Things that helped
Sharing the news with friends and family
The biggest thing that helped was the flood of love and support we received from our friends and family. I was still reeling from all that had happened when Simon had the foresight to let people know by email that Eliza had died. I'm private by nature, and didn't like the idea of 'hanging our dirty washing out' for all to see. I quickly realised that it was the very best thing we could have done. People want to love and to support, and by not telling people I would have been denying them that opportunity. I remember talking to a friend who called from Africa very early on, the first morning we got home, and she was brilliant. Amazing. Was so empathetic, and sorry. It felt good to share with someone. Another close friend called shortly after that, and again, it was so lovely to hear her voice and to share the sadness, however harrowing. I remember feeling so sorry that I was bringing this sadness on everyone, friends, family. That we'd brought this tragedy into their lives. I remember saying so to my friend who called that morning. She'd just had a baby three months before, and I felt so conscious that we were taking away from her joy. Needless to say, she told me not to be silly. Very quickly people sent cards, and flowers and the house filled with their words and their love. I can't tell you what a balm it was to know people were thinking of us and sending love and support and empathy in our direction. The house was filled with spring sunshine and the flowers looked stunning.
Cocooning ourselves; creating a haven
We were fortunate that my parents live in the same town and had room for us to stay there as long as we needed. It was a very special time. Intense and intimate. We were able to create a haven there, and there was a level of connection and camaraderie amongst family members deeper than anything we'd had between us before. I remember not wanting that time to end. It was safe and comfortable and we knew what had to be done from day to day. Going back to our house alone (my husband was away) was a big step, one I didn't take until two weeks after Eliza died. Going into town was another big step. Simon, my husband, did it quite soon after (a few days), I didn't go into town until maybe two weeks later (partly because I couldn't walk properly with my episiotemy wound (which by then had opened up and become quite a sight), and partly because I wasn't strong enough psychologically). When I did go in, it was hard, but fine. I saw one of the mums from our antenatal class which was particularly hard, but again, fine. She offered to meet for coffee once I'd finished my shopping, but I didn't feel quite up to it.
Taking things moment by moment, hour by hour
Somehow we managed to stay present, to take just one moment at a time and not think ahead. I think this was helped by the day to day caring we had to do for my wound and the fact there was always the next step to take in terms of Lizee's funeral planning. Somehow we stayed present and this stopped the panic or the negative feelings being overwhelming.
Starting to think about what we could learn
I remember Simon momentarily baulking when, in the first days after Eliza's death, I told him I was looking forward to seeing what Eliza's coming and going could teach us in terms of our own personal evolution and human understanding. I work in these areas so I have a tendency to look at life this way. As well as acknowledging the tragedy and devastation of it all, part of me (a wise part of me I now see) was simultaneously working behind the scenes to help me start piecing together the specialness of what Eliza was giving us.
Writing things down
I remember about 5 days after getting home I had this sudden urge to write things down, to capture what I remembered of Eliza's short life and the moments around her death. I felt a lot better once I'd done this and I ended up reading some of the words at her funeral.
Speaking to someone
We spoke with a nurse with bereavement training from the baby ICU ward initially. Then I felt I wanted to process by myself. When the dark days hit, speaking to Nick (a psychotherapist) was the best thing we could have done. We did a lot of processing by ourselves and he validated where we were at - it was wonderfully freeing to know you're not mad and you're headed in the right direction. He introduced us to The Five Stages of Grief which are well worth looking up. There's no right or wrong way of processing grief, but the way it breaks down the different emotions people experience is really helpful. And it helped put down in plain language that there is no other destination in this journey that's going to help: Acceptance with a capital A is where we need to head.
Joining a SANDS group
It is not for everyone, and I was seriously skeptical at first. There is nothing that fills me with more dread than sitting in a room full of people sharing their misery. How wrong I could be. Going to the group was the very best thing I could have done. Not one of the people in the group was 'woe is me' about what had happened to them. I couldn't believe how positive and forward-looking people were, as well as being super honest and super sad. Our group was run by the lovely Helen who held the space and gave each of us a chance to talk about our baby - whatever we felt like saying that day - and then we sat for a moment with each baby, remembering. It was so special and so supportive to know there were (so many) other people out there in the same boat. Be prepared to feel you've been hit by a bus the next day - sharing all that emotion is exhausting, but well well worth it.
