Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Another thing of beauty.

This is what brought me to tears today...

{Guardian Angel - May you always have an angel to watch over you}
Another thoughtful friend, another thought for Seth, another thing of beauty.

When I saw this figurine, I felt an overwhelming sense of security for my little boy. I know that he is okay and that he is free from the pains and afflictions of this world, and that brings me such great comfort.

When Seth passed away, one of my closest friends in our town was out of the country. She was so upset that their family were not able to be here to comfort us in our time of need. But while she was away, she did something very special for Seth, Peter and me. She wrote a poem. And this figurine made me think of a certain verse from that poem that I'd like to share.

I am a Son of God, 
And He has kept me here
In a world of Glorious Angels, 
And a place no need to fear.

I think these might be my favourite lines from this poem. These few words bring me tremendous comfort. 

I pray every single day that my little boy is safe; that he is watched over; that he is happy. These words free me from the confusion I find myself trapped between when I wonder whether he is alone, or scared, or hurt. 

I am reminded that he is not any other those terrible things. I am reminded that he is surrounded by angels. Not just the type we imagine with wings, but angels just like him; Other little boys whose Mothers are missing them so desperately; other babies whose spirits were too pure and too lovely to be present in this cruel world; other angels who are spreading the word of the Lord in a world of spirits.

I think of these words, and know that Seth is safe.
I think of these words, and know that Seth is happy.
I think of these words, and know that Seth is surrounded with love.
I think of these words, and know that Seth is waiting for me there.

Sunday, 27 May 2012

There is no end...

This weekend, my husband and I again had the privilege to attend the Temple, and had a beautiful weekend. The weather was glorious, and the Temple grounds just felt like an oasis from a world outside, and right there, I was at peace.
 As we drove up we listened to an amazing version of one of my favourite Hymns - If you could hie to Kolob, by Kirby Heybourne. As I listened I received an overwhelming feeling of the truthfulness of some of the words:

There is no end to glory, 
There is no end to love, 
There is no end to being, 
There is no death above.

I listened to these words, and repeated them in my mind over and over and over again, and their meaning rang true in my heart. Glory and love continue after this life, we carry on living, as there is no death. My little boy is now in a place of peace, a place where there is no need to fear, surrounded by love; enveloped in glory; continuing forever in peace. And one day I will join him there. There is no end.

I received a package on Saturday, from a close family member who has recently had a baby.
She sent me a beautiful gift, that I'm sure I will cherish for years to come. 


To learn more about Willow Tree Figurines, Click here.

Thursday, 24 May 2012

Weather & Pebble

Today isn't really a very good day.

For once, the weather is beautiful here in England. 25 degrees Celsius, and there's a light, cool breeze floating on the treetops.

Flip-flop-wearing, ice-cream eating, field-running, park-playing weather.


But I can't help thinking how right now, I should have a big baby bump. And it's rubbish.

The passed few weeks have brought rain and beautiful - but grey - clouds. Wrapping up in coats and wearing scarves throughout the whole of April and most of May. But now, all of a sudden it's turned into summer here in the UK. And I'm not really too fond. Because my baby boy was meant to be born in Summer.

Yesterday there wasn't a cloud in the sky, the sun was (what felt like) scorching down and tinting everyone's faces, and I was at peace, but sad.

I saw a friend yesterday whose little boy was stillborn five years ago, and we painted pebbles for our little boys, with the intention of placing them in the Sands Memorial Garden at a Cemetery near our Church. I painted the pebble and brought it home to Pete, and now can't part with it.

I visit Seth's grave every week and feel so guilty that we have to leave him behind. I don't want to leave this pebble anywhere.

I've so badly been wanting something to have in our home, that tells people we have a little boy, that he's waiting for us, watching over us; that he was with us. This might be a start...

{Seth's Pebble}
 I want it to stay with us, in our home, on our Celestial Shelf. And so I think it will :)

Thursday, 17 May 2012

Serving others helps the healing.

When Peter and I lost Seth, there were so many people who stepped in to get us back on our feet; family, friends, church members, doctors, midwives, nurses... So when we heard the sad news that one of Peter's work colleagues had lost a close family member, we knew exactly what we needed to do. Serve them as others served us.

