Gone where?

Following the lobster incident on holiday, it didn't taken Pickle long to realise that I hadn't quite answered the question about where people go when they die.  Over cornflakes, he wanted to know where Monkey had gone and wasn't satisfied with 'he's just gone'.  'Gone where? he challenged.  So, I thought, now's as good a time as any.  And we had an early morning lesson in burials and cremations.

I explained that when people die, they stop breathing and their heart stops beating and although they might still be there and we can see them, they're not really there anymore and they can't see, hear or feel anything at all.  And that we're not allowed to keep them with us forever. 

I explained that some people are buried in a coffin and that some people are cremated which means they are turned to ashes.  Pickle says 'but ashes come from fire'.  That's right they do, so some people are burned in a special fire and turned into ashes.  And that's what happened to Monkey and then we buried his ashes in the churchyard.  His wobbly bottom lip does just that.  And I remind him that it's ok, that Monkey couldn't feel anything.  And then Pickle smiles which quickly turns to giggles and wants me to tell him about all the people I know who have been turned into ashes.

Pickle will be four soon and he's having a bonfire birthday party.  With some glee, he asks 'When my friends come to my party, if they get too close to the bonfire then they will be burned and turned into ashes?'  (Is that why we've not had many accepts?)

Not many minutes later, it's time for me to head off to work.  Pickle is fine (me too) and I just wonder what he'll tell them at nursery.  Perhaps I'll give them a call...

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.

Just found this beautiful pic of Monkey post op October 2006

Just sorting through some old files and came across this picture.  This is Monkey (with monkey), mid October 2006.  I went on maternity leave a few days before he went into hospital to have a gastrostomy (tube into his tummy to help him feed).  

We'd always fed Monkey orally and only a couple of times had to have an NG (Nasogastric) tube passed when he'd had chest infections and become too tired to feed himself.  But it's fair to say that it was never easy to feed him.  That said, it was one of the things I loved to do the most.  Something 'normal' we could do together.  I'd do something (feed him) and in return, he'd do something (swallow (sort of and sometimes)).  He responded to different flavours.  You could tell he loved cake!  However as Monkey got bigger, it was hard to get enough food into him for him to keep growing without us spending every waking hour feeding.  No fun for anyone.  And as much as I loved the feeding, there were days when it was so hard that I would cry. 

Our wonderful peadiatrician had mentioned a gastrostomy a few times and I had resisted but, with a new baby arriving any day, I knew it was the practical solution.  We still agonised over it.  Sometimes I think about the decisions I have to make today (should I have a fixed rate mortgage or a tracker mortgage?) and I'm reminded that whilst these might be important in some respects they are nothing like the decisions we have to take when we are talking about the health or care of other people we love.

We were booked into Leicester and in we went.  They were fab. 

I remember how I felt as the anaethetist put Monkey to sleep.  Still unsure whether this would be the right decision for him and wondering whether I was being selfish putting him through this - was it all for me?  Was it for the new baby?  Worried, though not overly, about the chance that Monkey might not make it through the operation (there were no specific reasons to worry but I guess general aneastheics carry a risk).  I remember getting into the lift and going down to the canteen.  There was someone in the lift with us.  As soon as they got it, I made one of those noises you make when you're trying to hold in a cry but it escapes.

I remember being reasonably irrational and cross with my husband who wasn't beating himself up about whether this was the right decision.  Wasn't feeling the guilt that I was.  But was feeling hungry!!!!

I remember going back up to the recovery area and hearing Monkey cry in pain before I could see him.  I thought it was him but wasn't quite sure - it was a cry that I had not heard before.

He was fine.  He recovered well from the operation - so did I!  I stayed in every night, sleeping beside him.  36 weeks pregnant and 5 days on a ready bed on an NHS ward.  I got up for a wee every night and the nurses were keen to check I hadn't gone into labour.

