are separate holes, so it must be two families who have recently suffered loss. It's just...heartbreaking. 

Not long after Ariella's death, I found a song called Even If by Kutless. I was immediately struck by the lyrics and found it comforting to have a song that expressed my feelings so perfectly. Today was one of those days when I needed to listen to it again. 

Sometimes all we have to hold on to

Is what we know is true of who You are

So when the heartache hits like a hurricane

That can never change who You are

And we trust in who You are

Even if the healing doesn't come

And life falls apart

And dreams are still undone

You are God

You are good

Forever faithful One

Even if the healing

Even if the healing doesn't come

Lord, we know Your ways are not our ways

So we set our faith in who You are

Even thought you reign high above us

You tenderly love us

We know Your heart

And we rest in who You are

You're still the great and mighty One

We trust You always

You're working all things for our good

We'll sing Your praise

You are God and we will bless You

As the good and faithful One

You are God and we will bless You

Even if the healing doesn't come

Even if the healing doesn't come

Ariella's healing didn't come. 
Life fell apart. 
Dreams are undone. 
Even so,
He is God.
He is good.
He is forever faithful.

Sitting at her grave

I sit here at my daughter's grave and the sun is shining. There's a slight breeze. It's lovely. You can tell it's rained recently, as the grass is wet, as is the bare ground where 2 day old twins were buried just days ago. 

Another parent arrives and for the first time ever, a short conversation takes place. Just a few words are spoken and then we leave each other to our thoughts. I like seeing other parents there. It makes their precious babies more real to me. 
Marco, Sibella, Hope, Ava. 
Four little babes whose relatives I have seen. 

People sometimes ask me how often I come to her grave. The answer? Often. I drive past the cemetery almost daily, as it's on a road I travel on frequently, so I pop in a few times a week. I love arriving to see flowers that people have placed there, and I actually find it a peaceful place. In one direction are the hills, a constant reminder to me that my help comes from the Lord, the maker of Heaven and earth (Psalm 121). In the opposite direction is the ocean. I love water. Ariella was born in water. It always has a calming effect on me. 

Next to Ariella's section are some of the war graves. I like that. I know that Ariella isn't really in the grave, that it's just her body and her spirit is in Heaven. But I like the idea that brave men are near her, almost as if they are guarding her and the other babies.

I'm sitting by her grave and the sun is shining, the birds are singing.

I'm sitting by her grave, and I feel at peace.

God is good. His love is deeper still.

Funerals and letters

I went to the cemetery today, and was heartbroken to drive up to the Children's section and see that it was set up for another funeral. Knowing what those parents must be going through made me cry. About two weeks after Ariella's burial, she was joined by a little boy named Marco, two spots over from her. Recently there was a tiny grave added, and today there will be another precious baby getting buried. It's awful :(

It made me think back to the day we buried Ariella. Seeing my little girl's white coffin, knowing that I'd laid her in it the day before was hard. I coped so much better than I thought I would, and I believe that's because I had people praying that I would cope ok.

God always knows what we need. I was a bit emotional this morning, realising that it's almost been 3 months without my baby girl. I checked the letterbox, and was so blessed to see a letter that a friend had sent me. It's sitting on the couch next to me and it makes me smile to know that people are still thinking of Ariella. I think part of me is afraid that as time goes on, she will be forgotten. But I'm realising more and more that she won't be. And I'm so grateful.

I can't decide

I can't decide if I want the grass on Ariella's grave to grow back. On one hand, it will look nicer than the dirt. On the other hand, it means she's been gone for too long.

I can't decide whether I'm glad we've ordered the plaque for her. It's just one more thing that is so...final. We had the appointment at Centennial Park today. Currently we have a name marker for her that I printed at home and laminated. It felt wrong to not have anything there, but having the granite plaque on its way just reminds me of how permanent this situation is. At least a laminated peace of yellow card looks slightly cheerful; a granite plaque will look so formal...