I was listening to the song 'God only knows' the other day. It was a Beach Boys' cover by BBC Music and it features an array of famous musicians. I started to hum along with the likes of Florence and the Machine, and Sam Smith. I was enjoying the beautiful harmonies, and my humming soon changed to singing. Funny how I remembered the words to a song I haven't heard for ages. However, just as soon as that thought entered my head something happened. Out of nowhere I began to get choked up. I blinked as my eyes started to water and I couldn't force the rest of the lyrics out of my mouth. Instead I cried silently through the song; and at the end I looked down at my phone to the photo of Isaac saved as my screen background. I never cry. It's not something I often do. If I do it's almost always out of anger, and God knows I have a lot of that inside me! But it wasn't anger that set off the tears; it was this song. It was memories. It was Isaac.
It was a particular part in the song that struck a cord:
"If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me?
God only knows what I'd be without you"
These words had never felt more true than during those long dark days after Isaac died. Life does go on, but it wasn't a life I wanted to live. Honestly, I wished I had been taken with him. Isaac died in my arms at 6 days old. A big part of me died with him too: my faith, my happiness, my heart. I often felt that I might as well have left with him.
I was convinced life was over. What exactly did the world offer me now? The child I had been though so much to have; the baby I felt move around inside me; and the life I was meant to lead as a mother, had been torn from me. I was left with nothing. No one could console me and tell me it would be okay, not even Darren. He was grieving in his own way, and for a while we became strangers. We literally existed together. Selfishly though, i felt a slight relief about not having to go through this loss alone.
Darren threw himself in to fund raising in memory of Isaac. He decided to run the London Marathon. I was aghast as I was convinced I would loose him too. I had visions of him having a heart attack mid way and then I would be completely on my own. However, he desperately wanted to do it, so, I got my anxiety in to check and supported him. It was Darren's way to cope, and I couldn't take that from him.
For me, grief was a very different experience. I did not cry. I didn't do 'weak'. I didn't want to feel. All I wanted was to be alone. I locked myself in the house. For the first few months, I went no where apart from the cemetery to see Isaac, my mum's so she could feed me, and to our bereavement counsellor. Then acute anxiety hit and I began to move further and further away from the person I was. I couldn't eat, swallow, or even breath sometimes. Life showed me no mercy. Every day was as painful as the last, and the cruelty of grief added one extra blow for me to deal with.
Leaving the house eventually to do 'something' was my sister's idea. She literally put me in my coat and dragged me out. I hated every minute of it. There were too many people who knew nothing of my pain and I was walking the streets amongst them. I wanted to scream at everyone. Did they know what I was dealing with? Did they care? I despised them for not knowing. I was completely irrational. It was the same day I ran in to an old friend who ignored me. A great start to my first trip out! I don't remember feeling particularly hurt; I was hurting enough as it was. Instead their actions taught me a lesson about how people dealt with child loss- badly! It also made me realise I was always going to be that mother who lost a child. Who wants to be that person? Who wants to know that person? I can assure you, no one does! Bad enough to loose your child, but then to loose your friends? No, that's not okay. I felt like an untouchable. Without Isaac, I was going to always be a grieving mum. I didn't want to continue living this life.
It wasn't just 'outside' that was tough. Locked up in my own house was impossible too. Throughout the day and night I would touch my stomach praying that the past few months were just a mistake. I prayed hard that he was still with me. But there were no kicks. No longer was the baby I'd carried to full term safe and sound in my stomach. The last time I felt Isaac move properly was before he we born. Whist in NICU he didn't move at all: too many wires and sedation. If Isaac did move it was from convulsions he was having as a result of the brain damage. The only time I ever felt him move was inside me. He was healthy and safe there. He was alive and well, but now he would never move again. I missed the way he would wriggle around. I desperately wanted to feel him and his powerful kicks. I promised I wouldn't ever moan about them again! Of course, nothing changed. I left for hospital pregnant and came home a week later with no baby. I felt I should be with Isaac where I could see and feel him. A mother should be with their child. What was I going to do without him?
The song literally mirrored how I was feeling, and that didn't change for a long long time. Even when i felt strong enough to go out, get back to work and see people, I still felt empty and sad. Life went on and yet it meant nothing to me. I needed something to give meaning to my world. I needed a reason, apart from friends and family, to keep going.
I found this purpose through a group of women who had experienced loss and understood what it actually meant. Unless you were there, no one will ever understand what it's like for your child to die in your arms. We all had our own individual experiences of child loss, but these ladies, sadly, knew to some degree how I felt. I would online chat with these angel mothers late at night. I tearfully listened to their experiences. I reached out to them when I felt particularly wretched. They were so important to me, and many of them still are.
These angel mothers inspired me to start up a support group. They encouraged me to write these blogs. Their empathy and lack of judgement allowed me to share emotions I sometimes felt ashamed of. In turn, I also supported, listened and encouraged. I learnt I wasn't alone. I could cope. I could live again. I will never forget, be as optimistic, or as innocent as I was since loosing Isaac, but I can live. I have found some purpose in this world that had let me down so badly.
My friends and family gave me space to learn how to be this new person. Some friendships lay claim to my grief, but most were salvaged. I could still be their daughter, sister, friend and colleague, but I had changed. Some things are not for the better I admit. I can get angry easily and I know I need to curb that. My anxiety leads to me constantly questioning myself and when my mindful techniques don't work I rely on people to calm me down. However, on the flip side, I'm more honest, more open, and I hope, more empathetic. It's been a very tough ongoing journey for everyone, but I am so very grateful that my friends and family continue to hold on.
Despite starting our grief in different places, Darren and I began to find strength in one another and learn to live with this terrible tragedy. I joined Darren with his fundraising. I started to do charity work too. It brought us together. And we had another child, Isla. She is so very amazing and we love her more than anyone can imagine. She will never replace Isaac but she had helped us to smile and look forward to another day.
There are so many people that helped me appreciate the world again: my friends, my family, and of course, my loss group. Each helped put me back together. I know they watched me change and felt powerless at times, but these people stood patiently by my side. I have slowly came back, not quite the same person as I was, but as someone who can at least see a reason to live.
God only knows how I've managed to get here. I didn't want to live without Isaac. I still don't want to be without him, but I have learnt that there is still a place for me in this world. It may not be the place I want to be at times, or even envisaged myself in, but it is a life that I am slowly starting to accept bit by bit, as life does still go on.
Simone. XxX.
If you would like to donate in memory of Isaac to the Evelina Children's Hospital please visit:
