Capture Your Grief - Day 11. Creative Heartwork

Today Carly asks us: "Have you done anything special to memorialize your child?" my immediate answer was: yes, I am alive and every breath I take is for her. But I think this project calls for some actual examples, and I have a few.

I've NEVER been a jewelry wearer, the only things that I do wear are pearl earrings and engagement and wedding rings and I actually feel incomplete without those. Since Olivia was born, I have added two more pieces to my never leave home without pieces: 

Caroline, Pierre's sister / mine from another mister and Olivia's Tata, got me a bracelet with an O, just like the one she has with a P for Paul, her son and Olivia's cousin/twin (as I was looking forward to calling them their whole lives). Caro gave me this on the weekend of Olivia's due date (July 7th) and I have never taken it off since. 

Bea, my mana and one of Olivia's tías, explained to me the idea of birthstones and subsequently gave me the first ever necklace that I actually love: Half a pearl (chiquita's birthstone) with cat ears! Isn't that amazing??? Also one that I never take off.

Both pieces of jewelry are much more to me than pretty things, they represent two women that mean a lot to me and I know that they too are hurting for the niece that they had been waiting for since I got pregnant. Whenever I put those on I feel tata and tía's love for Olivia and I love to feel them loving my daughter.

Please don't jump when you read the following shouting that naming stars is a scam... I know the Royal Observatory has no star named Olivia, but I frankly don't need that much "officialness" here. I had that idea and mentioned it to my mom and her face simply lit up as she loved the idea of being able to look up and know that her first granddaughter is up there somewhere. So, if you know where the Ursa Minor constellation is, smile at it because our Olivia star is shining down on you.

Then we have Olivia's leaf in the tree at Mortlake crematorium, we added her to the “Water bugs and Dragonflies Babies and Children’s Memorial Garden" so she can be there with other babies who left too soon. The memorial is called after a beautiful story by Doris Stickney where she explains death in a very "colourful" way - I encourage you to read it here. By the way, the middle name on the leaf is an inside joke between Pierre, Olivia and I; her middle name is not Gasinettica!

Last on the list of things that already exist or will exist soon is Olivia's bench in Bishops Park. This is MEGA special because it is our friends and family who have raised the money to put a plaque there - THANK YOU! We chose a bench in Bishops Park because not only is it right in front of our home, but it is also the place where Olivia and I walked the most when we were together. Beth, one of Olivia's tías, is helping us coordinate everything with the council and we are hoping that the plaque will be added this year. Once it's there, I invite everyone to go, have a moment there to think about Olivia and if she has been able to bring anything good to your lives (no judgement if she hasn't). I then would like for you to think about yourselves and make sure that you are doing something incredible with your lives, for all the people that don't get a chance to.

Remember, no awesomeness is too small and you can always make a difference to yours or someone else's life.

Capture Your Grief - Day 10. Symbols + Signs

I have signs and symbols that might seem arbitrary, because I picked and chose them after Olivia was gone; but they make me feel like she truly is winking at me, so I'm happy to take that. Then there are the symbols that I didn't pick, the ones that are 100% her because they are just reminders of the things she loved when she was alive in my belly.

First let's go with the lovely, yet arbitrary ones:

The day we got back from the hospital, my mom had left some soon to be flowers on the living room table. That day they looked like green stalks and I kept staring at them during the worst hours after we got home. Two days after, pretty yellow flowers started blooming and they also had a delicious smell and my mom kept saying to get yellow flowers and everything that meant happiness; that's how my love for yellow things started. I have never been a person with a particular opinion on the colour, but I have to say that since Olivia was born I get what the link with joy is. My mom was right, it brings happiness and an instant perkiness to things. So, the first and most powerful arbitrary sign and symbol I get from Olivia are all things yellow, specially yellow freesias and sunflowers in the flower world. A lot of my friends and family get winks from the yellow side of things and I love it when they share them with me - thank you!

I also see a lot of Olivia in nature and the way beautiful moments that humans can't create make me feel. If there is a magical sunrise or sunset I can feel her hand on my face, if I'm surrounded by a breathtaking place I know it's her telling me she's ok.

Now, let's go for the one that makes me smile the most because I know that it is my daughter without a doubt:

I have never been a person biased towards sweet stuff, and the things that I do like are mostly Venezuelan and not easily accessible in London. Starting from around when Olivia was 4 months old in my belly, I was craving sugar in ways I have NEVER done; but wanting to take care of our healths I ate fruits to try and hit the sugar craving quota. Olivia had a very specific agenda in mind though: one day looking for snacks at work, I stumbled upon a snickers (the celebration size ones) and I was irrationally compelled to eat it... that's when the love affair began. That was the single craving I had during pregnancy and I have never been a snickers eater, but my daughter has her dad's sweet tooth and she wanted those little pieces of heaven. I fought it most of the time and told her that fruits would have to do, but sometimes I would literally shake at the sight of those little mini rectangles of perfection and I HAD to have some.

