Just Doing The Best We Can

The other day, someone commented on an article I did on loosing Patrick and life after for "A Lust For Life". They said they felt  what business did they have feeling depressed when they had friends like us who went through something so horrible. And that made me think.

You know what? This persons situation is as real to them as mine is to me. Their feelings matter just as much as mine. Different circumstances, yes,  but exactly that: Different. Not "worse" (me/us) and "not so bad by comparison" (them). I don't think it is possible to truly compare "lots" when talking about depression/post traumatic stress and/or mental health.

Indeed, if you were to look at it that way, then what business do I have feeling low and sad after all we went through to get this little rainbow? Should I not count my lucky stars, be grateful and stop complaining?

So by extension, it is probably ok also for me to acknowledge my struggle to bond and my feelings as real, valid and ok right now. Because as much as she is a much longed-for baby, it can be tough and I guess we don't really get a say in when things and life can all just add up and become too much. It need not always make sense either. But our feelings and struggles remain real.

Trying to get to know each other, me and this little alien that crashed-landed into my world.
Feeling very overwhelmed by the normal day to day stuff looking after a household, bills, washing, cleaning and so on and so on...On top of caring for her and her proud big brother.
Days when a letter from school about head lice or something as simple as running out of bread again could make me want to curl up in the fetal position and switch myself off from adulting for a while.

People often say that we are brave and strong. Us. People like us. But I think what it boils down to is that we just try doing the best we can with the hand we were dealt. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we struggle. Occasionally we fail miserably and quite spectacularly.

So I think I lost myself a little these last weeks. And admitting all of this (out loud to my GP) was a little daunting. But there it was. I needed a little help to find myself again. And I am getting there.

Knowing what worked in the past should hopefully help along the way. So I will give that a shot.

Running is my mindfulness and my practicing "being present".

Listening to music while running helps me deal with emotions and anxieties bubbling below the surface... Either the music or the lyrics help draw them out and the run just leaves me feeling like I've had lots of hugs and ten counselling sessions one after the other... Releasing that tension.

And counseling. It just works for me: This talking to someone. Venting. Saying stuff I can't say to others. Getting help in finding ways to verbalise and perhaps even make sense of what is going on in my head and heart.

With two sessions down and having restarted the running and the writing, I am already feeling better.

Doing the best I can. Despite the huge MISS in my life.

Chasing the Rainbow

She is here. Our daughter and our second rainbow arrived in July, 7 pounds even; not waiting for anyone - least of all her dad who had popped out for food expecting a lengthy enough wait. And I have been trying to catch up with her ever since.

She is cute. She has dimples just like Patrick. She is the apple of her brothers eye and we feel very much blessed to have her.

Yet, in those early weeks, I often found myself looking at this tiny human in my arms searching for a connection that I could not find. One, that I thought would (again) come naturally when I'd hold her -finally knowing that she was really here and OK.

Truthfully, I never did start bonding with her throughout the pregnancy like I did with the boys. Instead, I continued feeling too worried that something might still happen. Another early miscarriage, a late miscarriage, still birth, something happening at birth...I just assumed this would resolve itself after she was born.

It did not. At least not easily. In your head you know this can be normal but it catches you out all the same.

I felt that I ought to have been blissfully happy.. Instead, I was not feeling myself at all. I smiled and nodded when people said I must be over the moon. Well, I was of course, but it wasn't that simple and oh: I didn't know how to talk to anyone about it because this was not how I was supposed to be feeling (especially given our history).

That I sometimes looked at my child and felt like I am looking at a stranger.
That I often felt sad.
That I felt so helpless and stressed early on when the baby was crying and I could not make her stop.
That I worried what my temporary lack of patience and tendency to snap at small things in times of stress would do to my relationship with Eoghan.
That I sometimes still feel entirely useless as a parent and partner.
That the amount of things on my to do list sometimes overwhelm me beyond reason.
That the way I am feeling occasionally is making me withdraw and become absent minded.
That it felt like I am becoming invisible.