When you lose a loved one, all you want to know is that you aren't alone.

So off I went to Boots to find a card that would say just the right words, and out came the laptop to find the best (simplest - I'm pants at baking!) Cheesecake Recipe.

And here it is! My simple yet beautiful masterpiece!

And seeing as it turned out SO well, I thought "Why not share this easy and fabulous and beautiful recipe with the blogging world?"

So you will need:
250g of Digestive Biscuits
100g Melted Butter
3 tsps of Vanilla Extract (Or the seeds from a vanilla pod)
600g Soft Cheese
100g Icing Sugar
284ml pot Double Cream
And a Topping of your choice
Plus: A Loose-bottomed tin and some grease-proof paper

And in four simple steps:

1 - Make the base by crushing the biscuits (and if like me, you aren't cool enough to have a food processor or any food bags in which to crush, just use a mixing bowl and a schnitzel hammer...) melt the butter, add to crushed biscuits, and set in the fridge for half an hour. 

2 - Make the filling by mixing together the soft cheese, vanilla and sugar until smooth (This should take about 2 minutes with an electric whisk, but if you aren't cool enough (like me) to have one of those, or even a whisk, with a fork it will take about 20...) Then slowly add the double cream, whisking until smooth and creamy and forming quite stiff peaks (again...about half an hour without an electric or normal whisk...)

3 - Pour over the base and spread evenly and make it look neat and pretty. Leave to set overnight. 

4 - Top with a topping of your choice. Strawberries are good, or toffee sauce, or if you're feeling super cheeky - crumbled chocolate :)

And a little cheeky tip - digestive biscuits can be a little boring, so add a couple of ginger snaps in the base to give a little more crunch. 

Now, I know just as much as anyone that cheesecakes aren't magic. And I know that a cheesecake will not make everything okay. It won't ease any of the hurt or make any of the pain of losing someone close go away, but it will serve a smile to the one receiving it, and also to the one who made it for them.

When we lost our little one, some of our close friends took it in turns to bring us round a meal for a couple of weeks. It might not seem like much at all, but receiving those meals each evening just took the pressure off of us. The last thing we wanted to do was eat, so not having to worry about making the food made eating that little bit easier.
 The week after, one of the Young Women from church posted a paper plate full of cookies through our letter box. That gesture absolutely made our day. She didn't come round to clean our home and do our washing, or talk about what's happened or pretend to understand or even say hello; she just wanted us to know that she was thinking of us, that we were in her prayers at that time, and that she wanted to bring even just a little smile to our faces.

Remembering this, we knew exactly what we needed to do for Peter's work colleague and his family - just let them know that we were thinking of them; and a cheesecake can say that in every bite.

Something I have learnt from this terrible experience, is that pondering the happenings day-in and day-out just makes it worse. But what can make things better, is serving others. When we serve others, we are serving ourselves. Knowing that I still have the ability to make a little dessert and pop it over to someone's home makes me feel worth something again.

Through serving others I am helping to heal my own wounds, learning to carry my own burden, and becoming one step closer to my goal; an everlasting forever, with my family - including my beautiful little boy.

It's moments like these that I feel close to Seth, and in these moments I know that my little boy would be proud of his Mama.

Tuesday, 15 May 2012

I will carry you.

I will carry you all my life. 
And I will praise the One who's chosen me to carry you.

The words of this song ring so true in my ears.
There were so many things that my husband and I were looking forward to with our little boy.
I was looking forward to singing him songs; lullabies and nursery rhymes to calm him down or soothe him to sleep.
I couldn't wait to see him smile and laugh, and to smile and laugh with him.
I was so excited to hear him say his first word, and I so badly wanted it to be "Dad", to make up for the fact that my husband never felt him kicking from the inside.
I was nervous about telling him off, and whether I'd be able to teach all the right things at the right time.
I couldn't wait for the day that he'd take his first steps on his own, without our help, and then for him to play sport, and to watch him and cheer him on.
I was so looking forward to being his Mummy in every single way, and for the life that we were going to share as a family.