I found it really hard to look at the tube in his tummy for a while and I remember my Dad coming to see us (actually on the day he was being discharged) and not being able to look either.  I still felt guilty.  At that stage I didn't know what a godsend it would be. 

We were very lucky.  Monkey healed well and tolerated his feeds from day 1 (other than being quite sick occassionally if that makes sense).  We came home as planned.  Pickle arrived by c-section 2 weeks later, as planned.  And we moved house 10 days after that.

The gastrostomy definitely made all of our lives easier.  Oral feeding could be about tastes, rather than nutrition.  I don't have regrets as such but if I had my time again, I'd have done 2 things - we'd have had the gastrostomy a bit sooner and I would have done more oral feeding afterwards.  We were lazy some days (maybe tired, maybe busy but sometimes lazy) and Monkey didn't get to taste food every meal time and I think he might have liked that.

Lobster: Dead or alive?

We are on a beautiful beach in Ile de Re.  There is a fully intact, but very dead, lobster washed up on the beach.  Pickle, Wotsit and Nephews 1 & 2 are gathered around for a good look.  Wotsit and Nephew 1 give it a good poke whilst Pickle and Nephew 2 look on a few safe steps away.


"It's dead, it's dead."  Nephew number one yells with glee.  "No it isn't" says Pickle, a touch perplexed.  "It can't be dead, it's still here, so it must be alive." 

Nephew 1 pokes a bit harder.  "It's dead" he squeals "it's not moving".

Pickle turns to me.  "It's not dead is it Mummy?  When things are dead we can't see them anymore.  They are completely gone... like Alex.  He's dead and we can't see him ever again."

I flounder momentarily - trying to work out how much to tell this bright, but very sensitive, almost 4 year old.

"It is dead pickle.  But when things die they don't disappear straightaway.  We can see them for a little while longer and then they go.  If we come back tomorrow, the lobster will be gone and then we won't be able to see it anymore."

Bright but still very accepting, he accepts this...

...And I hope for a high tide.

Blonde roots

I am very definitely a brunette (with streaks of grey these days).  Why then, did my best friend teach my other friends how to sign 'blonde roots' a few years ago?  And why is there a Barbie doll perched on my desk?  In recent years, I thought perhaps motherhood had made me less scatty and the blonde moments had diminished.  I thought perhaps I'd learned, at the very least, to think before I speak.  It would, however, appear not...

Picture the scene.  Holding down a senior-ish role in a retail bank, interviewing with a number of colleagues for our graduate intake.  Marketing director presenting to them on why they want to work with us.  Asks us to introduce ourselves.  Hip HR graduate recruiter asks the graduates to share an interesting fact and encourages us to do the same.  4 graddies go first.  Then colleague number 1 - her interesting fact is that she joined the graduate scheme at said bank in 1994.  Colleague number 2 - his interesting fact is that he was a graduate for a large accountancy firm.  And then it's me. 

'I don't know about you' I say to the graduates 'but I'm not sure those were particularly interesting facts'.  I wanted to reassure then that not everyone working for a bank is dull.  I pause - not for dramatic effect but because, although I know what I want to say, I suddenly realise it might not be such a good idea to admit to it in front of the marketing director.  But, by this time, my mind is blank and I cannot think of any other interesting facts - I am committed.  I was going to share with them that whilst, by day, I worry about mortgage margins, by night, I design some adverts for my friends who own a lingerie shop. 

What I say is 'in my spare time I do some advertising for a lingerie company'.  Even as the room bursts into fits of laughter, it takes my bossfriend (interesting fact 'he's not a graduate') to explain that they're not laughing because my interesting fact is, well, interesting.  They actually think I've just told them that I am a lingerie model.

Oh well, I think I achieved my objective (you don't have to be dull to work at a bank) and managed to put the graduates at ease.  I gave my colleagues a good laugh and I imagine the marketing director won't forget me in a hurry.  There are some lovely young people who for a second believed I could be a lingerie model (or perhaps that's really why they were laughing...).  And, once I'd recovered from the embarrasment, I smiled until my jaw ached for the rest of they day.    