Of course I know there is a lot going on because let's face it: Birth and life with a newborn is hard in itself even if you take out the day to day stuff, siblings and a history like ours.

Post-natal hormones, anxiety, other health hiccups, the specter of the previous miscarriages and having the anniversary of the latest miscarriage, her birth and the would-have-been due date of the first miscarriage all arrive within the same 2-3 weeks were probably all adding up in the beginning.

On a subconscious level I think I might also be scared to get too close after losing Patrick to something so unpredictable like SUDC. Strangely, I did not have that issue so much with Eoghan as a newborn but he did arrive very quickly after Patrick died - while we were still processing everything that had happened. In any case, my brain just never went there that time but for some reason seems to have sprinted there now putting distressing thoughts into my head: "Will she be waking up from this nap?" "What other horrible thing might happen to her?"

And MISSING Patrick. The MISS can be overpowering at times these last weeks. Almost raw and fresh again. Quite possibly because she reminds me so much of him.

I don't know.

Although Caoilfhionn and me have fortunately bonded well by now, one dimply gummy smile at a time, I still don't really feel like my normal self.

I guess I continue playing catch up with our little rainbow until I do. She and her big brother certainly will keep me on my toes.

Expecting a Rainbow - Again

A rainbow baby is one that comes along after a loss - irrespective as to what stage of pregnancy or life that loss happened.

I guess you could call the pregnancy a Rainbow Pregnancy. Sounds peaceful, doesn't it?

It's also very strange.

On your first baby, if all goes well, you pass through those 9 months largely blissfully ignorant of all those dangers nobody really speaks about openly. If you are lucky (and thankfully most people are) you never know the pain of an early or later miscarriage, still birth or neonatal death. You look ahead to the birth with a mixture of innocence and dread and generally try to surround yourself with those other mums who tell you the nice stories...

When you are going through a rainbow pregnancy however, you tend to be more acutely aware of what might go wrong along the way depending on your history and in addition to the generally increased awareness one acquires after the first.

On Eoghan, I was happy to be expecting again so soon after Patrick passed. I could not wait to tell the world. It gave me some good news to tell. Especially to those people we bumped into who would almost immediately want to dissolve into a puddle of tears at the mere sight of us. We were a walking reminder of the worst thing that could happen to a parent. It was hard on us as well as them, but in ways possibly harder on them.

Imagining the worst is quite possibly more difficult than living it, IMO. When you are living it, it is hard, yes. But you do not get a choice. This is happening to you and you have got to learn to deal with it somehow. Eventually, you do learn to live with the loss. When you imagine it, your brain tortures you on a totally different level.

Perhaps this does not make sense but take these often used phrases as an example:
"I just don't know how you get up in the mornings. You are so brave. I could not do it."
This person imagines what happened to you to happen to their own. Their mind tortures them with images and scenarios and how they think they will react.

Whereas when it actually happens, it just happens. There is no choice on the matter. There is a before and there is an after. You are no longer the same person but yes, you do get up. No, you will not feel all that brave. Yes, you too could do it because you won't have a choice.

While expecting Eoghan, the husband was more than reluctant to tell anyone. I firmly believe he felt that telling people in and around that baby's first day in school would be more than sufficient. There was a lot of talk about counting and chickens and hatching around that time if I remember well. Understandably, he wanted to be sure to be sure that everything was really fine.

What happened to Patrick is a 1 in 100000 chance.  Yet he was that 1. You have higher chances of miscarriage, still birth, something else being seriously wrong...So I suppose it must have felt like tempting fate to become too excited too soon to him.

Honestly, I probably did not understand it then but I do now.

Two early miscarriages and difficulty conceiving later, I have been extremely hesitant to tell anyone since that illusive second line appeared on my test back in early November. I even waited before attending my GP to confirm the pregnancy and send the letter off to our consultant for fear I might put a jinx on it. Aside from Pat, our GP and my acupuncture folks I was physically unable to tell anyone else for weeks.

