Tuesday 21 May 2013

Let's not forget about the Dads

All the while I have been grieving and blogging I haven't really written much about Harry's Dad and how he has been throughout this horrendous time, and to coincide with the national campaign "Dad's Matter" for grieving father's from the wonderful charity Saying Goodbye:

Photo: Don’t Cry for Me Daddy

Don’t cry for me Daddy
I am right here
Although you can’t see me
I see your tears

I visit you often
Go to work with you each day
And when it’s time to close your eyes
On your pillow’s where I lay

I hold your hand and stroke your hair
And whisper in your ear
If you’re sad today Daddy
Remember I am here

God took me home
This we know is true
But you will always be my Daddy
Even though I’m not with you

I am Daddy’s little girl
We will never be apart
For every time you think of me
Please know I’m in your heart.

I love you Daddy!

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Web: www.sayinggoodbye.org
Twitter @SayinggoodbyeUK
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I read these poems on their FaceBook page and wanted to share them for their poignancy and how accurately they describe a father's experience:


Men Do Cry

I heard quite often "men don’t cry"
though no one ever told me why.
So when I fell and skinned a knee,
no one came by to comfort me.

And when some bully-boy at school
would pull a prank so mean and cruel,
I’d quickly learn to turn and quip,
"It doesn’t hurt," and bite my lip.

So as I grew to reasoned years,
I learned to stifle any tears.
Though "Be a big boy" it began,
quite soon I learned to "Be a man."

And I could play that stoic role
while storm and tempest wracked my soul.
No pain or setback could there be
could wrest one single tear from me.
Then one long night I stood nearby
and helplessly watched my son die.
And quickly found, to my surprise,
that all that tear less talk was lies.

And still I cry, and have no shame.
I cannot play that "big boy" game.
And openly, without remorse,
I let my sorrow takes its course.

So those of you who can’t abide
a man you’ve seen who’s often cried,
reach out to him with all your heart
as one whose life’s been torn apart.

For men DO cry when they can see
their loss of immortality.
And tears will come in endless streams
when mindless fate destroys their dreams.

by Ken Falk

Don’t Cry for Me Daddy

Don’t cry for me Daddy
I am right here
Although you can’t see me
I see your tears

I visit you often
Go to work with you each day
And when it’s time to close your eyes
On your pillow’s where I lay

I hold your hand and stroke your hair
And whisper in your ear
If you’re sad today Daddy
Remember I am here

God took me home
This we know is true
But you will always be my Daddy
Even though I’m not with you

I am Daddy’s little girl
We will never be apart
For every time you think of me
Please know I’m in your heart.

I love you Daddy!

So anyway, back to Harry's Dad. He was the emotional one when we were in the hospital, and when everything was going on, he would be the one who would talk and cry and I was the one who would listen to the Doctors and try to think practically. The roles have now utterly reversed and I think they did the day we left the "bubble" of the hospital. I felt like while we were there we had to be strong for Harry and to make the important decisions for him and his care and his treatment and his future. I think when I left, the "burden" of that responsibilty had gone as we had said our goodbyes to Harry and now was the time to cry and to talk and to question. Harry's Dad was the opposite. It was almost as though now the world would see his feelings and it is not acceptable for a man to behave in any way that shows emotion. He would open up with me when we were alone but otherwise would put on a brave face. I was worried that this would lead to repressed feelings but after a while of trying to coax it out of him, and getting an aggressive reaction I thought it best to leave it be.

I know his friends were thinking of him, but knowing how strong he is generally, they didn't want to bring it up with him and upset him so would discuss more trivial things like football and tales of nights out. After speaking to a few of them, I know that they would be there for him if he did decide to open up to them and for me that is great, just to know that he does have others who will listen if he feels he wants to share. But he doesn't. If I bring up what happened or if I want to go over that terrible day vocally (rather than just over and over in my head) I know now that doing this with Harry's Dad is not the right thing to do. It is almost as though he has found a place for Harry in his heart, and he can deal with his own feelings inside, but will not want to talk about the event or those feelings and feels comfortable managing things this way.