I miss those little kicks and pops that I could feel inside as he moved around.
I miss my husband talking to my tummy every night, and telling him how much we love him, and kissing my skin where his body would be.
I miss my check-ups, and checking my blood pressure, and talking about him with my midwife, and hearing his heartbeat.
I miss praying for his health, and asking that he'd be all right, and that he'd be happy and well inside of me.
I miss smiling as I talk about him, and giggling at his scan photos.
I miss my hopes and dreams for him.
And I miss the man he might have been here on Earth.

But I am grateful for all that he was to my husband and me.
I am grateful for his kicks and pops, and the memory of those movements.
I am grateful that I carried him well, and I kept him safe and happy.
I am grateful for the health professionals who always kept us in check.
I am grateful for the knowledge that I did all I could for my little boy.
And I am grateful for the man I know his is, and that I'll get to meet one day.

And I will carry him for the rest of my life,
In my mind and in my heart,
By my side he'll always be;
I know he's watching over me.

To anyone reading this who has lost their little one, and despairing because they don't know where they are, rejoice, for they are well. They are chosen ones of a loving God who watches over us constantly. We are choice Mothers, who have been chosen to carry our Heavenly Father's perfect children, who were just too precious, and too lovely to walk this earth. Rejoice that they have escaped the tragedy and turmoil that riddles this mortal existence, and know that you will have them to raise again.

Monday, 14 May 2012

Some time soon...

There were so many times this weekend that I just wanted the whole wide world to stop what they were doing and just remember Seth to just try and ease the hurt.

But I couldn't make anyone stop. And the hurt would not subside.

There were so many things that hurt my heart over the passed few days.

It was the postcard that Jenny had made, to remember the day of his birth.
It was bathing my nephew Percy, and running my hands through his soft, dark hair.
It was lying in the same bed that I recovered in after he was born.
It was celebrating Maysie's birthday, knowing that Seth would never turn one with us.
It was being held by my Mum and Dad when we were saying goodbye.
It was the fact that Mother's were being celebrated all over America, just like here in England the day he was delivered.
It was the bright blue sky and hanging sun, that mimicked the weather the day I brought him into this world.
It was reading "Heaven is Here", and wanting to be there.

And it was all I could do to try and smile, when all I wanted to do was cry.

I had a dream the other night, that I was holding something tight, but I was scared to look down in case it wasn't my Son. I woke up with those same aching arms and burning eyes, trying to suppress my hurting heart; trying to start the day on a good note; trying to be happy with my life

Every day is a struggle.
It's a struggle to get up and get on, without my baby with me.
It's lonely doing the things that need to get done, with this burden on my back.
It's a burden to have lost my son, one that I'll carry forever.
It's heavy trying to come to terms with the fact that this difficult life must go on without him here.
It's difficult to figure out what comes next, without being afraid of the future.
It's terrifying facing people around me, and not knowing what to say, or how to act.
It's confusing to work it out on my own, although I know I'm the only one who can struggle through.
Every day is a struggle through it, but I'll get there some time soon.

Friday, 11 May 2012

A Happy Delivery

I have been waiting a long time for a certain item to arrive in the post. I ordered it almost two months ago, and yesterday it finally arrived, and happiness was received in the form of the book "Heaven is Here" by Stephanie Nielson.
{Latest addition to our bookshelf}
I was so excited to be holding this book in my hands. It looked so beautiful and it felt beautiful to be clutching it with my fingers.

It was about two years ago now that I was first introduced to Mrs. Stephanie Nielson via a Mormon Message. It was in a Young Women's lesson. I don't remember exactly what the lesson was about, but we watched the Mormon Message that featured Stephanie and her husband Christian, and their wonderful children. 

I instantly felt a connection with Stephanie. 
I didn't know whether it was just that the words she was saying just rang true, or the fact that I'd grown up knowing all about 3rd degree burns having a Firefighter Father, and hanging out with children who had suffered burns now and again. Maybe it was her passion for writing that compelled me, or maybe I was just able to sympathise right then. 
But since that day, "My New Life" has been my favourite Mormon Message, and I've always been so eager to share it with anyone I can. 

