Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts

Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Your specialist subject is...

The main reason I write about Monkey is that I can't say how I'm feeling, or what I remember, to many people. Friends and family want you to be okay and if they knew what was in your head, they might think you weren't. They would be wrong.

The other reason I write is that I think somewhere along the line (and hopefully for very few people) it might be useful for someone else to know that they are not alone in how they're feeling. A few weeks ago, a friend at work stopped me to tell me that his 5 month old, severely premature, nephew had died. He'd never been out of hospital and had been very poorly. He wanted some advice to share with his sister-in-law.

(By way of an introduction, my friend's daughter is 3 days younger than Monkey. He used to work for me and DJ'd at my wedding. He's the office clown. I remember having a chat with him about his career development and his suggesting we have a cup of tea. He confided in me then that his wife was expecting - something of a surprise. He was a little bit blown away and just wanted to tell someone I think. What was lovely was that I could confide right back, to being equally pregnant (albeit less surprised). When I returned to work after Monkey died, he was recovering from a stomach bug and was reasonably distraught that he couldn't hug me. He came back a few days later to do just that. The point is he's a lovely guy and able to ask questions like this. So many people, especially me (refer to previous blogs on shyness), wouldn't. For those who can't, maybe some of this will help.)

He wanted to know if there was anything I thought it would be useful for his sister-in-law to know. My advice (I rambled much less than this and the abridged version, I hope, was more practical and less emotional but this is unedited):

Linger if you can - you will be in shock. You won't know what you are meant to do. The medical professionals may be equally helpless. This is not something they experience every day either. You can't get the time back.

Do think about whether you want to go and visit your baby or child. Try to talk about this with as many people that you're comfortable with. Ask questions like 'what will it be like if I do?'. We didn't visit Monkey. I was reasonably adamant about that. I'd said my goodbye at the hospital. I'm not sure anyone could have changed my mind but, when I look back, I'd perhaps like to have made a more rounded decision, based on fact rather than supposition. Having spoken to other Mum's, the majority visited their child at least once. All of them prepared them for their burial or cremation. That is my one regret. I didn't get Monkey ready for 'bed'. I gave his pyjamas (and socks - he always had cold feet) to the undertakers to get him ready. I forgot to give them a nappy. I realise that's not important but to me, afterwards, when I thought about it, it was odd. He'd always had a nappy on. So talk about it, if you can, it might help you remember something that you might otherwise have forgotten.

Be selfish if you need to be. Choose to see people or not to see people. Chances are, everyone will want to see you to check you are still ok. To an extent, we did what people wanted us to do, and that carried us through. However it also meant there were some surreal moments when you realise you are having fun with friends but your child has died. That is okay too.

You have choices in terms of the funeral you want to have. We chose not to see the coffin so the undertakers arrived at the crem before us - we didn't think we, or our friends, could cope with seeing such a small coffin. We chose no flowers and a charity donation instead. That was a bit odd because when we came out, there was still a marker with Monkey's name where flowers would have been and I thought it looked a bit like no-one loved him. We chose to have a balloon release which was beautiful. But be clear when you want people to let them go.

Enlist a 'best man' if you need one (and try not to shout at your husband 'but it's not a bloody wedding...')

If you have a cremation, collect your ashes when you are ready. We collected Monkey's on the day we had the scan showing Wotsit at 12 weeks, Pickle was with us. It's the only time I felt like I had 3 children with me.

If you're not sure what to do with the ashes, take your time. If we'd hurried, we'd have scattered them. A year later, we actually buried them in the church yard but kept some back which we still have here in a box, in another box, in a cupboard.

It's okay to have a glass of wine at the wake. I refused several drinks before a friend's Mum put a glass of red wine in my hand. It helped.

If you're anything like me, make plans for the week after the funeral. I was at a complete loss and had plans for every day. I could not be on my own for a while.

Most of all, forgive yourself a lot, as you may not make the decisions you think you should have when you reflect upon it in the months to come.

I think the abridged version of the advice goes something like this; ask lots of questions, talk, take your time, do it your way, talk some more and forgive yourself.

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

Hush Little Baby

Every night, following Pickle's bedtime story, he has 3 songs. This is his attempt at staying up. I know that, but I humour him and love it. We don't deviate - Hush Little Baby, Twinkle Twinkle Chocolate Bar and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. (I can't sing by the way).

Some nights I can't quite make it through Hush Little Baby without crying (Pickle either doesn't notice or doesn't mind!). I used to sing it to Monkey when he couldn't sleep. It started when a friend bought him a musical butterfly when he was born - pull it's tail (I know butterflies don't have tails but this one did) and it would play Hush Little Baby. The butterfly came on holiday with us and to hospital stays. Monkey seemed to like the music. I didn't know the words so I looked them up. Then, when he was a bit bigger, it became something I'd sing to comfort him. He'd go through phases - I guess based on how comfortable he was feeling. Quite often, he'd wait until I'd just sat down to eat my dinner before starting to wail. I used to sing Hush Little Baby followed by I know an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly (strange combination) and if he hadn't dropped off, I'd start again. I have no idea how many times I have sung these songs. It seemed fitting to play Hush Little Baby at Monkey's funeral - a last lullaby.

I can't remember how I came to start singing it for Pickle but I do.

Today, after an exhausting day for Pickle, he lies still whilst I sing and snuggles in, sometimes his little arm comes out, reaches around my neck and pulls me in. (Normally, he wriggles and squirms and plays me up a bit until the last minute). The very last minute when I shut his door he calls out sleepily 'I love you Mum' and I melt...