Two years

Sleep soundly my darling boy. I hope wherever you are is beautiful. Kisses. Your Mama. X

Coming up to that time of year again

November is here, and while it doesn't feel nearly as sad or scary as last year, Bear's first anniversary, there is a heaviness around. People, friends and family, start talking about him more, which is lovely. What I mostly feel, though, is fear. Fear for the two of us, who this time two years ago had no idea about the bomb that was about to explode.

Gorgeous Pearlie is six months old

I received a lovely message asking for a picture of Pearl. Here she is in all her characterful glory. She is an amazing girl. Full of punch and laughter and she has the softest hands in the world. It's a cliche, but it's true - she's brought joy back into our lives. This little soul, who smiles all day long, has healed our hearts and helped return us to our old selves. Of course, we will never really be those old carefree people who didn't really know about grief and loss. The fact remains, that we will never get to watch Bear, our little boy, grow into the the handsome man I know he would have been. It does help though, having a new life to nuture. And Pearlie is just perfect. I hope this gives some of you some hope. I know I remember always feeling so far away from happiness. That happiness became a notion, and a state of mind, that felt as though it was denied to us. But happiness does come back. And when it returns, you appreciate every last drop of it's brilliance.

Bear's Little Sister

Our darling, precious healthy daughter Pearl Blossom Pullen arrived with a full head of hair on Valentines Day. She has shone light back into our lives.
It is a complicated notion to accept that Pearl is only here because our darling boy was snatched away. We can't imagine life without her, just as we couldn't imagine that Bear would never come home. Thankfully, our days are too filled with feeding and sleep schedules to over think the bigger picture.
She is just perfect. We are totally in love... Photos to follow.

Bear's Day

There's so much to say, and yet it doesn't really need to be said. He would have been one today, our boy. We baked him a cake to mark the occasion. A year is such a strange amount of time. So long in theory, but then it hurtles past you and suddenly we are back here, twelve months on from when he was born.
It's been a heavy week. We didn't know how we'd feel. We've been restless at night and grouchy during the day. Not ideal, but to be expected, I suppose.
The light has come from the bond between us. Strong, resolute, unbreakable, it has got us through 365 days of unchartered, choppy, scary, painful waters. Love is an amazing thing.
Family and friends have played their part too. Thank you everyone, everyone who has ever left a reassuring comment. Friends from childhood, new friends, ones who truly understand, others who don't but you try so hard anyway. We are lucky to have parents who bouy us along, and siblings who care. Bear was born into a wonderful, amazing, inspiring collection of loved ones. If only, he'd known.
We love our son and ache for his life, which was snatched away at such a tragic time. He has changed us, his beautiful faces still looks back at ours from cherished photographs around our home. The outcome - his terribly short life - will never feel just. But we still made that gorgeous boy. And we found some strength today to celebrate that.

Eleven months my darling boy

Yes, we are here, eleven months since those precious four hours when we felt like parents and held you and stroked your wavy black hair. I can't believe we are back in October again. Back, where this time last year, we were so full of optimism, brimming with happiness and constantly washing tiny baby gros. Exactly this date last year, was my last day of work. I walked out, slightly stunned that I was on leave for a year, and made my way into a new life. One that was meant to be so different to what we have endured. It's almost too much to comprehend, how times can change like that. How we didn't know, back then, what we have painfully felt now.
This month is especially confusing because we do have hope, tentative as it is, that life has happiness ahead. There is a little girl growing and kicking and making her presence increasingly known. She isn't aware of the thunderstorm that precedes her. She's just doing her thing, and thanfully, all looks normal and healthy.
So we have another life change ahead (we hope), and so much change to digest, that is leaves me feeling discombobulated. I have very sad moments, next to potentially exciting ones, and my poor tired brain (and heart) don't know which way to turn.
Well, I do know that turning to my darling husband is still, despite everything, as good as life can get. I let him hold me in his arms and I know that everything I have in my soul, he shares in his, and we both feel supported and united and just so.
I have no idea how we will feel on this day next month. What we do know, is that we will sit by Bear's tree and think about those crazy hours when his cheeks looked peachy and we had our son.

