chutzpah84's posterous

On absence of emotion

There have been times in my life that I have felt no emotion at an event, and felt guilty because deep down I knew I should be feeling something.

Today I got some news that I should have felt emotion about, but didn't. And unusually, I felt no guilt. Even not feeling anything at not feeling guilty hasn't left any lingering guilt.

My gran is terminally ill, but a few months ago I said to someone that I found it hard to feel anything about it because I'd been through so much personal emotion at the start of the year. It's like I'm all "emotioned" out. Maybe that's true here. Maybe because the event is so close to us that it's hard to feel anything other than dispassion.

It's odd because I've received similar news from other people that aren't as close, and felt overjoyed. It's not the event itself, just maybe that we're in such our own personal bubble that it's hard to feel emotion for other family members right now.

I don't know. I'm rambling. And many of you won't have a foggiest what I'm going on about. But that's fine, because I'm not necessarily looking for answer, just jotting stuff down.

On being sad

Yesterday was six months to the day since we first properly met Sophia. I miss her loads every single day. 

Michael Rosen's "Sad Book" (about the death of his son from meningitis) starts with a picture (drawn by the great Quentin Blake) of him smiling. He says

"This is me being sad. Maybe you think I'm being happy in this picture. Really I'm being sad but pretending I'm being happy. I'm doing that because I think people won't like me if I look sad"

That's the way I often feel. You can't walk around moping all the time, and there are times that I (probably irrationally) worry that I go on about how much I miss her too often, but there truly isn't a day where I don't get sad. The triggers are numerous... If I see a photo, or a young baby, or a toy that she would be old enough to play with now, or something of hers in the house, or Archie, some music that I associate with her for any reason, or something on the TV, or an ambulance, or points of the commute home from work or the drive back into Bath that leads to the hospital.... Sometimes, even something as innocent as my mobile ringing in the office triggers a flashback to the phone call I took to tell me something was wrong.

Life goes on, I still laugh and joke with friends and work colleagues and I still find enjoyment in life. But several times each day I'm sad but keep a smile on my face. The hardest thing to deal with sometimes is knowing that this is state is going to be with me forever.

Thanks to everyone, friends and family, that have supported us this far, and for dealing with me being sad.

Just in case you donated in Sophia's memory, and opted out of email updates

...this is an email that I've just written to the fabulous people that donated. It made me cry, so please forgive the tear stains.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Hi everyone,

We're dropping you a quick note as someone that very kindly made a donation in Sophia's memory, and because you also said that you were happy to receive updates from us.

It is now a month since Sophia's funeral and seven weeks since the terrible day that our daughter left us. We are no closer to understanding what happened, and we have been forewarned that we may never get an answer.

One tragedy of cot death is that it can happen without warning, without a chance to say goodbye, and when it happens you are more often than not unable to be provided with a reason even after a post-mortem. It's something that you NEVER think will happen to you, but once it does you are forever a grieving parent.

We said at the time that words cannot express how we feel, and probably never will. It's safe to say that this is still true.

One crutch of support during this terrible time has been the awesome support we have received from watching the donations come in for both of our nominated charities. We have been absolutely, truly overawed by what you have helped us raise. When we set them up we had no idea that we could raise what we have. As we write this you have helped us raise the following:

Foundation for the Study of Infant Deaths - £1343
Great Western Air Ambulance - £1302

That's £2645 altogether. It will never replace our daughter, and we wish dearly that we weren't fundraising in memory of her, but we hope that the funds raised will provide some good from all of this. The FSID, as a beacon of support to families who are going through what we are, providing a voice at the end of the phone and striving to help us get better answers for why this happens to our babies; and the Air Ambulance as a beacon of hope to those in urgent need in a time of emergency.

We could not have raised this without your help. It will always be too late to save Sophia, but we wish with all our hearts that it prevents another family going through the unspeakable pain that is losing a child.

THANK YOU for playing a part in helping us through the darkest period in our lives so far.

Robert, Lucinda and Archie

Some traits change, others stay the same

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This is Archie and me on the Isle of Wight. Boxing Day 2009. 

The day itself was rather uneventful. We'd headed over for the day with Lu's mum to visit her grandparents. They were spending Christmas on the island with lots of other old folk. The afternoon "activity", as listed on the daily activities board, was "tea and scones". The hotel decor was brown. And yellow. And red. And I remember some light blue too. That gives you an idea of the scene.

After an hour or two, Archie was starting to climb the walls. So us three - Lucie, Archie and me - escaped for a walk. We headed out of the hotel, walked down the road a bit, and walked along this road that looked out to sea.

I remembered Archie wasn't long into walking. He toddled along with us for a bit, and then we managed to get this picture.

And to look at him here, he's changed so much. He was one year and three months here.

But some things have stayed the same. The fringe, the birthmark, that gorgeous cheeky grin. In some ways he's no different.

Pictures like this really do make me think now... which bits of Sophia would have stayed the same? What baby features would she have lost? I'll never know. She was just beginning to develop a cheeky grin of her own, just like her brother's. She was just starting to develop an infectious giggle when you tickled her.

This time next year she'll have been about the same age as Archie in this photo. At the time this photo was taken it was just a random snap in an otherwise forgetful day. But now it has extra resonance. Because we'll never see her at this age.

And I'll tell you what, that is bloody hard... harder than you think.

And it's always at some stupid time like 4.23am that these things play on your mind.

Celebration of Sophia's life

Our celebration of Sophia's life is to be held on Friday 20th January (2.15pm) at Mendip Crematorium.

All are welcome. Bright colours only please.

No flowers please, instead we request that people consider donating to either one or both of the following charities: Great Western Air Ambulance (who sent a helicopter with doctors on board to our house) and the Foundation for the Study of Infant Deaths.

There should be a gathering afterwards, the venue for which will be announced in due course.

Crematorium details: http://www.dignityfunerals.co.uk/crematoria/index.asp?pageid=20&fd=650

Donations can be made to either charity through the pages we have set up here:

We are extremely saddened to say that our beautiful daughter Sophia passed away today at eleven weeks old.

Words cannot express how we feel, and probably never will. 

Neither Lucinda or myself are religious, however we will say this about the miracle of life.

Life is one of the greatest things that we can think of, it's amazing that we're all on this planet in the first place with no purpose other than to enjoy the tiny speck in time that we are on this rock. Unfortunately we never know how much time we have, but this fact does mean that we treasure all the more our fleeting existence together with the ones we love. We will always treasure that she somehow came into our lives, and every single precious moment that we spent with her.