So when I discovered that she was writing a book, I was so excited, and I literally told everyone I could. 
And now, I have it, here by my side, with my Amazon receipt marking page 221, the start of the third part of the book. I haven't been able to put it down since yesterday afternoon. It is such an incredible story. 

And I realised what the connection to Stephanie might be. 

When reading the opening chapters of the book, I sometimes felt like I was reading about me. 
How her older siblings would tease her, and how she'd play with her dolls, re-enacting her favourite films and carrying on the story passed the end of the movie until they all got married and had children.

But the part that spoke to me most was her desire for a family.
The part where she says to her husband "I'm not interested in school like you are...What I want now is to be a wife and be a mother...I don't want to wait for those thing. I want to get married soon and start a family right away." 

My whole life people would ask me what I wanted to be and the out-loud answer would change from "Travel Agent" to "Midwife" to "Teacher" to "Actress" to "Nurse" to "Entrepreneur", when really, the only thing that was in my mind, that I was always afraid to say out loud was "Mum...I want to be a wife, and a mother. I want to have children and teach them how to live in this world, and I want a wonderful man to come home to me as his wife; his apron-wearing, cupcake-making, child-rearing wife." 

That's all I've ever wanted. 

Like Stephanie, I have also faced trials recently. Our trials are very different from one another's, but trials all the same. Things not to "get over" but to "overcome"; to get used to. 
With Stephanie, her scars will never go away, but she will get used to them. 
With me, I won't have my Son in this life, but I'll get used to that. 

But we will both have it all one day. 

"Heaven is Here" is one of the most beautifully inspiring books I have ever read. No book has ever made me smile, laugh or cry so much. It is truly amazing. 
And she is a remarkable woman, who deserves every reward for her faith. 

I cannot imagine what it is like to go through what she has been through, but some of the hurt is the same. The feelings of guilt, the despair, the loneliness, and sheer despising of circumstances. 

But through her book I have further come to realise our purpose here on Earth. 
Here, we are to be tried. Life is not meant to be easy. 
I naively once thought that once I was married everything would be fine and dandy. 
In fairy-tales they always speak of "Happily Ever After"'s, and "Dreams come true", but in reality-tales, this isn't quite so. 

Our religion teaches that you can have your Happily Ever After (Read what Dieter F. Uchtdorf has said on it here) but that doesn't come until after our lives here. 
I've recently discovered something: Life is Hard. 
But I also know with a surety something else: Our Father in Heaven would never give us anything that we cannot handle. He gives us trials so that we will overcome them, so that we will learn to live with them, and he has given us the most amazing tool to help us cope - the Atonement. I have always known that the power of the Atonement isn't just for forgiving sin, but also for easing hurt. Don't just take your sins to him; take your sorrows too. Christ can help to lift the burdens that we must carry in this life.

I know that losing Seth is not the only trial that I will face in this life. I know that there are difficult times to come, and hard times ahead, but that's okay, because I know where I can turn. 

Stephanie Nielson's book has been such an inspiration to me, and through these difficult times she has become a pillar in my life, helping me to keep the ceiling from falling down. Her blog gives me something to look to in times of need; to see the things that she has overcome gives me hope and joy and light, and reminds me that I am not alone.

She is a truly exceptional person. I hope to meet her one day.

View her blog  and full story here.

I sit on the window sill in the front room and read my new book. The clouds go back as far as I can see and the sun dips in and out of the soft, white clouds. The azure sky is shining with a kind of happiness, for it has finally been able to show it's true colour as the rain is now residing somewhere else in the world.

{The View Today}

Thursday, 10 May 2012


I am very proud to present to you something a little happier;
Herman, the German Friendship cake!
Now, when my Mum handed me Herman when she came to visit last week, I ashamedly admit that I laughed at him, and said he smelled funny. I feel bad now for saying such things...