Everything is back to normal in the eating sweets department and I don't ever feel like a snickers since Olivia was born; but if I see one in a random place, I know is her winking at me. Most unexpected snickers found so far? Two Tuesdays ago we were having dinner in Frankfurt and there it was when we got the bill, a little box with celebrations mix and a snickers pointing out. If that is not a hello mami, I don't know what is!

Of course, I haven't had this joyful attitude towards winks all the time, when they first started to appear, I thought the universe was punching me and not letting me stand for a single minute. Then, I read a post from my mum guide and how she found an R written in the snow when walking one day, it was her son Ryan saying hello. Reading that single post changed my attitude towards this symbols and what once was very painful became a moment where I am certain Olivia is winking at me (and at everyone who is willing to see the winks).

Don't get me wrong, I have a love hate relationship with my Chiquita's winks because I love that she reaches out somehow, but I hate that it's not her hand I can hold or her eyes I can see. My friend Jayne, Rory's mum, described this moments perfectly when she said they are bittersweet; but if we focus on the sweet part when we can, we will be able to smile back to our children. So, if you are a mum like me and the universe keeps throwing things at you that make you want to fall on the ground and cry, think that maaaaaybe some of that is your child saying hello.

Capture Your Grief - Day 9. Surrender + Embrace

Happy Sunday to you, person reading!

Did you know that Olivia was born on a Sunday? Today marks her 16 week "birthday" and whilst I should be thinking how far I've come in my journey, I get the sad thought that it was 16 weeks ago when I first and last held my daughter and squeezed her perfect cheeks.

I like today's topic description as I have always agreed with the premise of "Surrendering to whatever it is you are feeling is one of the most powerful experiences of being present and in the moment." I have never been a person that gets easily embarrassed and I am a bit too happy to speak my mind and show my full range of emotions. Most importantly, I've always been in favour of people exploring their feelings and NEVER bottling stuff up as it could only lead to a bigger and more explosive reaction whenever you do decide to face it or it decides to show up (even if you don't want it to). 

Olivia grief, as I call it, is a completely different ball game. I have NEVER been exposed to so much pain and, quite literally, despair coming out of me. My thoughts have gone darker than I hope they ever will and exploring those is very very scary... but I have no choice and I do open that door scared but willing to see what's there. I can't fight or control when Olivia grief comes and takes over me, I've been exercising, at the supermarket or even having coffee with people. The latest one that caught me by surprise and froze me for 2 hours was 1.5 weeks ago in Frankfurt. There was an amazing sunset and I went outside to see it and as I started walking with no direction, the veil that my brain puts to protect me was lifted and everything hit at once: my perfect baby is gone and there is no way she'll be back. I cried walking trying to see if being surrounded by people would make me stop - no luck - so I entered the train station and sat on the platform and (like Pierre sys) I opened the valve and gave into my moment surrendering completely to my emotions and crying as much and as loudly as I needed to. Nobody questions someone crying on a train station as it is a place where people say goodbye, and I too keep saying goodbye.

After a while I contacted my friends and Amazing Mums and they stayed in my darkness with me for a bit, understanding every word I said and emotion I felt (thank God for Whatsapp groups and no roaming charges!). The conversation evolved naturally to a healing path that picked me up from that dark hole where I was and after Pierre called three times asking me to please meet him at the hotel, I was able to stand up (take a picture of the sunset) and walk away. I don't feel healing every time I break down, but I do feel somehow weirdly closer to Olivia and closer to smiling more than I cry when I think of her not being here because I can focus more on her and not on the pain of her absence.

Some days I feel like I'm taking 3 steps forwards and then Olivia grief comes and slaps me 10 steps back, but as someone once said to me: at least I took 3 steps forward.

Capture Your Grief - Day 8. Beautiful Mysteries

Hhhhmmm, I'm not sure about this... Bottom line of today's prompt:"If it is not too painful, allow yourself to imagine who your child would be now. What would they be like?" The thing is, it IS too painful but, bipolarly it's also amazing and something that I do every day of my life from the moment Olivia was born. 

I am not good at knowing what a baby is supposed to be doing when and I do truly believe that all babies are different, but I do know that she would've been smiling now and THAT would've made all the potential poop in my face worth it.

I hate that I will never know what colour her eyes were, even though I prayed that she had Pierre's green/blueish eyes. As any mother does, I dreamed about that moment when we would finally look at each other so I can tell her: Hola chiquita, yo soy tu mamá... I did do that when I met her, but I didn't get to have her look at me and think: Aaaahh, so that weird shape is where the sound in my hotel was coming from (eventually she would have understood who I really was). I would give anything to exchange looks with her... 