The never-ending worry

I didn't know how to follow up the last post. Do I wait again until the end of October, so that I just remember Bear, or do I let people in on the here and now? The journey of worry.
I have found the perfect answer. Another Mummy's words. She lost her son Jacopo last year in her 35th week of pregnancy. One month ago, her precious daughter arrived. Screaming and healthy.
She's commented on my blog over the months, and got in touch again when she saw our news. I, in turn, then clicked back on to her story. It arrived after a couple of difficult days. I cried at every entry. I feel her words. I feel her absolute, constant fear. She's had the perfect outcome, and I want to follow in her joy. She wrote this a couple of months back.

'I feel you growing. I can feel you are getting stronger. Don't give up my love. I don't trust my body but I trust you. You'll let me know if something is wrong, if you don't get enough from me and if you are not fine. I'm listening, any second of my day, any single heartbeat of my heart which rings with yours.'

This is just one of many potent, honest entries. Have a read. It's ok, there's a happy ending. Thank you Jacopo and Bianca's Mummy.



http://thestormandtherainbow.blogspot.com/

And so we're here at ten...

Gosh, this is strange. Ten months since Bear was born and here I am writing another post. I haven't been very good at filling in the monthly blog dots recently. I seem to have fallen into a new habit, whereby, I don't use the blog for anything but to commemorate my little Boy's months since birth.
It wasn't a conscious decision. In part, I think I wanted to take my story, my feelings back inside. At the beginning, and for some time afterwards, I felt that it was right to keep a note and document this journey - however terrible it's been. This journey is still Bear's story and I didn't want the passage of time, to eat up the memories and leave us with even less. I am so pleased, when I sit back and think about it, that I have this amazing journal of Bear's story. It keeps him very much alive to me, and alive to others, some of whom we don't even know - but whom seem to care no less.
In this vain, the blog has been a meeting place for other mothers - and fathers - who have trudged through the same heavy mud of grief, and that makes me feel proud. Proud, that in some small part, I haven't so much as helped, but at least offered them some food for thought.
I have also made a new friend through the blog. She found me here, many months ago, and we have met and bonded, as have our husbands. That has been another positive to come out of all this darn sadness.
I feel as though I'm signing off forever, but I'm not. I suppose though, I am entering a new stage in my Bear story. I am pregnant. Someone asked me whether I'd write about it on Bear's blog. And I said, immediately, of course. It is because of my darling Bear that I am, where I am today, and that means that this pregnancy, will always be a direct result of Bear's life.
I am heading towards the half way mark and have managed to keep things pretty quiet. I still don't feel like swinging from the trees or shouting from the roof tops, but I can't say that this pregnancy doesn't give us some hope back.
At the beginning, it made us sad. It made us think of Bear and remember how we felt last time around. When we didn't know that such terrible things could happen. When we were untouched by grief. A new pregnancy, puts the previous one into perspective and that has been hard.
But we are here, and we are moving forward and for that I am thankful. I hope we have a smooth ride. We are under the best care known to womankind, which helps. Please keep everything crossed for us. It's such a scary journey and I so hope that this time around it ends happily.
People say that Bear is watching over us. But I don't want to burden him with that. I just pray that he can feel our love and that he remains close by, as always.
Don't worry, this isn't the end.... I'm just feeling in a reflective mood.

Nine months

Nine little candles, one for every month that I have lived without my son, Bear.
It's been a higgledy piggeldy month. My brain is in quite a few different places - hence my lack of posts. Even though this is my own private outlet for my Bear, it seems to have become a public place. A place where people can, and do, comment - either on the blog, or in their heads. In the most part, this is always supportive. But sometimes, it makes me feel constrained and judged. And that is why I don't blog. I like to keep some things close.
One this I've learnt to do this month is fall asleep in the knowledge that Bear will be my arms at some point in the night. I know he won't actually be there, but it's a new comfort and I like to think that we are close that way.
Darling one, it has been as long that you've gone, as the time that you lived in my tummy. That is a strange thought. I'm not sure yet if it's comforting, or not.
Either way, I have thought about you lots today. As I do everyday. You are always here with me and your special, special Daddy. We will never let your candle light burn out. We love you deeply. Rest peacefully. Kisses.....