Herman has really helped me.
Here he is...
{Herman after his stir this morning}
Herman is a sour dough cake mix. You keep him on your worktop for 10 days, feed him and stir him and care for him, and he bubbles, until you divide him into four and give him to three friends, and then make a cake.
{Two bubbling Hermans, ready to give away to two more friends}

If you put him in the fridge, he will die. If he stops bubbling, he is dead.

Now my Mum gave me Herman on Wednesday, and I didn't have quite the right ingredients to feed him that day, so I waited until the following morning to buy them, and then fed him in the evening. I woke up the next morning and casually checked him as I was making the morning smoothie, and was horrified to find that he wasn't bubbling. I grabbed the instructions and read them over and over - what had I done wrong? Why was he not bubbling any more?? Was he dead? Had I done something wrong?
And then I cried. I was so sad. I kept thinking how disappointed in me my Mum would be for not even being able to keep a little cake mix alive. Of course, my emotions weren't entirely about the cake, but it still mattered.
After I moped for a while, I made a decision - I would nurse Herman back to health. So I attended to that little cake mix like I have never watched food before. I stirred him a countless amount of times that day, and I was constantly lifting up the tea towel to see if the bubbles had reappeared at all, but no luck.
On Saturday, my husband and I went up to the temple with my brother and sister-in-law. We had a beautiful day there, but on the journey home, every spare second of silence I had in my head, I was thinking and worrying about Herman. I dare not say anything out loud - people would think I was crazy! But I was so, so worried for that little cake.
Peter and I arrived home, and I casually went around the flat packing things away and neatening things up, but always eager to check on my little cake. Finally, opportunity arose, and I lifted the tea towel that had been safely covering him, and my heart leapt - bubbles! He was bubbling like never before!

Every day since then, I have been so attentive to my little cake, and today was baking day!

Now, I'm not great at baking. When I was a teenage, I baked all the time. And I loved it, but it was very rare that my recipes and creations would actually turn out the way they were meant to. I always used to think I was better than the recipe and add my own little twist, and cookies would stay as rolled-up balls un-cooked in the middle, bread would be hard as a rock, and cake would never rise.
I'm quite the cooker, just not the baker. So this time I decided that I would stick to the recipe perfectly. Just without the cinnamon. (I don't know why but I just can't stand it with apples, and apples were more of a priority for Herman).
{Herman with all of the ingredients that he would eat}
Let the baking commence!
{Herman eating flour, sugar, vanilla and eggs}
And then I tried to peel apples with a Y-Peeler...
{Now he's eating apples and raisins with a touch of salt!}
The light is broken inside our oven, so I had to take the picture with the oven door open...
{Baking away...}
And here he is!!! My finished, and perfect Herman! Wonderfully, and successfully baked :)
{With a piece already taken... I couldn't say he was perfect if he wasn't,
so I had to try! And he is!)
So, Herman is now sitting on the table, waiting to be eaten, having definitely filled his purpose. I have never cared so much for a non-living thing in my whole life. It might just be the emotional hardship I'm facing at this time, but having Herman has actually really helped me. I became very attached to my little cake, and I was kind of sad when it came to baking day, but it gave me joy to pass him on to friends, knowing that he will continue to grow and bring a smile to other people's faces and to fill up their stomachs! 

I feel privileged to have been given this beautiful friendship cake, and am passing it on to some very special people. Maybe you'll meet Herman one day, he's a great cake! 

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

Can you hear me?

Through the cumulonimbus clouds and grey overshadowing, misshapen patches of  blue sky can be seen today, here in England.
Clouds remind me of Seth.

I was due June 29th of this year. I told Pete that the day he would be born it would be sunny, and that after a perfect labour and birth I'd hold my perfect boy in my arms and hear his perfect cry and look into his perfect face and take him into the perfect sun and show him this perfect world that God has given us; the trees and the clouds - the beauty of this world would be his and I wanted to tell him that the day he was born. I'd welcome him into this world and show him everything there is to see and tell his all that there is to know. I'd hold him and mother him and shower him with my love, and show my little one off to the world.

But it was very different to what I had wanted, the day he was born.

March 18th, 2012, my little one was delivered. I gave birth to him. He was born.