Thinking of who she would be know, at almost 4 months old is painful and sad because I have reminders of that everywhere around me. So, I won't explore that mystery. Instead, I will write of a parallel universe, where Olivia is alive and we are having a normal day as a family.

It's Saturday at 6:30am and Olivia starts to cry demanding food, I wake up and walk to her crib and say a few sleepy words along the lines of "aquí está mami y ya te voy a dar de comer, yaaay". By this moment, I would've mastered the art of breastfeeding so after getting in a comfortable position and place Olivia starts to eat and I check social media and read anything that might keep me awake (let's face it, I would've been watching Jimmy Kimmel videos on YouTube). At some point I would've texted Pierre to come over and join. Fast forward and we all ate at least a cookie, had coffee, got dressed and ready to go and we decide to go out for a walk and run some errands and potentially get a new dress for my friend Perla's wedding. Pierre gets the Ergo baby, Olivia gets strapped and off we go!

Throughout the day we have mini fights around she's hungry/tired/sleepy/dirty and as to who should do what. We are not able to go get the dress because Olivia is cranky and Pierre and I are getting on each other's nerves a bit because this parenting thing is intense. So, after we all ate on our day out, we decide to come home and Olivia naps all the way back (yes, she is quite awesome at napping). We get home and once she wakes up we have play time and she laughs at anything her dad does, specially when he plays guitar or goes and "eats" her belly. Pierre then proceeds at giving her a nice bath (as I'm still terrified of dropping her in the water) and I get to do the baby massages with the oils that we got for her babyshower. There will be more feeding and some potential arguments about who changes her diapers. She's then ready to go to bed for a long-ish time so we put her in her crib and tip toe out of her bedroom so she doesn't wake up. Pierre and I proceed to eat one of the frozen meals I did in preparation for my maternity leave and watch TV. On our way to bed, we stop just to check that Olivia is fine and there she is, dreaming away and making the cutest baby noises whilst we marvel at the perfect amazingness that our daughter is and wonder if she can dream and if so, what is she dreaming of.

Our lives with Olivia being here will forever be a mystery, but I do love to entertain the idea of a parallel universe where she actually got to stay with us. Over there, we get to see our daughter grow up, we get to fight over who changes the diapers and melt when she smiles and grabs our faces. Most amazingly, we get to be together.

Our breakfast in the parallel universe where we don't have time to make elaborate food

Capture Your Grief - Day 7. Myths

PLEASE go on Instagram and search the #captureyourgrief because there are simply too many amazing things being shared by parents all around the world! Sometimes I think I should copy/paste my favourite ones for the day and share them... I don't because I know this is about MY specific grief journey, but I encourage to go around and read... It will only make you understand this journey better.

Now then, Myths! - I'm not a saint and I have done a lot of questionable things in my life: up to the moment I repeated the 8th grade I wasn't a good student, it wasn't a matter of intelligence, I just went to school to have fun, make friends and make people laugh (yes, I was the class clown). I talked back to my parents more than once, I have talked behind people's backs, I have been judgmental, I have lied and many other things that humans tend to do. But, I have always genuinely believed and been very proud of the fact that I am a good person. What does this mean? Of course we all want to make the world a better place, but I truly believe that I aim to do so with every day actions. Of course, the older I get the better I want to be and the more my actions have consequences, so I've stopped (or at least impressively reduced) doing the things that can put that into question, small or large. 

Myth: Good things happen to good people

Don't get me wrong, I live by the motto "being nice pays" and Olivia not being physically with me has only pushed me to be a better person. BUT, the worst thing can happen to good people and this is something that I (stupidly/naively) never thought possible... I mean, NOBODY deserves the death of a child, but you would think that the universe would at least look at your life CV before throwing you such a punch! Am I crazy here?

I have lived a life that I am VERY proud of and I all wanted was to show that to my daughter, be better for and with her and hope that I would do a good enough job so she too could pay it forward. But I don't get that chance...

I'm lucky enough that I do believe that Olivia is in a good place having a great time with all her almost 4 month old baby friends, and I often wonder: does she miss me? I know she can feel and see how much I miss her, because I too am someone's daughter and my mom is thankfully only a continent away and I miss her every day and I can feel that she misses me too. As I said, I do believe that Olivia is in a good place and that she will take care of me from there. But that is another semi myth for me, and one that I fight with EVERY SINGLE DAY. Olivia should be here with us, growing up in front of our eyes and starting to smile at us. She shouldn't be "taking care of me", that is MY job as her mother and I can't accept that I'm in such a place that my daughter had to die in order to take care of her mother. I'm super protective of my mum and I am grateful that I get to do it on earth. This is a semi myth, because I think believing (sometimes) that she truly is in a good place helps me survive.