Eight months little one

You're here in our hearts, but we miss your gorgeous face darling Bear.
Our lives will never be the same.
You gave us nine months of joy.
And we are so thankful.
We hoped for a lifetime of fun.
Now we just have this heaviness.
We think about you everyday gorgeous boy.
Love your Mummy and Daddy. X

Time away, time near our boy

Things are quite fuzzy at the moment. The last few weeks have felt heavy and complicated, so we decided to do something positive and leave London for the weekend. We went to Suffolk, to stay at our family home. It's where Bear's ashes are buried, it's where his tree is growing.
I've had this deep, yearning need to go and lie by the tree recently. I want to be near him and see how his energy is helping the tree grow and thrive.
So we left on Friday and the first thing we did when we arrived was go and hug that damn tree. It was dark but it didn't matter. We used a torch to look at all the fresh, baby leaves growing at the ends of the branches. These little leaves made me feel good. They let me know that the tree is happy there, and that is so comforting. The last thing we need is for the tree to die too.
I wanted to cry and cry and throw myself on the ground. But I held it together. I held it together for Toby, I don't know why, I just thought he didn't need me being all hysterical at the end of a long drive.
I think he was holding it together for me too. We were both quiet and as much as it felt good, the journey to see the tree felt incredibly sad.
The next morning, we went and saw it in the intermittent sunshine. It still felt heavy. I think it will feel heavy for a long time. But at least we know that Bear is there with us and not in some big scary cemetery, which we visit less and less often. I will never have guilt, because I know he is nearby. But then, there's no escaping the sadness of having your first born buried in the garden.
Overall the weekend was positive. We cleared our heads. We talked and talked and hugged and were just chilled in our own bubble. Toby really is the most wonderful man and I love him to bits. Despite all of this sadness, he can make me laugh and make me feel warm and that is no mean feat.
There is something incredibly reassuring about being with the man who knows everything I've felt and everything I feel today. We don't need to make explanations to each other, we just are, we just know, and that is wonderful.
We sat and watched old movies and cooked very expensive pasta for dinner. All the time, we looked at Bear's tree out of the window. It is planted so that we can even see if from our bed. On Sunday morning, once we'd opened the blinds, it almost, almost felt as though the three of us were there together.

Seven months, my darling boy

Dear Bear
How I wish you were here today - to celebrate your big 7 month anniversary. I know we would have done something fun in the sun. Maybe a bit of a play in the park, and then a chilled afternoon hanging out with all your friends. It would have been magical. You would have been here, and I would have been smiling and everything would have been right.
I used to wish so many things. So many small, irrelevant things. But now, it's just you. I know wishing is futile, but I do it anyway, because there aren't that many ways that I can show you my love.
I am thinking of you always my precious boy. I wish so much that I had been able to tickle you today, and kiss you and watch you smile and grow up into the perfect boy you should have been.
Everyone here loves you.
Lots of love
Your Mummy x

Thinking of you, my boy

When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones,
And I will try to fix you,

