Monday 19 September 2011

More pluckings from the brain of the sleep deprived

"Not happy Mum-mee," she tugs at my hand insistently. "NOT happy."

This is Jessica's current favourite game. I must hold one object. This can be a plastic Happyland figure, a teddy, a stick, a stone, even a conker. This character must cry. Great, gasping sobs of boo hoo hoo. Any attempt to deviate from this formula, to claim that this particular stick or toy is already happy results in a steely stare and a quick slap down from Jessica's hand, forcing this unfortunate into the posture of one prostrate with grief. "NO! NOT happy Mum-mee."

The character must then state what would correct this state of affairs, what will make them happy. In the initial iterations of this seemingly endless game, the object of desire was an invitation to a tea party. So the character would sob their boo hoo hoos and then sigh, wrist pressed limply to brow (yes, yes, even a stone can do this) "I wish that somebody would invite me to a tea party."

Up pops the character held by Jessica. "TEA PART-TEE" she beams benevolently, scooping up the sobbing character and transporting them to the world of delight that is the tea part-tee where they partake of cake, tea and occasionally (as I understand it) pine cones.

For a while a 'tea part-tee' was some kind of panacea, a cure-all for the woes of all sticks, stones, dolls and teddies within a five mile radius. A 'tea part-tee' was even offered as a consolation to an unfortunate 'stick man' that was accidentally snapped in two.

As the popularity of this game had steadfastly refused to wane, the demands of the weeping character (as played by me for the majority of the time) have grown more and more outlandish. A trip to the pink castle. A ride in the helicopter. A dance party where they only play Cure songs. A friendly rugby ball. A little girl called Jessica to bounce on the bed with.

No matter the demand, Jessica will unfailingly pop up, grin on face and announce the arrival of whatever it is that will stop the weeping.

Then, two minutes later, the character is again, declared not happy and must lie down and weep once more.

Sometimes I wonder if I might have messed up her up a little. Either by being a sadder, generally worse version of the me that she might have had, somebody whom she has to jolly along with promises of parties and trips, a responsibility. Or by leading her to believe that a little bit of tea, cake and Robert Smith are the answer to misery.


So yes, Jessica. Her speech is no longer confined to that mysterious word, GUNK, which some of you may remember was her one and only word for quite some time. Her speech was declared *age appropriate* at her last review. Occasionally I still don't quite understand what she is saying and, when I repeat what I think she has said, she lets out a little, world weary 'No' which makes me feel at once like laughing and crying.

As always with Jessica, just when I think that she is never going to breath, regulate her blood pressure, maintain her temperature, move, walk, talk, she does. Amazingly, she does. I still can't quite believe in it. I am left in this state of nervous tension, expecting the next disaster. But she's fine. A little slow but just fine.

She will be starting school next year. As she was born right at the end of the academic year here in the UK, she will have just turned four when she is due to start school next year. And this situation has me tying myself up in knots of guilt and inaction.

I remember leaning over her incubator and promising her that I would fight for her, that I would protect her, that I would help her with everything she needed. And I've tried. I've changed oxygen tubes and made up bottles of high calorie formula and done the exercises the physiotherapists recommended and researched things to do to help her speech and spent and spent on (mainly unnecessary) clothes and toys. We've painted and crayoned and dressed up and soft played and been swimming. But it's considerably easier when I know what the right thing to do is but, when it comes to Jessica's school entrance, I'm not sure if I should be fighting to hold her back or letting her go.

Poor Jessica. With her dead twin sister and a mother who always hugs her a little too tightly. My father in law has a phrase that sums it up, 'I love the bones of you' he says. I do. I love the reassurance of her body, her bones. I hope she doesn't mind too much. I guess she'll never have known any different.

Tea part-tee anyone?

***

I catch our dual reflection in the bathroom mirror. A slightly tired eye woman with a baby. And an array of translucencies intercede between us and our reflections. A multitude of might have beens. And, just for an instant, I let myself imagine that he is her. Just for an instant. Something that I never, ever allowed myself to do with her twin. Because it was too close, she was too close.

But I held that particular image up to the mirror, up to the light. Just to find that moment of relief, of ease. To briefly inhabit a world where none of this had ever happened. A world where she didn't die. Because her death still presses down on my skull, not painfully any longer but . . consistently, uncomfortably.

But even as I see his sturdy little back, head balanced precariously on top, slightly bending over like an overly heavy flower, I know it is a nonsense. She was never there. She was never even close to this. My poor tiny baby.

I still dream of half made babies. I dream of pregnancies that give out only partially complete. I cradle tiny babies in my dream arms and yearn for that chance, that outside bet that I can't give up on. Sometimes the baby in my dreams is Reuben but long before I ever laid eyes on him. And my dream heart feels that love, fierce protective love for the tiny babies that were once mine. I wake up unsettled and sweaty and I can't find any rest or comfort.