So, the two myths that I would like to debunk today:

Olivia is in a better place taking care of me --> Olivia's best place is in her parent's arms and we should be taking care of her

Good things happen to good people --> The worst thing can happen to good people. This shouldn't stop you from being a great person, but be prepared that the worst thing is not reserved for horrible people, any of us are up for grabs.

"It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness; that is life" - JL Picard

One of the first things I bought for Olivia, I always knew she was a happy person

Capture Your Grief - Day 6. Empathy

I really like today's premise: "educate people on the art of empathy". I've always said that empathy is the one quality all human beings should have. If we all truly had "the ability to understand and share the feelings of another" the world would be such a better place. 

Today's post will be a positive one where I hope to give some sort of guide of what helps me, so you can help someone in your life that lost a baby or child. I am in no way, shape or form an expert here but I am going through hell and certain things have actually helped me keep walking. Remember, one size doesn't fit all.

Basic rules:

1. Remember this is about the person going through hell, this is not about you and what you need to make yourself feel like you are lifting that person.

2. One of the most important things in life: Talk to your audience. If you want to make sure to get a message across, you need to make sure you speak the language of the person your are talking to. Not everyone talks or listens in the same way, so take some time and understand how to talk to them.

3. Be VERY careful with the language you use... This is one that haunts me at night, because I know people never mean bad when they say or write certain things, but once I heard/read it, you can't take it away. I won't try to squeeze it all in one paragraph, but you can find the PERFECT guide to language when talking to a bereaved parent here. Remember, there is absolutely nothing positive about this and no silver lining... 

4. Last basic rule: Be kind. A few weeks ago I was at Olivia's bench having a bit of a meltdown when I found this article by Orla's mum "Please be gentle with the heart of a bereaved mother" and it is truly a lesson in kindness for everyone around mums like us.

Now, what actually has made hell burn less:

1. Be there. I don't mean telling them "I'm here if you need anything", I mean be there when they ask for nothing. Keep in mind that we don't know what we need, like you, we never knew this could happen to us so we didn't prepare for this and as we are living it, we just need to remember to breathe. It's been great having people coming over and just being here, with no agenda or planned questions but just a heart full of love and ears empty, willing to hear everything that we want to share or happy with the fact that we let them in our space at all. Keep in mind that actions speak louder than words, so make sure you walk the walk. If you are lucky enough to be physically there for us, let us break in front of you without asking questions or giving judgement and just be there. 

2. If you are thinking about them or their child, TELL THEM! I've gotten countless of messages saying that people think about us non stop, and I am grateful for that of course. But you know what is amazing? When my friends send me a message (or 30) just to remind me that they are thinking about us. The absolute best ones though, are the ones that only very few people have sent, the ones when they tell me they are thinking about Olivia or that they got one of her winks. The moment when I get those messages, are some of the few moments were I smile BIG, because these people love and miss Olivia as well and they are not afraid to tell me in the most amazing way, by telling me they thought about her spontaneously, or because she winked at them. Some amazing examples: anything yellow, sunflowers, all yellow flowers, Olivia the book when walking into a library and the best one, when their children asked about her. Thinking about this as I write makes me smile.

3. Do your research. There is A LOT of information out there on how best to make the attempt of being there for someone like me... I don't even have a clue on how best I could support a mother who lost a baby and that little person's future. So, before you approach your friend, PLEASE do some research. I know that empathy is truly understanding the feelings of others, but I know that nobody can or wants to try to understand my feelings.... and I don't blame you. This is horrible and even if you would imagine this happening to you, you will never get close (but thanks for trying if you did, it does make a difference). So, go out to the amazing world of information we have and research how in the world can you support your friend.

4. This might be weird, but after reading Amanda's blog, I know I'm not alone... Send stuff to them! I can't explain how amazing it was to get non stop cards and packages through the door for the first 2 months. The first few cards made me cry and I almost wanted to burn them because they didn't say congratulations on Olivia's arrival, instead they said how sorry they were that my chiquita wasn't with me. I didn't burn them, I kept getting them and reading them and each one of those cards helped me in a different way (if anything, I got out of bed to open the door to the mail man!). Then there were the people who got creative and brought food (both home made and already deliciously made), the friends who sent us boxes of frozen meals to last a lifetime, the friends who carefully thought about the things we like to eat and sent a full shopping cart of love. Each time the doorbell rang, I was excited to see if someone had sent something! It was like my birthday (and I love my birthday) but we were celebrating nothing. The best non food things I got? A bracelet with an O, a necklace with a pearl with ears (pearls are Olivia's birthstones) and a personalised candle with Olivia's footprints. Thank you to my sisters from another misters and my brothers from another mothers for EVERYTHING!

