friendship

Two years

Two years

One hundred and four weeks.

Millions of bubbles

Countless tears

Shattered dreams.

Two years since sweet baby Matilda Mae closed her eyes and did not wake up.

Two years~ Ghostwritermummy.co.uk

And though time has pressed on, as it must, and to some it may seem that I have moved on, as I suppose I must, I have not forgotten. I will not forget.

I still see those screamingly empty arms. Yawning with absence, heavy with nothing. I still see that little woollen coffin and the face of despair.

But I also see the rainbows. And the courage. And the glimpses of happiness.

And yes, it has been two years. Yes, things have changed. But they haven’t, not really. I am still here.

Matilda Mae is still remembered, still loved. And always will  be.

Sweet dreams Matilda Mae

02.05.12- 02.02.13

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The best days of your life

This is a sponsored post

They say that the school days are the best days of your life. They weren’t really, for me. But I want them to be for my kids. Finally I understand what everyone meant back then. When else do you get the opportunity to be immersed in learning, to soak up new skills and to develop new talents? Make new friends without the shackles of adult life? Laugh because you feel like laughing? Discover amazing facts about sharks? Run around a field holding hands with your best friend in the world?

The best days of your life~ Ghostwritermummy.co.uk

(more…)

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March 7th 2013

7th March 2013March 7th 2013

On this day I stood beside a wonderful woman. I stood on shaking legs.

On this day I spoke words that had come from the heart of a grieving mother. I spoke words laced with pain, anger and grief. Pure, utter grief. I listened to words dripping with love and pain and I heard sobs reverberate around the tiny church.

On this day I watched a father carry a tiny little coffin in his arms. The weight of the universe in his hands. In his heart.

On this day I watched a mother move behind the coffin of her baby girl. I watched her being carried through pain and grief.

Those are images I will never, ever forget. And for a long time I wish I had not looked. I wish I had kept my head down and saved myself from the images that often return to me when I’m not expecting it.

But I did not.

I did not look away. I did not turn away. I did not leave. I did not run- how I wanted to!- and I did not hide from the horror of SIDS. I could not.

One week ago I stood once more with that wonderful woman and I spoke our own words. Again, laced with pain and with fear. These are the words. We tried to explain what it was like when a friend’s baby dies.

One week ago I watched a father read words in his daughter’s memory. The weight of the universe in his hands.

One week ago I watched a mother read also- strengthened by the love of her precious Matilda Mae. I watched the grief and the anger pour from her body and disappear into the love that reverberated around the tiny church.

And I listened to words that made so much sense to me. Words about grief and the way it cycles and the way that we embrace it into our lives.

Grief is a lot of things. It is selfish. It is angry. It is relentless. It is never-ending. It is furious. It is ungrateful. It is determined to take you and to break you.

But it is not shameful.

We all grieve for different things and in different ways and that is ok.

It is ok.

We grieve because we have loved. We remember because we have loved. We live, because we love.

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Happiness makes you cry

This has been a tough, tough week. I know that it’s not been as tough as for some, and I know that I really don’t have a lot to complain about it when you zoom out and look at the bigger picture for a moment. But when you’re stuck there in your little bubble and that little bubble is closing in and pressing and suffocating and forcing you to be the person you always said you wouldn’t be… its hard to maintain perspective sometimes.

But the kids always bring you back to earth with a gentle bump, don’t they?

happiness makes you cryAfter a week of difficult mornings with The Preschooler- he misses his dad, he doesn’t want to go to Preschool, he doesn’t know how to put his shoes on, he didn’t really PUSH his sister, he only wants to eat one more slice of toast before he brushes his teeth, he wants to cuddle while you brush your teeth, he doesn’t want to sit in the car today, he has forgotten how to walk…) I’ve spent much of the school run in tears this week.

Frustration. Anger. Loneliness. Exhaustion.

And not just for me, I might add.

Then yesterday, on the way to Preschool, a song came on and a little voice piped up:

“I like this song, Mummy. This man’s voice sounds nice and makes me happy.”

And I smiled. How could I not?

Happiness makes you cry

My son likes The Flaming Lips. My son is one in a million. He is a little firesome ball of contradictions and huge emotion and I love him for that. Yep, hard work, but oh so totally worth it.

* Thank you to Heather for the photo, and for her friendship this week. Also thank you to Lisa and Chelle who have also been amazing this week x x x 

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