But he wasn't placed in my arms upon birth. No one heard a peep when he was born...

I remember looking out the window later on, an afternoon sky of what looked like a June's summer day. A couple of clouds were travelling swiftly across the landscape, I could see green grass and slowly swaying trees as a light breeze whistled through the air. There were daffodils in full bloom in a flower bed in the hospital garden.

But how else would the world look like on Mother's Day? Like nothing else; it was as perfect as it should be for the day to celebrate Mothers here in England.

Seth was born on Mother's Day. Someone asked me a few days later "Now is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I thought it a silly thing to ask. Of course it was meant to be. My Father in Heaven was reminding me of my true identity. He knew that I'd struggle with the term, but having Seth born on that special, special day would always remind me of who I am; his Mum.

My Peter reminds me every single day that I'm Seth's Mother - "Remember, you're a Mummy!" He'll say as he plants a perfect kiss on me and walks out the door.

I have felt so alone since Seth passed away. Before I would walk about our home, doing my day-to-day things; cleaning and cooking etc., but back then I'd read out loud and I'd sing and I'd talk and I knew that someone was listening, so it was okay. But since he died I haven't sung by myself, and I don't read aloud any more, and it's hard to know if someone's listening.

But sometimes I do whisper. I whisper to Seth.

"Seth, it's me. Mummy loves you, Seth. I miss you, little boy. Can you hear me?"

And sometimes, when it's really quiet here, and everything is off, and there are no distractions, I know he can hear. And I know that somewhere... he's whispering back.
{The view from my home today - first blue in weeks}

Friday, 4 May 2012

Wonderful, glorious things...

Here's my One for the WeekendFrom our wonderful Prophet...

When times are hard, often all we can do is endure. This is sometimes all that is possible to do. If we cannot change the situation, or if we're not able to adapt to the circumstances, or control what is happening, the only things left to do are these key three; 

Believe in what you know to be true.
Obey the words of those whom you choose to follow.
Endure whatever trials, afflictions and challenges life throws at you. 

Because marvellous things are in store. Everyone has an important part to play, everyone has a glorious purpose to fill and everyone has a wondrous life to live. 

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalms 30:5

Never give up hope. You will see it through. Peace is possible.

Fragile Sometimes

Peter - meaning Rock.

And he surely has lived up to his name these passed few weeks.
He's my rock.

There is a song that I downloaded after hearing a few months back. At the time I just loved the voice of the person who sings, but would usually skip it when it came on as it's quite sad.
Recently, I've found myself listening to it over and over and over again.
I think it describes mine and my husband's relationship recently.

You know my love for you
Is as thick as steel, it’s bulletproof
And you say that I’m your pillar
That I’m your shield
Today my strength is hard to find
I wake up tired and life blindsides me
With just a b r o k e n window and a past due bill...
On days like these the little things they can tear me wide open
Showing every frailty of mine
You’re holding me like a figurine that you can barely see b r o k e n
No matter how hard I try I get fragile sometimes
My fear is HARD like stone
Bits of glass that I call hope are s h a t t e r i n g beneath it on the floor
You get down on your knees find the slithers that I can’t see 
And gather all the pieces and Make Them Whole
On days like these the little things they can tear me wide open
Showing every frailty of mine
You’re holding me like a figurine that you can barely see b r o k e n
No matter how hard I try I get fragile sometimes

C r u m b l i n g under this WORLD ON My shoulders
And you’re the only thing that’s holding me up
I know when this is through I’ll be stronger
Because you fortify me with your LOVE
On days like these the little things they tear me open
Showing every frailty of mine
You’re holding me like a figurine that you can barely see b r o k e n
No matter how hard I try 
I get fragile sometimes

I get fragile sometimes
I get fragile sometimes

When Peter holds me close I feel safe. I get lost in his embrace and he strokes my head and tickles my face and I feel at home; I feel like I'm where I'm meant to be. 
I love his silliness, and the little things that he does that he knows will never fail to make me laugh. 
I love his strength; physical and emotional. I love his hard working ethic, and his determination. I love his jokes, and his crazy dancing, and his amazing hair, and his caramel skin and his feet, and his wonky fingers and the fact that he speaks three languages fluently and more. I love his smile and his laugh. I love his eyes and the way he looks at me. I love how he trusts me and wants me to be his forever. I love his testimony of the Church to which we belong, and his willingness to do "whatever it takes" to get the best out of every situation. 
I love that when I'm feeling fragile, he does exactly what I'd wish him too, and how he understands how I'm feeling at this difficult time. I love how I'm not going through this alone, that my Eternal Companion is by my side, and will be forever. 