5. Don't give up communication. Still now, sometimes all I can manage to reply to amazing messages is an emoji (and I am NOT a fan of emojis), but I just simply have very little words to say. That being said, I am thankful for those who are ok with my emoji or monosyllabic replies and they get that sometimes they might get nothing. The most amazing part is that those people don't go away, I still receive hello messages when I can't answer and I appreciate each and every one of those messages. I know that it is almost impossible knowing what to say, which is why I truly have appreciated the messages that say "there are no words", because you are right, there is nothing anyone can do to make the pain go away.

6. Don't forget about us. Understand this, this is not a phase we are going through and this too shall not pass. This is our reality and our new normal will always have the absence of one of our children. The idea, I think, will be to maybe one day balance the horrible emptiness that comes with Olivia being in heaven, and the joy of the amazing things that I know we will have in life. So, when you think that the dust has settled, it hasn't and we understand that the show must go on, but things going back to "normal" is a very sharp double edged sword. I got a postcard in the mail yesterday from two friends/colleges that just wanted to say hello and that they were thinking about the three of us at an amazing place. That meant SO much to me, because I know they understand that my reality will always be Olivia-less. You don't need to send non stop reminders, but once in a while, don't forget to say hello.

7. The most important one, talk about our children and celebrate them! I am the happiest when I hear Olivia's name and even happier when someone recognizes milestones. I have always been annoyingly excited about dates and milestones in life, and I am frankly terrified about those without my first daughter. Christmas terrifies me, every 19 is received with mixed emotions and I'm already planning her 6 months and 12 months "celebrations", even if I actually end up doing nothing. If this is happening to someone truly close to you, please set reminders and alarms and make sure you acknowledge and celebrate their children. You can take pictures if you did something for them, or you can just tell them about it. One thing is for sure in here: sharing is caring.

That was longer than expected, but I will gladly write for hours if it meant that someone else will feel loved and supported in this journey because I shared what works for me.

The pretty reminder that there is someone thinking about Olivia, Pierre and I

Capture Your Grief - Day 5. The Unspoken

What an impressive change from yesterday's happy post... Today's prompt? "Share something about your grief journey that you might feel is strange or not common." To be completely honest, my mind is not in the right place today for this.

I had a great day with Amazing Mums talking precisely about all of the unspoken things and it was great because they all get it! There is no judgement and no effort to say the right thing, we all say what's on our minds exactly how it comes out and we are always understood. Awesome Mums also don't make me feel bad when I say what I think because it's nothing they haven't thought about themselves so they will never hurt me with their answers or questions. To be fair to the world, we know everyone means well and nobody is ever out to hurt a bereaved mother, but so many people unfortunately do... Even close friends and family can say things or ask questions that although meant with love, can send me down to a horrible place where I can't get myself out of and where I sometimes end up resenting them; even when I love them with all my heart. I would love to think that the world understands and that they don't judge me, but they do... I judge myself all the time and I am a bit mean to me...

A strange thing a bout my grief? All the horrible thoughts and feelings I have... I have NEVER in my life had so many dark thoughts, so it feels extremely foreign to me whenever they come. The day we left the hospital I looked and felt like shit and I had this sense of entitlement, like the world owed me something. At least some sort of badge for being able to cope with 9 months of pregnancy, labour and all the things that come after (i.e. your boobs leaking milk, insane hair loss, etc.) but no baby to enjoy and say "it was all worth is because I get to hug Olivia". No, I didn't get a badge and I don't have more respect from the world, because quite simply, but horribly: The world has no clue of what's going on...

There's a universal truth in all cultures: pregnant women are special. We walk like we own the place and people (for the most part) give up seats for you and even smile more, because you are literally creating a life! Once you have your bundle of joy, you look tired, 4 months pregnant with a weird pouch and you might smell because you haven't had time to shower. But, you are also special, because you are walking down the park with your baby strapped in the brand new Ergobaby 360 or you are pushing her in her CityMini GT stroller (both things I had for Olivia). So the world doesn't mind that you are not looking your finest, because the dark circles around the eyes and weird positions when sitting down due to hemorrhoids, are all badges of honour because your baby cries and stops when you, her mother, picks her up... 

I don't have said baby to show, so I sometimes look like a hobo (aka recogelatas), that hasn't showered in days, whose eyes can barely be open because they are so swollen and that has a suspicious pouch that looks like a blend between 4 months pregnant and a weird beer belly. The thing is, the world doesn't understand that I haven't showered because I can't leave my bed sometimes, that I can't open my eyes because I've been crying more than I've been awake (I have also started to cry in my sleep!) and that I have that pouch because I just gave birth to the most perfect baby girl the world has ever seen... The world doesn't understand because I have no baby to show them and sometimes I wish I could scream I TOO GAVE BIRTH TO A DAUGHTER, HER NAME IS OLIVIA!!!!