High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

I'm here

Hello all you lovely people who have made comments and are worried. I am here. Always here. I've just found it very hard to write recently. There is so much going on in my head. I feel as though I can't be as honest as I was, because people who know me, expect/want/hope me to be a certain way. I can't lay everything out on the table, or I might upset those close to me. So instead, I've written a list about all the things I find difficult and heavy and confusing. I might take it to the counsellor next week, I might not.
There are two Alice's at the most. The totally normal seeming, high functioning, hard working one that sits in an office where most people don't know my story. Where people think I'm quite nice and amusing and normal. When they talk to me, sometimes it's fine. I am in work mode and I get things done. Sometimes, they talk, and the voice in my head just says 'you have no idea' 'I am so sad' 'I don't care about what you are saying.' This is absolutely not personal. Everyone I've met is so nice. In fact there are a couple of people I really want to tell. I want to tell them because it makes things easier. I don't want or need their pity. I hate pity. If I hear another person tell me they are so sorry about my life, I might just sit there and scream. But at the same time, I don't want them to ignore it either. There are so many confusing emotions. This is just one.
So I want to tell a couple of people at work, but I don't know how. It isn't the easiest thing to drop into conversation. And I know I will cry when I tell them. I just know I will. There is nothing wrong with crying. But it's a heavy burden to pass on and this is confusing and makes me keep quiet. So I keep quiet, and then I have to find this strength to be normal. And that is hard too.
This is just one example of the things that make me feel weighed down. There was a purity to my grief at the beginning.
The other day, I read back over my first few entries and I was moved by the words. There was a poetic quality to my grief (I don't want to sound like an idiot, but it's the only way I can explain it). It was the stuff of films. Pure, painful and kind of extremely beautiful in its absolute sadness.
Not there is so much mess in my head. This is what makes grief so difficult. Every day I am thrown new obstacles. Some so small I barely notice them and others just floor me.
I was at a work event the week before last and I was caught completely off guard. A photographer thought I was pregnant (my body, don't even get me started on that one) and in her excitement to talk about babies, she turned her computer around to show me her three month old son. So many thoughts rushed through my head. Obviously, I told her and everyone else who happened to be sitting around the table the truth - I couldn't not. It was the first time I was caught completely off guard. The work Alice had her hat on and then suddenly, if fell right off. It was so sad. She felt so bad and so sad and all I could do when she kept saying how terrible it is, was to agree. I didn't have the strength to steer the conversation somewhere better. To reassure her as I've been able to in the past. I just sat there and cried and it was lovely because I showed her Bear's photo too and she was incredibly moved and I felt a bit like a normal Mummy. But it was so incredibly painful and exposing too that it put me out for a week. In fact, I think it's still pushed me a bit off kilter.
I'm in Los Angeles at the moment working. Thank goodness my dear dear friend is here and we can talk and she can be normal with me and I can let myself flow quite naturally. The Amiee time is intertwined with work, so it's that brave face again too. Up and down, round and round, my days are just an endless series of different extreme emotions.
I was moved by a speech I hear last night at an awards ceremony. I didn't care about the celebrities, I cared about the producer who said this, 'Everyone woman in this room has a story to tell. A personal one and a professional one. Tell your stories loud and reach for the stars.' I felt as though she was talking to me. And obviously, it took mountains of effort to keep those tears inside my eyes. I wanted to rush up onto that stage and kind of hug her and talk to her. I didn't, thank goodness, I'm not completely mad.
So I haven't really wanted to write because I have so much to say (this is a tiny portion) and yet, I've sat down, compelled to do so by another lovely, reassuring comment, and a lot has poured out. And I don't mind that. It is good.
Toby has a piece in Grazia magazine this week about what's it's like for the Dad in this terrible situation. He did it so that I could accompany the editor to Downing Street with a petition about improving late pregnancy antenatal care. I am looking forward to being the Mummy who gets to tell her story to the man at the top. To urge him to do something, but only really, because it means I can tell another person about my lovely son, who I miss so much. Who is meant to be here. Whose death has thrown my life all over the place. I don't blame Bear for a second. He is another innocent victim in this bloody mess.
I am angry though that this is my life. I'm not at peace with it yet. I can't accept how things are, and that is so very hard. I think it's this that means the tears are always under my skin ready at any second to flow.
Oh goodness, I could go on. I won't though, because I'm tired.
It's nice to be back.
I won't go off again.
Thanks everyone.

(PS sorry if there are loads of typos I can't read this all again, so whatever came out, is what's above - mistakes and all)

I kind of wish Freddie had been at the tree planting!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3bowe-W7ZM&feature=youtube_gdata_player

It was a magical day. So sad. But so right.
If you think this Queen link is completely incongruous, then you don't know our family obsession.
'Hurry back' my little one
Love your devoted Mummy xxx

Also....