Men are so different from women, but that doesn't mean they don't feel the same inside. It just means that they have different ways of expressing how they feel. Some will want to talk, and share, and cry. Others, like Harry's Dad will find their own ways to deal with it all, and that doesn't mean they aren't feeling anything anymore.

He still expected a baby just as I did. 

He was there, in the labour ward, watching the contractions on the machine, and holding my hand as the epidural was sited.

He was there, when they decided to go to an emergency section, and witnessed the chaos that surrounded that decision.

He was there, in his theatre outfit, while I was wheeled to theatre. He watched as they operated to give birth to our son.

He was there when no one would tell us what was happening to our son. Just that he was "poorly".

He was there when the amazing doctor broke the horrific news to us.

He was the first to go and see Harry on the neonatal unit when frankly, I was too afraid.

He was there when Harry was christened on the unit.

He was there when Harry met his family members.

He was there when the doctors would explain Harry's condition was deteriorating and we made our decision with the doctors that we would withdraw treatment.

He was there, when we returned to the unit to allow Harry to be with the angels.

He held him, as I did, and loved him, as much as I did.

He was there when we went to the funeral directors and he supported me while I dressed him in his perfect white outfit. He put on his tiny blue slippers before I placed him in his tiny white coffin.

He carried Harry into the church for his funeral, infront of all our family and loved ones.

He stood beside me as I read my reading in the service.

He carried Harry into the cemetry and laid him down to rest at his grave.

He did all these things.

He is Harry's Dad.

He is grieving too. 

Please remember the fathers. They tend to grieve silently. They put on the brave face and pretend all is fine. 

They have lost a baby too. They feel the agonising pain. Just because they are strong doesn't mean they feel nothing.

He remembers Harry, as I do. He thinks about him when he sees babies who would be his age. He thinks about how Harry should be playing with William. 

Dad's Matter.......


Friday 10 May 2013

Is it OK for life to not be as perfect as we planned...

Well at the end of this month I turn the rather over ripe age of 30. How do I feel about this? Well it is a strange one. I have made 30 a massive milestone for myself for many, many years. I have to say, I have lived a very fortunate life, and have made the most of every oppourtunity thrown my way. When I was a teenager, I wrote a list of achievements to have checked off by the time I reached 30.

My list included to travel, to work and live in cities outside of Devon, to buy my own place, to go to university, to pass my drivers test, to get married and to have two children. As it pans out, I have managed to achieve all those things, and yet somehow life still doesn't seem as complete and as "perfect" as I had envisaged as the teenage girl writing this list.

I travelled and absolutely loved it. Travelling has been the foundation for the person that I am today, and I will always be thankful that I managed to go to all the places I have been, the people that I met and the things I got to experience. I lived in Liverpool and in London, and really loved both places. I must say I do really miss city life, but know that the life I am making for my little family is far more important than fancy restaurants and glamorous parties and spending my free time in spas or shopping in Bond Street. I went to university and studied hard, and got a "first" for my first year, then I moved into a wonderful job and decided to put the university project on hold. I bought a flat in London, and made it into a beautiful home. I love that place so much, but when I decided to move back to Devon I left it behind and rent it out to a nice Polish family until I am able to sell. I got married, but the wedding wasn't the wedding of my dreams. We got married in my seventh month of pregnancy expecting William. It was very last minute but we wanted to be a "proper family" before the arrival of our first born. We invited 20 or so guests, had a registry office ceremony, and a meal afterwards in a local restaurant. It wasn't grand or the big princess day one dreams of, but it was lovely and it was achieving the end goal of being officially married. And then having two children... I have given birth twice... I have my gorgeous William, who yesterday celebrated his third birthday and I am bursting with pride for his little life and how much joy he brings to me and all his family. But my dear little Harry, he is not here to complete the "perfect" family we had planned. Poor Harry had his chance to be with us cruelly snatched away and that makes me feel sick, sad and empty all at the same time.