I am glad to report that I'm having less hobo days lately, but I still get weird looks when sometimes I am walking down the street and something triggers my "active" grief, and I am simply unable to stop crying. It doesn't matter where I am, I've cried in the park, in the supermarket, in Frankfurt's train station, in church, almost every restaurants bathroom I've been to since  June, you name it! 

I can see how this post sounds more a series of angry complaints and sentences that trigger self pity, but I did say I wan't in the right place for this... But I am trying to go somewhere with this, I promise!

Going back to the foreign thoughts... When I take a look at myself and I allow myself to truly feel my feelings, and I see the "normal" mums whose babies and children are here, I sometimes feel jealousy and anger. I would never wish this on anyone and I smile when I see said women because they look so happy, and they deserve to be happy! I mean, your baby is here so PLEASE enjoy everything that comes with that! But behind my smile there is sometimes the most intense jealousy and anger I have ever felt, not because I don't want them to have it (I'm all up for world's over population), but because I'm quite simply devastated to see in front of me what I wish I had...

The Ergobaby 360 I got for Olivia but that she'll never get to use but that EVERY mum in my neighborhood is using

Capture Your Grief - Day 4. Support Circles

Today's topic brings me joy and a small fear of writing the longest post so far! The description asks: "Have you felt supported in this journey of grief and healing?" and I am extremely lucky to report that we have felt more love and support than we could ever imagine existed. Pierre and I still talk about how amazing everyone around us has been and wonder how will we ever be able to make sure that YOU (yes, you) know how thankful we are.

I truly can't name every single person that has reached out and made us feel supported because I know I will forget someone and I can't deal with that because each and every word that has been said and/or written to us has been equally important. That being said, I do want to single out a few people / organisations: 

From a selfish corner, I truly think I would not be alive if Pierre wasn't the man by my side... I truly understood that I took the right decision when I said yes to marrying him almost 4 years ago. Don't get me wrong, I never doubted my decision to marry him and I have loved that man since our friendship became something else in November 2007. The thing is, I always thought I could deal with anything that life threw at me because I'm "strong" and independent, but let me tell you, when my world collapsed and I physically couldn't stand up or even remember to breathe, it was my husband Pierre-Henri Landriau who picked me and still picks me up. Don't forget that this man also lost his daughter but it was thanks to him and his perfect coaching that I could give birth to Olivia without an epidural (like I wanted to), he was my voice during labour and even made jokes during just to keep me in a good place. He is the person who gives me a reason to get out of bed every day and he's also ok if some days I just can't. He is not afraid to share his dark thoughts with me and let's me explore my nurturing side when he too can't stand up and it's my turn to show him I have his back. Two nights ago, just before going to bed he asked me how are we still standing and I had no answer besides I don't know and kiss him. The next morning, my wise husband gave me the response: Because we have each other. Te amo posito, life simply wouldn't be possible without you.

Now, who do we both thank?

Our families, who (when possible) dropped everything and even got on planes to be with us. They too lost a granddaughter, a niece, a cousin and a lifetime of plans that we all had made with Olivia in mind. Family is key to life and we love ours to infinity and beyond.

Our friends who are like family, the ones that heard my voice saying Olivia was gone, the ones who came to the hospital when their basement was flooded, the ones that left food at our doorstep even when we didn't open the door, the ones that organised (and still do!) our lives when we couldn't remember how to have a conversation but stuff needed to get done. The ones that send us messages with sunflowers, the ones that keep messaging and calling even when we don't respond or pick up. The friend I've had for many many years that I had lost touch with but who has kept in touch consistently, even to ask me about the weather, when see is also going through a difficult time. Very important thank you to the friend that sent us a text message when we were in the hospital that made us understand that we actually are parents. 

Our new friends that came to stay, the ones that shared pregnancy with me and decided to keep going along with us, the ones that talk to their babies and children about Olivia because they too lost a friend, the ones that send me pictures of anything yellow when they see it because Olivia sends winks to everyone that wants to see them.

Thanks to Lulu, my yoga and life teacher who reassured me that I should have no fear giving birth to Olivia and who taught Pierre how to be my private perfect doula. After Olivia was born and we said goodbye, I was eager to tell her how amazing labour was for both me and Pierre and I wrote her an email with all the details that could've escaped me had I not written it then. Thank you for giving me that gift and so many more.

Thank you to the Mother of a very close friend of mine who also went through this and even though I've know her most of my life, I never knew she too has a daughter in heaven. She was the first person I truly told the entire story to and the one that made me believe that everything would eventually be less horrible. She knew how I felt and she has known me for most of my life so she wrote the perfect words to make me feel hugged when I needed it most.