How to mark the day...

For the 3rd year in a row, I have taken the 10th August off work.  I would be fine at work but in many ways I want to acknowledge this day in some way.  I want to be close to my family and hold them a little bit tighter. 

I appreciate the messages that are sent and I understand why people are thinking of us but please think of Monkey as well.  Remember that sweet little boy who needed a lot of love and a lot of help.  Who didn't complain all that much about how difficult things were for him.  Maybe because he couldn't but mostly because I think he often took content to a whole new level.

Today, my husband worked and I took the boys to Warwick Castle.  My grown up nieces joined us.  They asked if I was sure I didn't want to be on my own.  What?  With 2 terrors who could have a grumpy, challenging day?  No, I love these boys so much but today it was good to have company.  'I don't need to be on my own' I told them.  'I simply reserve the right to choose who I spend it with and you two, along with Pickle & Wotsit, are at the top of my list'.

It has been a good day.  Bizarrely, Wotsit today has kept saying Alex's name and 'Where's Alex gone?'.  He's getting to the age when those questions will come but I think it is merely coincidence today.  They do not know what day it is. 

We've seen jousting and eagles, climbed towers and dressed as knights.  Wotsit was stung by a wasp and was remarkably brave.  There was one meltdown (Pickle) but all over reasonably quickly.

My heart beat faster as we drove past the church on the way home (the beauty of living in Church Road is that we pass by every day) and it will pause again at 9.20pm tonight.

You are always on my mind

Dear Monkey,

It is nearly 3 years since you died.  Yet I think of you often, and so do your brothers - even the one that never got to meet you (and looks a lot like you). 

This weekend, for example...

On Saturday, we visited Ben & Gillian and baby Sophia.  Some other friends were there with their children.  The eldest was 5 and he seemed so grown up.  And then I remembered that you would now be nearly six...

The journey home was long and frustrating.  Motorway closed - we took an alternative route.  I had a flashback to stopping at a pub on the way to the South Coast with you and your Daddy.  It was before Pickle was born.  We were going to Worthing.  Your Dad always fancied (and still does) living by the sea and we'd been looking for somewhere we could afford that looked nice.  I wanted to be somewhere that would be good for you too.  Lots of fresh air, wheelchair access and good NHS facilities.  We walked along the sea front and went to a Chinese restaurant for tea.  I love it when there's something I'd forgotten that jumps into my head - a memory discovered.

Your brothers climbed into our bed this morning and Wotsit was looking at my mobile phone.  The screensaver is a picture of Pickle pretending to sleep.  Wotsit says 'Alex'.  I tell him it's not you but he insists it is.  Funny that Wotsit is actually the one who looks like you.  Extra big kiss for Wotsit for learning your name and thinking of you.

We are selling some things on ebay, including the double mountain buggy that we bought for you and Pickle.  For a while, it was hard to know how to go out with the pair of you.  We were trying so hard to get some supportive seating for you.  I'd written a few snotty letters to wheelchair services!  But we needed to get out.  It was not ideal and I know it wasn't supportive enough for you but it did us for a while and you looked like you loved it.  And we could go off road!  We walked to Old Harry's Rocks with you in that pushchair and made daisy chains at the top.  And Daddy and I took you for a walk in the countryside when we first moved here.  It was reasonably disasterous!  The ground had been churned up by horses and it was sticky clay, we got lost and there were a couple of stiles to lift you both over!  I may not have been smiling on the day but today the memory made me smile a lot.

At the end of the day, we were having some wind down time with cbeebies.  I have a son on each side, snuggling up.  I said 'who is the luckiest Mummy with 2 gorgeous boys?'  Pickle replied 'not you Mummy, you have 3 gorgeous boys'.

We love you
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