So, is my list incomplete? Have I done all the things I wanted to? Yes I have but not everything works out exactly as planned. It is near on impossible to have the "perfect" life.

The timing of my thirtieth birthday could not be worse either. Just a week before we see Harry's first birthday. Right now, I should be planning a wonderful first birthday for my little boy. Just as I had for William, with toys, and party food and balloons, and watching Harry play with William, taking his first steps. I have felt very strange even discussing my birthday as I know looming around the corner is my big reminder of my son who died, a year ago. A year? How is it possible to be a year already? It certainly doesn't feel like a whole year ago I was sat in shock, confusion and disbelief as the horrendous events unfolded around me. As I was wheeled to meet my "poorly" baby, and watching him helplessly lying there in his cot. How can it be a whole year since I touched his skin, held his feet and hands while we had him christened on the neonatal unit and unbearably, a year since we held him in our arms as he took his final breaths? Moments I will hold in my heart for all eternity, and feel like just yesterday.

A year - so much has happened though in this year. A year of pain, internal suffering, grief and anger. Of sadness, jealousy, uncontrollable tears and real, real sorrow. People say it will get easier... The pain never, ever goes away. You just learn how to cope with that pain. You learn how to behave, how to put on a face, an act, to say the "right thing" and to find the inner strength you never knew you had. People say I am strong, I should be proud of how collected I am, and how I can talk about Harry so openly. Well let me tell you, inside I do not feel strong, I do not feel collected, and I can talk about Harry because I love him so very much, and want the truth of what happened to be understood and known by all, and for his memory to go on to achieve many wonderful things. To try to find a positive out of the most foul thing to ever be endured.

I have to say, the work I carry out for Harry's Trust, makes me very, very proud. The pride I feel for my efforts in his name are the replacement feelings I should be feeling for my living son. I should be bursting with pride for my little boy, but instead, Harry's Trust is my "baby", so obviously, I want to see the Trust grow and achieve and be successful.

I also feel as though I am expected to be "over it" now that we come up to this huge milestone. I feel like this is the end of a chapter in my grief journey. Is it? I don't know. What I do know is that I miss Harry, every single day. Every day I wish things had been different. Every day I wonder what he would be doing if he was here. Every day I see him in William. Every day I pray to God to take care of my boy. Every day I pray that our angel in heaven is watching over us, keeping us all safe and surrounding us in his light and his love. I don't expect that will change. I know I am able to do more of the things I couldn't do before. I can see happiness in new babies. I don't hate pregnant women anymore. I am ok with being asked questions about what happened and can even take the ridiculous comments from idiots who speak before they think. I will never be over it, or be OK about what happened, as it will always be the cruel, painful event that it was and I can never make it right.

I spoke to my wonderful counsellor about how I feel about my birthday and how wrong it feels to be celebrating my "big day" when I should be sat in a dark room, remembering the loss of my son and in mourning. She reminded me of how I have felt inside for the whole of this past year, but yet there have been happy times. About how it is possible to enjoy yourself and celebrate other things, while still always having the place of sadness deep inside that I will always carry for my blessed son. It is possible to feel real sadness inside, whilst laughing at something funny, whilst bursting with pride of your other children, to enjoy spending time with those you love and to find happiness in what you enjoy. You aren't always going to just experience one emotion all your life. So it is OK for me to celebrate the end of an era of my twenties coming to a close? Remembering all the many happy and wonderful times I have enjoyed and looking forward to a new decade, full of hope and a chance to make new memories, and hopefully a time full of happiness and love. I have been a lucky girl to experience and enjoy everything I have, but I have been most unlucky to have suffered the most hideous event of all. I will remember Harry on my birthday, and while I will be incredibly sad to not have him celebrate with me, I will do my best to enjoy the plans we have made and to make the most of it. I won't get another 30th birthday, things aren't going to change and I know he will be wishing me a wonderful thirtieth birthday from high up in the sky.