Thank you to our colleagues past and present for the amazing support we didn't expect but are glad we got and still get. Thanks for the 47 postcards sent from an offsite, thanks for the chocolates and cheese, thanks for the basket filled with food we love and the home made meals that kept us going.

Thank you to the staff at Chelsea & Westminster hospital, specially our three angel midwives that helped us deal and attempt to understand what was happening whilst we were in the hospital. You each had a role in our lives and you all did the most perfect job. Abbie, thank you for preparing us for meeting Olivia  - Rachel, THANK YOU for being there when Olivia was born, you are truly a master at delivering! - Sophie, thank you for giving us some space and time with our daughter and THANK YOU for holding her with love when we had to say goodbye. Loraine, our counsellor who reminds us the darkness will get lighter and lets me feed her. Our midwives from the Juniper team were support mostly during my pregnancy but they deserve an equal thank you because they are amazing and they came to visit us after we came back from the hospital. Special thank you to Jo, who cried with me and managed to get me Olivia's name tag.

Thank you to every single person that shares their stories online, I've cried myself to sleep many times reading your words and when I wake up I never feel alone. Special thank you to Amanda for being my guide from the day I found you, without you even knowing I existed. Each word you have written resonated with me in ways only you can understand. I sent snippets of your posts to people that hurt me because you explained flawlessly what I needed them to know, but that I had no strength to say. When I read your post "Everything happens for a reason" it was clear that I had to get in touch and thank you for sharing your story.

Thank you to Sands, the stillbirth and neonatal death charity, you have has given me more than I could expect. They have an entire support library that made it perfect for me to send to family, friends and colleagues so they would know more about how to try and deal with Olivia's passing - I strongly recommend people to read a few of those - The envelope of information we received in the hospital made EVERYTHING more bearable because you gave me answers to questions I didn't k ow I had.

West London Sands THANK YOU for giving us some sort of tools for this journey. Thank you to Paula, the kind voice and now face that told me her story and listened to mine and made me feel understood. Most importantly, THANK YOU for giving me the friends I wish I didn't have but without whom I would not survive: My dear Awesome Mums, THANK YOU for welcoming us in your lives, for sharing your stories and knowing mine. These are the women that make me feel understood, because they too have lost a child. I know I can tell you anything and you will have my back and try to bring me out of darkness or spend some time with me down there.

This entire post feels like an extremely long acceptance speech to an award I wish I didn't have... I know it's potentially too long and believe me, I could go on and on thanking people personally because EVERYONE that has reached out to even say that there are no words, has made a difference.

I want to close today's post by thanking people in the future. Thank you to the people that won't forget about Olivia, thank you to those who understand that even thought we hope to have great lives, losing Olivia will never be evened out by any future blessings. Thank you to those who say her name and cry with me today and even 17 years from now, because you understand that, as one of my Awesome Mums said, "It's better to cry talking about her than cry because no one is"

Some of the letters, cards and postcards we've received / Flowers and a bowl of Celebration Snickers at Olivia's service / Everything I love for breakfast / Just before Olivia's mass in France

Capture Your Grief - Day 3. What it felt like

Today is a hard topic to write about, specially since I'm not sure what "it" is referring to (or I am, I just wish I wasn't). The explanation for today is: "give the outside world some insight into what it is like to be a bereaved parent by sharing what a certain experience that you had during your grief journey. This can be a positive or negative (or both) experience." 

My nature makes me want to shout out about all the positive awesomeness that came to our lives from the second the + sign came up on that stick and how happy life was until a crap June day. I will write about that one day, I promise I'll share all the positives about Olivia's life inside my belly so the world can know that all the great things are not erased by the fact that she's not here, they are just immensely unbalanced.

But, this challenge is about living and being able to experience and share my grief, so I will focus on that. 

The moment we were told the worst news of our lives: I have been reading some of the posts other mums have shared today and this is a recurring explanation, it felt like I was in a movie I didn't want to be a part of. It was a Thursday evening and it was pouring rain and the midwife called a senior registrar because she said she couldn't find the heartbeat because she was a junior member of the team. I then was very worried but in my imagination there was something potentially wrong but once they did an emergency c-section we would all be good. When the senior registrar came and started the scan I couldn't look at the screen, I was just praying and concentrating on breathing or vomiting.... and then it happened, there was very loud thunder and I heard: "I can see the heart very well, and its not beating... I'm very sorry" I think its truly impossible to describe what I felt then besides shock, my immediate reaction was to think ok, this just means they need to take Olivia out NOW and do something. I think Pierre even asked about that as he had the same reaction but was able to speak. Once I understood what was going on I can say that I wanted to magically combust and cease to exist.