***

I never really felt self conscious about admitting that I was sad that Georgina died. I never thought that people would think it was weird that I list her on my facebook profile as a child of mine. I never thought that people might think I was strange, that I was not a good mother to my living children because I mention her from time to time. I assumed that people who found this place would find it understandable, even if they could not understand it. Now . . . I'm not so sure.
It makes me wish that I could maintain a 'dignified' silence. But I find I can't.

***

'I love you oh so well. Like a kid loves candy and fresh snow. I love you oh so well.'

I do. Georgina. I love you oh so well.
Remembering that first sight of your little face still makes me smile.
Love you.

18 comments:

  1. I am smiling about Jessica's Tea Par-tee and thinking of you and of her, on the brink of school, and it's all so amazing and there is so much there that I feel on the edge of tears myself and resort to run-on sentences.

    Sending love to you and your girls, and your boy, and wishing you sleep.

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  2. Jessica is hilarious! I love her therapeutic tea partees! Maybe that's what I need sometimes. She doesn't sound messed up at all - it just sounds like she's learning about different emotions and caring for others. As for school - is she keen to go? And is there any chance the school would let her repeat if it seemed it would benefit her? (I was one of those kids who started school very early, but was then repeated - my prep teacher told my parents that I was "probably a bit retarded". Nice. Though repeating turned out to work well for me.)

    This is beautiful writing Catherine. Particularly the part about you & Reuben in the mirror. Sending love & thinking of Georgina today. xxxx h

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  3. I think the fact that Jessica wants to take care of others when they are hurt and sad is beautiful. What a sweet little wonder you have in that girl of yours. If she starts listening to too much of The Smiths then that might be concerning but The Cure isn't too worrisome:)

    Last night Clio was really having a hard time and so I put her in the softest long pajama we have, hoping that it would calm her down. It is a blue fleece one, the only item of clothing that I bought for George that I also kept after he died. I put it on and for an instant I imagined it was him and he had not died and he was still here with his sister. It was a lie but for a split second it was a lie I was willing to believe just to feel close to him again.

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  4. Hmmm.. tell me more about this feeling of self consciousness you are feeling. (and sorry by the way for fixating on this part of your post) Do you find that you are now more sensitive to people possibly thinking it 'strange' as you include Georgina or mention her as one of your children (on the face or in actual conversation)? Personally I have just been made aware that just 3 moths after Cullen died a few family members thought I needed an 'intervention' because of my grief. Three months. I don't often understand the outside world. And I think that in this new life I have decided one thing for certain.. I don't want to understand the outside world anymore. It is a part of life that is gone for me, and always will be. If people think I am weird for mentioning all four of my children so be it. I am not here to hep them accept my reality, nor do I care anymore how I am perceived. Part of me is like Jess' post on glow.. mad as a snake. I know it will fade but I wonder if this need to 'count him' will. And this is why I ask these questions of you who are a but further down the road.
    love and light mamma... let me know your thoughts.

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  5. If you have any concerns about Jessica starting school next year, then please consider and discuss deferring her place for a year (you can discuss this with your health visitor, school and nursery). We have deferred our son who should have started this year (aged 4 1/2) - although we live in Scotland, so it is a little different (the cut off in terms of birthdays is the end of Feb).

    Children who are young in their year are always at a disadvantage, and being older not only helps when you start school, but also when you sit your exams and when you finish school. We deferred our son because we can (children with Jan/Feb birthdays get an extra year of funding for nursery in Scotland), and because we know that going from a small nursery to a large primary (600 children!) will be quite an adjustment, and because it feels like the right thing for him.

    Good luck, whatever you decide x

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  6. I'm constantly worried I have messed my babies up. I wonder if that will ever cease.
    Love to all of you.
    xo

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  7. I think "self dignified silence" may be overrated :) We love our children; why should we, because our babies died, feel obligated out of some sense of making another feel less comfortable with the truth to deny them our motherhood and to deny ourselves their childness. Georgina is forever your baby, forever in your heart. I'm so grateful that you dont keep silent and that you share her, just as you share your two living children.

    Hugs...

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  8. Dignified silence? No. You and your words and your thoughts are perfect. She is and always will be one of your children. If that is weird to some people - that's their problem.

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  9. Jessica's tea-par-tees sound a lot like my coping strategies throughout high school--cake and the Cure :) It sounds very sweet and she sounds like a caring little soul.

    I find myself in that wondering, that almost-wish sometimes too, mostly when I'm feeding O. It's very brief, and it's hard for me to admit that's what I'm doing. Glad to know I'm not alone.

    Love to you and the beautiful babes.
    xo

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  10. Thank you for the sleep wishes Erica. Reuben was sleeping through the night but, alas, no longer!

    Hanen, she said WHAAAAAT? That remark is just wrong in so many, many ways. And from a prep school teacher?! Geesh. I think you did pretty well to walk away from a class where THAT lady was the teacher without any problems as a result. Hope you didn't have to repeat the class with her as a teacher!

