Some bereaved parents describe the pain of losing a child like an ache that never goes away. A constant and nagging type of pain that inflicts your soul. There is no drug strong enough to put that ache a bay. Over time you learn to dull it. You cope as best as you can but the ache is always there in the background.
Other parents describe it like a tornado. It's brutality and strength suddenly hits you and it sweeps you up, wreaks havoc for a while before it spins you back to reality. That crash in itself is hard to recover from, because how on earth did this happen to you?
What have I done these past two years? Well, I've had several visits from the tornado, definitely a few quite recently. The ache is always there, lingering and tormenting me. There is not one day I don't think about Isaac, and as long as I do not have my son there is no rest from the ache or occasional tornado.
When I lost Isaac two years ago today, I was clearly in the midst of the tornado. I remember begging Darren, the consultant, the nurses, God, and even Isaac, not to let this happen. To be that powerless is incredibly rare but there was nothing I could do to stop Isaac from dying. Up until that moment there wasn't a problem that couldn't be solved somehow. But then I had never encountered anything so tragic and cruel in my life. When I remember those moments it's like looking at a deranged creature who had no control. Sobbing, moaning, raw animalistic howls. This woman was inconsolable, messy, terrified. This woman was me.
Two years on and although I have never gone back to that place since, I've re-lived it as an observer several times. It doesn't mean I haven't been close. I realised very soon after Isaac dying that the world couldn't be controlled. There were other things that were out of my power and control.
People were one of those things. Most people have no idea what to do or say to me about Isaac. I realised that loss is terrible to deal with full stop, but when it's a child that has died it seems to be even harder for people to cope with. I understand that and learnt to let it go. It wasn't easy though, and I have coped with being ignored, Isaac not being acknowledged, and even some incredibly inappropriate, verging on cruel, comments. I am relieved to say that these people were not the majority. I have learnt that some friendships are a casualty of loss, and although incredibly sad, you need to step away from anything that causes you stress and anxiety. You have to protect yourself otherwise the sheer stress will only add an extra load to the grief you haul around each day.
Some friendships have grown, been renewed or are newly founded. I have learnt who I can rely on and I'm so grateful to the people who have held me up during some of the worst times in my life. New friendships have also developed as a result of losing Isaac. I have a strong network of friends who have experienced the loss of a child. As much as I so very much wish we didn't know one another, equally I couldn't have coped without them. I feel blessed to have these courageous angel mummies in my life and wish them nothing but peace. However, as every angel mummy knows, there is no peace.
Peace is a strange word. It evokes images of harmony and safety. In some ways I feel an odd sense of peace that Isaac is being looked after 'up there' by friends and family who have sadly passed away. Also, he is no longer suffering, and I know he was suffering a lot. That brings about some peace. I would never want my son to be on his own or in pain. However, those moments are fleeting as the pain and grief will never go away. We lost darling Isaac as a result of negligence. I nearly died on the operating table too. There is no peace when you lose your baby. Add to that the extensive inquiries and legal case, and I know we won't feel even a sense of peace until we have justice for Isaac. What happened to us has provoked nothing but anger and anxiety in me. I hate what they have done. I am disgusted that they have got away with it so far. How 2 consultants, 2 doctors and 2 midwives could have all got it so wrong seems unbelievable. My anger tells me that they won’t evade us forever. We will have justice.
When that tornado of grief strikes you realise that peace is impossible. As it hits you and sweeps you up, it manifests itself in many ways. My anxiety was another way I have dealt with grief and it has become one of the hardest things to contend with. This is yet another thing that I can't control. I have recently been diagnosed with PTSS. There is not one peaceful and easy day now. If I'm not reliving what happened I'm suffering from physical symptoms associated with anxiety and convincing myself I'm going to die. I know this is common with bereaved parents. The lack of control we had when our child died reinvents itself to anxiety, or for some depression. Let's be clear, anxiety is not 'worry', it is so much more than that. It creates physical symptoms that are hard to control- not sleeping, not leaving the house, pains in your chest, hyperventilation... the list of these frightening symptoms goes on. When Isaac died I had a period of time where I couldn't swallow food. I was terrified I would choke. Through therapy I have almost conquered that frightening symptom. I thought things were getting better. Nearly two years on the anxiety has started again. If anything, the symptoms have got worse. I can question why as many times as I like. The simple and least complicated answer is that we've been through 'too much'. That's not self-pity that is the truth. It's taken a long time for me to accept that. I can't control the anxiety and I need extra help in controlling it. But I'm battling against it every day. I will learn to cope with it.
I'm learning to cope with guilt too. That lingering kind that sits heavily on your mind every day. No amount of people telling me it wasn't my fault will alter this. Yes, the hospital Isaac was born in were tragically negligent, but my body started the chain of events. The aching pain of Isaac not being in my arms now will always be tinged with guilt.
I feel that aching pain more since we had Isla. She is the most beautiful and loving little girl. When I hold Isla I know I'm completely in love with her. There are moments though that I feel guilty for feeling so happy. Why is she here and Isaac isn't? Then I feel guilt for even considering that! She was never a replacement for Isaac. We desperately wanted to be parents to an earthly child. We didn't think it would ever be possible again so when we became pregnant it was one of the most well-guarded secrets ever! We didn't want to share our news and hid it for as long as we could. I was terrified something would go wrong again, but thank God all was okay. It was a pregnancy full of anxiety and trepidation. We didn't even buy anything for Isla until the last few weeks! I had tried to go through the mass of clothes we bought for Isaac to see if there was anything we could use. That was one of the hardest things I have ever done and I gave up quickly. It felt so wrong. Guilt again. The whole experience of being pregnant was ruined by fear and guilt. However, holding Isla in my arms minutes after she was born was the most amazing experience. It was something I was robbed of with Isaac. More guilt. Bringing her home, feeding her, putting her to bed... All these little things I appreciate so very much as I never got to do them with Isaac, but they all tinged with sadness at times because of that reason too. I still ache to hold Isaac and be a mother to him. Will these feelings ever go? Probably not. Will I ever feel pure, undiluted joy? I doubt it. I'm learning to live this new life and the guilt isn't so extreme, but it is still there to some degree.
Sorrow and loss are challenging emotions. They can engulf your life if you let them. I am fighting so many battles each day that sometimes they do. Two years on from losing Isaac I have learnt a few things. It is possible to smile and laugh again. I feel at peace with my friendships and relationships, despite having lost a few on this journey. I can love someone as equally as I do Isaac. I can. Being able to do anything is progress from where I was two years ago. My body still aches for Isaac and there are some very bad times when I am swept away by anxiety, anger and injustice. I know that I still have a lot to deal with and I am still grieving. I don't know if these emotions will continue forever or subside somewhat over time. Either way, I know that whatever happens, with help, I can cope; I can keep moving; I can live my life. And always with Isaac by my side.
XxX.
