The ones that really count

I have always stated that one of the main reasons I write my blog is to raise awareness around pregnancy loss and hope that it will become a less taboo subject one day.

Generally I am quite robust and resilient and I understand that people will make comments based on a lack of understanding or awareness and not due to malice intentions.

However sometimes I can feel deflated and frustrated when I talk to people and I come away from the conversation thinking they still don’t get it.

This is particularly true to the ones in my life that really count. The ones I always think should get me or understand me more than others. The ones that have lived my grief with me.

I know they are full of love for me and were devastated when Kora and Ava passed away not only for me but for themselves too. I watched their pain with each subsequent pregnancy loss.

Yet somehow it’s their comments that make me feel like giving up on tackling the taboo. I question why I write if my nearest and dearest just don’t get it. I love them dearly and this is in no way derogatory or malicious towards them.

I’m merely trying to figure out why I lay my heart on the line and bare my soul to try and make a difference when I don’t seem to make it within my own family.

I was reduced to tears the other day when I sat with my father and he said a comment that made me want to discuss it with him.

We were talking about grief and he stated that it must be harder to lose your child when you have had them in your life for sometime. It is easier to come to terms with losing your babies if they never actually took a breath.

I understood why he might say this as he comes from the perspective of how difficult it would be now if he lost me or my brother. He is doing what we all do and relating his thoughts and opinions based on his own experiences and maybe his own fears.

He did not for one minute intend to upset me he merely spoke what was his thoughts. I felt the hot and raw tears prickle at my eyes. I swallowed, took a breath and then spoke my thoughts.

I don’t think you can compare grief as we all grieve differently and I certainly don’t think one is more greater than the other. However the world does see losing a child as a horrendous grief and against the norm of humanity.

What I do know is that grief unites us as we will all experience it at some stage in our lives. Some sooner than others but it will come to us all at some point.

It is impossible to avoid and when it happens you have to learn to live in your new normality without your loved one(s). It’s not something you can circumvent like an obstacle in the road.

You can’t spend every day with others to console yourself nor can you shut yourself away forever. The world continues its everyday life and sooner or later you have to join it again as the ‘new’ you with a part missing. You have to face your new normality.

I am not the same person I was after losing Kora and Ava and I have learnt that’s ok. They have given me a strength I didn’t know I had. They have taught me to love with fear but to love hard and fast.

So I told my father that I would have loved to have had years of Kora and Ava’s life to hold onto. I would have loved to have known the colour of their hair or their eyes. I would have loved to have fond memories of special moments together so that in my grief I could look to this for solace.

I would love to have had more videos and photos to look at or watch. To play over and over again so I don’t forget a single detail of their face or how their voice sounds.

Instead Neil and I have very few memories and moments to treasure. Yet we face milestones constantly with just I wonders and what ifs. Never really knowing or having the chance.

We got to hold our babies just once in the palm of our hands. We never knew their smell or how it felt to embrace their little bodies as they grew. We never got to hold their hands or kiss them endlessly.

I am not saying that this is harder than any other loss. What I am saying is that having all of those memories and moments would have aided my grief rather than being left with just the ‘I wonder’.

My father didn’t really respond to my comments. He went into a world of his own thoughts and I’m not sure if he felt like challenging my opinion or if maybe something had resonated with him.

Maybe he had just a little more understanding of how I felt because I was brave enough to talk. Maybe he accepted just how hard it must have been to carry your children, lose them, deliver them, put them in a small white coffin and then stand at the service to say goodbye.

Maybe he has a little understanding of how hard it is to face the world each day knowing what you lost but also not knowing.

Maybe he thought otherwise but didn’t want to share his opinion anymore as he could see his daughter was upset. I guess I won’t know as I let the silence pass before changing the subject.

What I do know is that we hold Kora and Ava’s brother and sister in our hearts and arms. I kiss their faces non stop everyday. I stare at every inch of them knowing just how lucky I am to be given the chance to make those memories with them. Knowing just how precious their lives are!

For me they can bring many more unanswered questions about Kora and Ava and each of these moments bring a little sadness to my heart that we didn’t get that moment with them.

However my heart swells with love and pride that I am blessed to be having treasured memories and moments with Kayden and Layla.

I will never take for granted just how lucky we are and when strangers stop me and ask me what gender are our babies and I answer a girl and a boy; they tell me how very lucky we are and I answer, I know.

Of course they mean to have one of each and they are oblivious of what my “I know” means but I do know just how very lucky we really are.