Losing a child is a huge strain on any relationship. It can tear you apart or it can bring you together. 
I'm so glad that my husband and I have found the latter, but finding the togetherness from a loss is never easy. 
It is difficult. I find it hard to tell my husband what I'm thinking sometimes, as I don't want to upset him by what I say. Sometimes we'll lock in the anger and take it out on one another. That's never good for anyone. But we've been able to address that now. All we need to do is talk. It is true: Talking is a Healer. When we talk with one another and tell each other how we are feeling and what we are thinking, there is peace in our home, and we are able to find joy when the hurting subsides. 

I am eternally grateful to have such a wonderful, loving husband, who tells me and shows me how much he loves me a thousand times a day in a thousand different ways. He's fabulous like that.

{Me and my beautiful Peter in this Philippines, Dec 2011
14 weeks pregnant here, and loving life}

Thursday, 3 May 2012

Graveside Tears

Yesterday my Mum came to spend the day with me. It was wonderful. We chatted and shopped and chatted and drank hot chocolate in Starbucks and chatted more. My Mum and I could chat all day. We bought three beautiful wooden windmills for Seth, even though he already has one. But now I have one to keep here at home too, and Mum has a couple to put in her garden to always remember him.

Pete came home from work and we drove to Whitworth Road Cemetery to visit our Son with Nanny Sue. It was the first time Mum had come to visit the grave. The maintenance people had been and all of the graves were filled once again. This made me happy.
There was a new baby grave next to Seth's. Until yesterday he'd been on his own on a brand new row, but now he has a friend right next to him.
But this hurt my heart to know that there was yet another woman in the world that has lost her little one. I wanted to know here...To see her and hold her, and tell her that I was sure our babies were friends; her little one is not alone, and neither is she.

I usually feel quite at peace at his graveside, but yesterday with my Mum by my side I wept. I couldn't hold back or hide or suppress a single thing I was feeling; I just cried. I held my Mum's hand as tears travelled down both of our faces, speechless and hurt, looking longingly at the little grave marked with flowers that were starting to wilt and the little wooden windmill placed perfectly next to his plaque. It reads:

18th March 2012
"Home to His presence to live in His sight, 
Always, always to walk in the light."
We love you, Our Perfect Boy

After we had decided what to have written on his plaque, but before the funeral and burial, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang this wonderful children's hymn during a session of General Conference.

Please listen. It's the most beautiful song.

I used to sing this song in Church when I was young. I always loved it and it has always held a special place in my heart. We sang it at our little Seth's funeral, and I know he was singing too.

Even though it was hard being there yesterday, it makes me happy to know that Seth is safe in his little resting place. I get sad and frustrated when it rains thinking of his little grave. And when the sun shines it makes me happy to know that it's shining on him there. 
When we visit it's always hard to leave. 
Before we go I always kiss my finger and touch the word "Seth" or "Perfect". I hope he feels those kisses. I wish I could kiss his cheeks, not his name, but I just have to wait for that. 

Wednesday, 2 May 2012

If I knew the number, I'd count the days.

Today my arms are aching.

I didn't think it would feel like this. I thought when people said they were "hurting" because of a loss that it was an emotional thing, a stress or burden on the mind that you just can't kick. But this is completely physical.
I get stabs to the heart that aren't medical, they just hurt. And today it's my arms too.
I talked with Pete about it. He said he has the same feelings.
My arms just ache to hold my little Seth.

Where is he? Where are you Seth?

I know where you are. Waiting; waiting for us to come home. 

If I knew the number, I'd count the days.

But for now it's just a un-timed wait.