I've been desperate to put up this picture. I don't know why. Maybe it's a stamping my feet statement. I was pregnant. I was that beautiful round, big house for my darling boy. Now, my body is boring and wobbly and I don't feel those wonderful kicks. I know it is kind of mental to suddenly want to display my bump. But hey, I'm not exactly in a rational place right now.
Please, enjoy the roundness! I loved it so, so much.

Support

I woke up this morning to another kind and caring comment on the blog, from a woman I've never met, but who somehow made my morning feel a bit easier.
I can't believe I have readers out there who have been worried about my absence, and who write such comforting remarks at the bottom of my rather bland (and depressing) posts.
It means a lot. I know words are easy, but really I feel extremely touched by all this virtual love that pours in while I sleep, or when I'm at work, or really, whatever I'm doing.
This morning, I broke down on a work contact. She doesn't work with me on a daily basis, and actually, I haven't seen her since Bear died. I don't know what came over me. Usually, I can talk about him with ease. Today, though, things felt different. They felt very sad.
I think it's the tree planting this weekend. It's making us reflect on the situation as a whole, and that in turn, means more tears and quivering lips.
It's strange, I've always felt quite eloquent when I've written about Bear. But at the moment, the words don't follow. It's as though I have so much to say, so much brimming emotion, that I can't actual channel its energy in any useful or communicative direction.
If I've said it once, I've said it three thousand times, this really is the cruellest kind of loss.
The love is here, but our boy is not. It is a very confusing place to inhabit and as the days tick by and we shuffle towards his six month anniversary, we stand stooped, not quite the couple we used to be.

Quiet

I know I've been a bit quiet these past few weeks. It feels strange, but with everything that's been going on, I haven't known what to write. It's the first time since Bear's death where I've been a bit lost for words.
I will explain when I have a bit more time.
But I'm here, and I still need and love all of your support.
This weekend it will be six months since our lovely boy was born sleeping. We are having a service for him and placing his ashes in the grounds of my parents' house in Suffolk. We've chosen a beautiful tree to plant in his memory.
Despite all the bad news of recent weeks, it's Bear we keep coming back to. He should be here. Laughing at his silly parents. Not being remembered with a tree and a slate plaque.
If only, if only...

Another cruel blow

I can't really talk about the in's and out's at the moment, but our lives have been hit again.
Again, we are in a dark place, where something we want so desperately, has been snatched away and we are left feeling confused and sad, and thinking about what a mess has been left in the wake of Bear's death.
I don't really know why I'm posting this, as it's kind of pointless talking about a subject I can't, and don't yet want, to divulge that heavily on.
Maybe I am just feeling sorry for myself. And believe me, I have the right to indulge a thousand times over....
Life can be so, so hard.
I thought there was a thing called karma. I thought if you took a whole lot of bad, then a nice serving of good would follow.
I was wrong.

Changes

We are in flux at the moment. Neither here nor there.
Our living situation is not exactly sorted (we are currently living out of suitcases at my parents), but we hope that this is part of a master plan to get a big, stonking house. The house will be great when we're in it, but in the meantime, we have to live in a state of disarray and that does nothing for my mental state.
What I've noticed recently, is that lots of people find it very easy to help us look forward to our (hopefully) positive future. It isn't too hard to say, 'Soon you'll be in the house', or 'There are lots of babies ahead'. But what they don't understand is that in the meantime, we need to live through all this rubbish. The everyday is getting me down.
My job is good. I like being in an adult environment and it is a useful and fun distraction.
But I think it makes me feel worse in my Alice Time. It's as though I spend all my 'smiling vouchers' between 10am and 6pm everyday during the week, that when it comes to relaxing, I seem to be in a permanent state of moodiness.
I am not particularly good at change, at the best of times. We've sat back and laughed at all things that are now different, and how, isn't it strange that six months ago, we were in such a different place. We don't laugh in a funny way. We laugh in surprise.
The thing is, I don't want to be all different, and moving forward, and planning the future.
I want to be back in our lovely flat, with my lovely baby, living my lovely life that used to be such fun.
That's really all I want. And I cannot have it.
I'm not good at accepting things I can't have.
So I'm grumpy. If you can't tell.
Over and out.