Thoughts which helped
'A child is never ours to keep'; they are individual beings put into our care, for us to nurture and to love for as long or as short as they are with us.
Some people live for 70 years, some for 31 and some for 13 hours.
Every being that comes into the world, for however long, is an opportunity for love - no life, however short, is ever wasted.
Washing and dressing Eliza
Some of our best memories of her were created during that time. However hard it seems to do in that moment, I can't recommend it more.
Taking our time over the funeral planning to make it what we wanted it to be
It was one of my favourite days, as well as being one of the saddest. Because we'd made it exactly how we wanted it to be, it became something I didn't dread, but looked forward to happening. Another chance to be with our girl.
Books that helped
When a Baby Dies by Nancy Kohner and Alix Henley
I didn't find this book super helpful as I had my own way of dealing with Eliza's death and it wasn't always helpful hearing about other people's struggles. The bit that was particularly helpful was about having another child. We shared this chapter with our families to help them understand the complexities of the emotions we were feeling in the run up to Arlo's (our second baby's) birth.
Michael Rosen's Sad Book
My best friend gave me this and it is a simple book about feeling sad, that makes feeling sad, okay.
Relying on our innate wisdom
For a lot of the grieving process I felt guided by something inside of me as to how to handle things and how to go about grieving. At other times I got caught up in my own thinking about grieving and things got sticky and dark. When I allowed grieving to do me, rather than me do grieving, the process was easier, no less sad, but easier somehow. I've since learnt about the work of Syd Banks. I can't recommend him and the people who continue his work more highly. Syd once wrote: 'If the only thing people learned was not to be afraid of their experience, that alone would change the world'. Understanding just a tiny bit of what Syd understood about the Principles behind our experience of life has changed mine. There is more about the Three Principles here and here, and this is a link to a helpful podcast based on the Principles: 'Embracing Grief Through Understanding'.
I was interviewed in 2015 about my experiences losing Eliza for the Born Happy Show. You can listen to the podcast here:
'How we can find Grace through Loss'.
The biggest thing that helped was the flood of love and support we received from our friends and family. I was still reeling from all that had happened when Simon had the foresight to let people know by email that Eliza had died. I'm private by nature, and didn't like the idea of 'hanging our dirty washing out' for all to see. I quickly realised that it was the very best thing we could have done. People want to love and to support, and by not telling people I would have been denying them that opportunity. I remember talking to a friend who called from Africa very early on, the first morning we got home, and she was brilliant. Amazing. Was so empathetic, and sorry. It felt good to share with someone. Another close friend called shortly after that, and again, it was so lovely to hear her voice and to share the sadness, however harrowing. I remember feeling so sorry that I was bringing this sadness on everyone, friends, family. That we'd brought this tragedy into their lives. I remember saying so to my friend who called that morning. She'd just had a baby three months before, and I felt so conscious that we were taking away from her joy. Needless to say, she told me not to be silly. Very quickly people sent cards, and flowers and the house filled with their words and their love. I can't tell you what a balm it was to know people were thinking of us and sending love and support and empathy in our direction. The house was filled with spring sunshine and the flowers looked stunning.
Cocooning ourselves; creating a haven
We were fortunate that my parents live in the same town and had room for us to stay there as long as we needed. It was a very special time. Intense and intimate. We were able to create a haven there, and there was a level of connection and camaraderie amongst family members deeper than anything we'd had between us before. I remember not wanting that time to end. It was safe and comfortable and we knew what had to be done from day to day. Going back to our house alone (my husband was away) was a big step, one I didn't take until two weeks after Eliza died. Going into town was another big step. Simon, my husband, did it quite soon after (a few days), I didn't go into town until maybe two weeks later (partly because I couldn't walk properly with my episiotemy wound (which by then had opened up and become quite a sight), and partly because I wasn't strong enough psychologically). When I did go in, it was hard, but fine. I saw one of the mums from our antenatal class which was particularly hard, but again, fine. She offered to meet for coffee once I'd finished my shopping, but I didn't feel quite up to it.