The thought that Olivia wasn't going to take a breath never crossed my mind, because I truly believed that this sort of thing didn't happen... At least not at 37 weeks, when in theory babies are all cooked up and ready to come out! I remember reaching each milestone thinking YAY, we are safe. I had more scans than the regular two that are given by the NHS because I wanted to see Olivia more and I was used to more scans because that's the way all my friends back home had it. Every time I went for a check up everything was perfect... I was so proud of my daughter for being the perfect baby and for me to be able to have the "perfect" pregnancy. All of those appointments came back in that horrible moment, and my immediate reaction was guilt and I kept thinking I killed my daughter... Let me make this clear, I know I didn't cause Olivia's death and I also know that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but I am her mother, she lived inside me and that was supposed to be the safest place on earth...

I have explained what I think my life will be from now on in terms of grief with an invisible face tattoo metaphor. I feel like I have an tattoo that is covering my entire face, said tattoo is currently on fire. So, I know that anyone that takes a look at me can see that there is fire in my face coming out of a tattoo I didn't want to have and they know that it must be the worst pain ever... With time, the fire will stop so the world will think that it must still hurt but it HAS to be better since all its left is scars on the marks of the tattoo. In time but the tattoo will disappear to the naked eye and some people might look closely and see some scars, but the world will surely think: at least the fire is over and she can't see the tattoo any longer so she surely must be able to move on now. Let me tell you though, my life will forever feel like a burning face tattoo that I just have to get used to having. Every now and then the big fire will stop, but the burns are deep and the scars are impossible to erase. I can feel that pain every single day without having to look in the mirror looking for the scars. I feel them even in my sleep, because my overactive brain dreams about reality, so I don't get to have a break from this. I sleep and wake up with a burning face, even when the world sees a perfectly normal face.

I don't want to end this post with my face tattoo, instead I want to revisit today's prompt: What it felt like - I've said it before, losing Olivia felt like a truck came out of nowhere and hit me leaving half dead but not truly finishing the job. BUT, I will live it all again for the chance to hold her again... Because there has been no better moment in my life than after I masterfully gave birth to her and got to hold her. For a while all I could feel was pure joy and love. Any mother can relate to that moment, the second you FINALLY meet the human that's been dancing in your belly for x months. I'm sometimes able to go back there and I can almost feel her hands on my face and for a split millisecond, life is great...

This is "Osi", he's a teddy bear my dad got me when I was already a grown up... He's been with me through thick and thin

Capture Your Grief – Day 2. Who They Are

Yes, day 1 is missing because I started late, but it doesn't really matter as the whole point of the challenge is to feel nice and stress free.

I am first copying the post I published on social media: "Olivia Landriau Saraceni is our daughter, the one that we waited for our entire lives. She loved Celebration Snickers and her dad's music and voice. She had the longest hands and feet (from both of us) and in her dad's words: she was all her mother. Her face made it clear that she was going to at least attempt to rule the world... My guess is that the world wasn't ready for her, so she gets to try and rule baby heaven world."

I truly believe what I said, the second after Rachel (the star midwife who delivered our Chiquita) put Olivia in my arms after she was born, we knew she was going to be a handful...  An amazing breathtakingly perfect one, but a handful nevertheless. I can imagine the arguments we would have about everything and nothing. I can also see how easily she had me and mostly Pierre wrapped around her amazingly long finger by just existing. I can hear her trying to convince us about everything and winning! I think I'm very good at arguing and I know that Olivia would've beaten me without me realising what was going on.

Olivia Landriau Saraceni, that perfect human being that turned us into parents was born on Sunday 19th of June 2016 at 2:08am weighting 2.76 kilograms and measuring 51 centimeters. She is our daughter and the pride and joy in both our lives. 

Olivia and I at 36 weeks - Her perfect hand - Pierre and I after our last visit to Boulogne with Olivia

Capture Your Grief

I have been meaning to write something somewhere, and CarlyMarie's Capture Your Grief Challenge, gave me the perfect push to start.  The idea is simple, warm and fuzzy: Each October day has a theme, all you have to do is have a moment of each day to write (and share if you so wish) something about your grief journey. Carly Marie started this five years ago in the name of her son Christian as part of the Pregnancy, Infant and Child Loss Awareness Month and is now a movement that has a beautiful life of its own.

My plan is to hopefully stick with the entire project but we'll see what actually happens. Its funny, I've always been a planner and a bit of a control freak. Olivia's harsh departure has definitely slapped all plans and control away from me... If anyone is thinking how great to be able to see the learning or positives in this, just know, there are no positives about my daughter not being here... I'm sure life could've shown me to let go of plans and control in a less cruel way. But yes, I am planning on sticking with this.