This time, the husband is the polar opposite. He is delighted to share our news after month upon month of disappointment.

First I needed to wait until our first consultant scan. Then I needed to wait until the 12 week nuchal translucency scan (geriatric mother, after all!). Then I needed to wait until the 16 week scan. Then the 20 week scan.

I suppose by 16 weeks I was ok with people knowing but still found it hard to do the telling. Only now, after the 20 week anomaly scan, I am getting more comfortable telling yet part of me is still scared and probably will continue to be until this little one is born and safely in our arms.

Then the SUDC parent anxiety will take over...

Meanwhile, we remain cautiously optimistic while Eoghan is delighted to be getting a sibling. We will have to put aside time to make sure he understands that he will not be able to carry his sister around in the same manner as he does the cat right now...😰

As for the discussion about names....Oh well. That's a whole different story.

Long-term Aftercare

Bereavement and grief truly are strange beasts. You do eventually get used to living with the weirdness of the situation – or so you want to think. You find a rhythm when it comes to important dates. And just when you think you have it all sussed, things change.

We have taken to making sure we both have our son’s anniversary off each year. We do stuff that feels right on the day – hill walking, taking it easy, releasing balloons; whatever it may be. I cannot envisage us ever working that day again. For the first number of years, this was definitely the way to go – and it still is but in an odd shift over the last couple of years I have begun finding the lead up to the day a lot worse than the day itself.

More annoyingly still, there is no predicting when it will hit. I suppose it starts with reduced levels of patience overall, trouble concentrating, feeling overwhelmed by every day have-to’s, flash backs and memories back to the few days before. What we did, where we went. That last shopping trip to Tesco and buying the Andrex loo roll because of the “puppies!”.

Eventually, for me, it will culminate in a few hours spent listening to music that I know will bring out the feelings that are lurking – the sadness, the frustration, the MISS. And often it is a weird and wonderful mix of soft stuff that will tug at the heartstrings with some Linkin Park or other shouty songs thrown in. The only way is through….

Sometimes I wonder if Eoghan notices this time of year is harder for us. I guess, he is wrapped up in his own bubble of ignorant childhood bliss most of the time and that is the way it should be. Despite that, we know Patrick does play a role in his little 5-year-old life. Of late, he features in Eoghan’s play-pretend adventures along with Plainty, the imaginary friend and "the other Patrick what didn't die". He is also included in family pictures Eoghan draws – little stick people representing me, daddy, Eoghan, Patrick and the cat that make my heart sing because I know Patrick is remembered and loved – albeit in a rather odd and abstract sort of way.

I guess, overall we manage to navigate our feelings well enough. We’ve gotten pretty good at this – and gotten bad at other things we were previously good at (Christmas cards being my more recent case in point). We will always have our wobbly days though – we just cannot predict when they will come.

And so, especially as time continues to rumble on, there are some ways to continue to help us through this:

•        Try and take note of the important dates in our lives – their birthday and anniversary – and try to let us know you are thinking of us and them. Nothing fancy; a simple message will do to let us know they are not forgotten.
•         If you happen to think of them randomly, share that with us. Nothing makes us happier than you sharing a memory. You might think of them often but every now and then it is nice to be told about it, too.
•         If it is coming up to an anniversary or birthday, you might consider getting in touch to see if we fancy a coffee/drink/meet-up for sorts; to remember or to forget – whatever may be needed at the time.

It is kind of a “Long-term Aftercare For the Bereaved”, because, you see, as the years pass, it gets a lot quieter than in the first weeks, months or even couple of years. It will be the small occasional gestures that will help so much in alleviating our (often unspoken) fear that these people, our children, will slip from life’s canvas into oblivion. Yet the seemingly smallest gesture will bring our hearts an immeasurable amount of solace and peace as we face into another milestone without them.

P.S. Mammy is biggest in the picture because Mammy is the boss not because Christmas has gotten the better of her! 😂