    Brianna, I'm glad that it isn't just me. And yes, I know it's a lie but it is to try and find her, to feel that closeness again that seems so lost to me now. Will keep an ear out for the Smiths :)

    Leslie- hmmm no need to apologise! This post was kind of a mish mash of stuff as I don't function very well without sleep and I'm pleased to receive a comment from you on any part of this jumble that you so choose! At three months?! An intervention?! Oh my dear. They should meet me. They really should. I'm probably a little unusual in that I did, effectively, avoid the outside world and its judging eyes for the best of a year after Georgina died. It probably wasn't particularly 'healthy' in some ways but that is what I did. I had Jessica to visit in the NICU and I was there all day, every day of her stay. Then, when she came home, I had a ex-preemie on oxygen and it was the middle of winter. I didn't really need any more excuses to shut my door and pretend that the outside world no longer existed. And then, in the midst of that isolated winter, I found this place. Where people openly mourned and talked. Where it was not verboten to talk about Georgina. And when I did go out and rejoin the real world I had forgotten my social niceties or had misremembered what society counts as taboo.I've been happy trundling along talking about her and 'counting' her and it was really only recently that I even contemplated the fact that some people might feel that I need an 'intervention'! Just interesting that it has taken me so long to tumble to this notion that not everyone will understand why I still talk and write about her.

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  11. Knitlass - it is wonderful to hear from someone who has successfully deferred their child's school entry. I may have to pick your brains at some point! Because of Jessica's date of birth and extreme prematurity (a perfect storm really) we have always contemplated either delaying or deferring her school entry. The LEA has been notified that she's coming along, extreme prematurity and all. We would have the backing of the paediatrician and Bliss (the premature baby charity), it's just obtaining the backing of the school that (anecdotally from other preemie parents) may be the problem. Sigh. Anyway, we are off to two open days at local schools shortly and I am going to attempt to sound out the head teachers as to how open they would be to accommodating her. As she is progressing at a chronologically age appropriate level perhaps she will manage but I can't help but worry that she will struggle from being a summer born baby and even more so as she was born so prematurely. And if I could prevent that potential struggle maybe I should be going all out to do so. Perhaps we should just move to Scotland!

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  12. I always LOVE hearing about Jessica - and her tea partees sound just the ticket! She doesn't sound messed up, just empathetic and very, very sweet. I hope you are able to make the right choices for Jessica, regarding school. My eldest two are September birthdays and I always felt this was to their advantage. I would have considered keeping them home, if they had been born a few weeks earlier - except that, up here, in my LEA, they would have gone straight into Year One instead of Reception, which struck me as very odd because they would miss out on a year of socialisation. Would Jessica be able to stay home and start reception? I hope so.

    And your picture of Reuben and you in the mirror made me cry, so beautiful. ((HUGS))

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  13. Jessica is one of my favorite people in internet-land. Or maybe it's the way you and the way you describe her. Given everything else she's accomplished I believe she may just be training to take on the issue of world peace. Some day she will convince us all to drink the damn tea and feel better.

    I won't bother telling you not to fret about your upcoming decisions about school. This is tough stuff. I'm just sending you lots of strength as you consider your options.

    And the bit about imagining a different version of the past....different circumstances but I know what you mean.

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  14. Jessica sounds utterly adorable :) I hope my J grows up thinking Robert Smith is a cure-all too, it'll make his daddy so happy :) And it's so good to hear that her speech is age-appropriate!

    Elbow have a song that has the line 'I love the bones of you'. It's so full of longing and sadness.
    xxx

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  15. I remember, after James was born, he was a few weeks old and I was home alone, picking him up from a nap, looking at him and very deliberately calling him by his brother's name. Just to see.

    Then I immediately burst into tears. But I had to try, to see if I could erase that gap of not having him there, pretend for one moment. And then maybe it wouldn't hurt anymore.

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  16. Oh bless! Your Jessica sounds like such a little lovely.

    I had a parent teacher meeting today and LBRs teacher noted that I had used the word 'anxious' to describe him twice in my first two sentences. Hmm. Am I the anxious one? Anxious that his sad Mum hasn't given him the security his young years needed. Mostly he loves live, loves people and has a very strong empathic streak.

    We started him in school at 5. He is a summer baby and in Ireland we have that option. AB, on the other hand, is one of the youngest in his class. He is getting on fine, but it is harder for him. Is that because AB lives in his own little world or because he is the youngest in his class? Who knows? It isn't an easy decision and, if it is a decision you have to fight for, that makes it even harder. I am sure though that you will come to a decision that rests easy on your heart.

    Every so often I imagine that empty space behind LBR is filled by a scampering two year old.... xxx

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  17. ...oh that last bit especially... xxx

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  18. How sweet and caring she is... wanting to make the sad "things" happy again. OMG, that made me get all teary eyed. I guess that shows in what a loving and empathic family she grows up.

    I'm always up for a part-tee, tea or not. *slurp*

    xo

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