Taking things moment by moment, hour by hour
Somehow we managed to stay present, to take just one moment at a time and not think ahead. I think this was helped by the day to day caring we had to do for my wound and the fact there was always the next step to take in terms of Lizee's funeral planning. Somehow we stayed present and this stopped the panic or the negative feelings being overwhelming.
Starting to think about what we could learn
I remember Simon momentarily baulking when, in the first days after Eliza's death, I told him I was looking forward to seeing what Eliza's coming and going could teach us in terms of our own personal evolution and human understanding. I work in these areas so I have a tendency to look at life this way. As well as acknowledging the tragedy and devastation of it all, part of me (a wise part of me I now see) was simultaneously working behind the scenes to help me start piecing together the specialness of what Eliza was giving us.
Writing things down
I remember about 5 days after getting home I had this sudden urge to write things down, to capture what I remembered of Eliza's short life and the moments around her death. I felt a lot better once I'd done this and I ended up reading some of the words at her funeral.
Speaking to someone
We spoke with a nurse with bereavement training from the baby ICU ward initially. Then I felt I wanted to process by myself. When the dark days hit, speaking to Nick (a psychotherapist) was the best thing we could have done. We did a lot of processing by ourselves and he validated where we were at - it was wonderfully freeing to know you're not mad and you're headed in the right direction. He introduced us to The Five Stages of Grief which are well worth looking up. There's no right or wrong way of processing grief, but the way it breaks down the different emotions people experience is really helpful. And it helped put down in plain language that there is no other destination in this journey that's going to help: Acceptance with a capital A is where we need to head.
Joining a SANDS group
It is not for everyone, and I was seriously skeptical at first. There is nothing that fills me with more dread than sitting in a room full of people sharing their misery. How wrong I could be. Going to the group was the very best thing I could have done. Not one of the people in the group was 'woe is me' about what had happened to them. I couldn't believe how positive and forward-looking people were, as well as being super honest and super sad. Our group was run by the lovely Helen who held the space and gave each of us a chance to talk about our baby - whatever we felt like saying that day - and then we sat for a moment with each baby, remembering. It was so special and so supportive to know there were (so many) other people out there in the same boat. Be prepared to feel you've been hit by a bus the next day - sharing all that emotion is exhausting, but well well worth it.
Thoughts which helped
'A child is never ours to keep'; they are individual beings put into our care, for us to nurture and to love for as long or as short as they are with us.
Some people live for 70 years, some for 31 and some for 13 hours.
Every being that comes into the world, for however long, is an opportunity for love - no life, however short, is ever wasted.
Washing and dressing Eliza
Some of our best memories of her were created during that time. However hard it seems to do in that moment, I can't recommend it more.
Taking our time over the funeral planning to make it what we wanted it to be
It was one of my favourite days, as well as being one of the saddest. Because we'd made it exactly how we wanted it to be, it became something I didn't dread, but looked forward to happening. Another chance to be with our girl.
Books that helped
When a Baby Dies by Nancy Kohner and Alix Henley
I didn't find this book super helpful as I had my own way of dealing with Eliza's death and it wasn't always helpful hearing about other people's struggles. The bit that was particularly helpful was about having another child. We shared this chapter with our families to help them understand the complexities of the emotions we were feeling in the run up to Arlo's (our second baby's) birth.
Michael Rosen's Sad Book
My best friend gave me this and it is a simple book about feeling sad, that makes feeling sad, okay.
Relying on our innate wisdom
For a lot of the grieving process I felt guided by something inside of me as to how to handle things and how to go about grieving. At other times I got caught up in my own thinking about grieving and things got sticky and dark. When I allowed grieving to do me, rather than me do grieving, the process was easier, no less sad, but easier somehow. I've since learnt about the work of Syd Banks. I can't recommend him and the people who continue his work more highly. Syd once wrote: 'If the only thing people learned was not to be afraid of their experience, that alone would change the world'. Understanding just a tiny bit of what Syd understood about the Principles behind our experience of life has changed mine. There is more about the Three Principles here and here, and this is a link to a helpful podcast based on the Principles: 'Embracing Grief Through Understanding'.
I was interviewed in 2015 about my experiences losing Eliza for the Born Happy Show. You can listen to the podcast here:
'How we can find Grace through Loss'.