“You’re so strong” they say, “I couldn’t get of bed” they say
They tell you “I don’t know how you are living day to day”
They think that I am coping – this smile that masks my grief.
They think that I am coping – and it’s met with great relief.
But you can’t see inside me and you can’t read my mind.
And you can’t fill a hole that a baby leaves behind.
I have moments when everything feels like it will be okay,
But I need you to know that I don’t always feel that way.
It’s only been four weeks and years stretch long ahead,
And sometimes when I’m smiling, inside I’m feeling dead.
You ask me if I am “better”, as though recovering from some disease,
But I have lost a son and gained a pain that will not ease.
How would you feel if your child had been taken away?
In a matter of short weeks, would you really feel okay?
His life was cut short, but my love still lingers on.
And for the rest of my life he remains my son.
The time you have with your children you never will regret,
And though our time was short, I never will forget.
He is no less real, no less a person than your living child.
And the tiny time we had him does not render the loss mild.
I might say I see him in the sunshine, hear him when a bird sings,
But I wish I didn’t have to grab on to these remote and abstract things.
To you it seems like beauty, like I’m finding ways to live,
But I’m only holding on to the little life can give.
Half the time I don’t know what I actually feel.
Most of the time the fact he’s gone seems horribly surreal.
And I scream, I cry, I rage but I do it all in silence.
And my exterior seems serene while
my interior’s in violence.
But these thoughts are too dark, too strange for me to say aloud.
And so I stay silent, and you say “You’re strong – I’m proud”
I know you’re trying to help, that you don’t know what to say.
But please don’t believe me when I reply that “I’m okay”.
They wait patiently for her to return,
The laugh, the sparkle
They know it won’t be long now,
She will come back
They tolerate this stranger,
Who wears her clothes,
Who bears her shell,
But who has different eyes
They catch glimpses,
Sometimes she is almost in reach,
But she recedes quickly,
and they are left alone again.
They know time heals
They have heard it so many times
And so they wait
Patiently, for her return
She knows they wait in vain
She tries to be who they want
But she is gone.
She is with her baby now.
And someone new stands in her wake
Someone else, Someone new
Can you accept this newness?
Or will you continue to wait
For someone that no longer exists?
I want the time to pass quickly
– The hurt to lessen every day
I want the time to pass slowly
– It carries me further away
Away from my precious boy
Away from when I was whole
Away from when I was unaware of pain
Away from my complete soul
And where I am going on this journey?
This long, circuitous road
Where the burden is so heavy
And no one else to take the load
Sometimes I feel okay
And the load a little lighter
Perhaps that is his gift
When the sun shines a little brighter
Sometimes the load is heavy
And I feel so bereft
And I don’t feel him close to me
Just the absence he has left
Some days are filled with sunshine
And in the warmth I feel him near
Some days are filled with storm clouds
And I can’t escape the fear
One day there will be peace
I will remember without pain
They will be together in my heart
Both the sunshine and the rain
I should have a messy house,
My time consumed in his care.
I have a messy house,
Little things too hard to bear.
I should have sleepless nights,
Tending to his every whim.
I have sleepless nights,
My thoughts are all of him.
I should be meeting new mums,
Cooing over their new kids.
I have met new mums,
Who have also lost to SIDS.
I should be on a break from work,
Spending time with my newborn.
I am on a break from work,
Can’t go back whilst still so torn.
I should be juggling two boys,
Wishing I had more hands.
I am juggling two boys,
I’m not sure my eldest understands.
I should be talking about him,
About how he fed and slept.
I am talking about him,
So that his memory is kept.
I should be crying over photos,
Sighing he grows too fast.
I am crying over photos,
The only memories to last.
I should have a living baby,
I should be happy and fulfilled.
I don’t have a living baby,
Just a life left to rebuild.
Where are you?
I used to hear stories of heart break,
And wonder how they felt,
And then I’d feel so grateful for the hand that I’d been dealt.
But then someone changed the rules,
Someone changed the game,
And now our perfect life will never be the same.
I don’t pretend to know the mysteries of this earth,
But I knew how precious life is, I knew a baby’s worth.
I never was complacent – I was well aware,
Of the blessings and the privileges of children in our care.
I thought tragedy was for others, I thought we were immune,
Maybe that’s why he was taken all too soon.
I didn’t have to lose to recognise we were blessed,
We gave him all our love, we did our very best.
He was loved, he was precious, he made us a family,
I don’t understand why he was taken away from me.
Was it the hand of god? Or the finger of fate?
Or was it just all random – just a horrible mistake?
Or was it darker forces? The wages for some sin?
Or at the game of life you can’t always win?
Is there any order? Is there any sense?
Or just a lot of platitudes people like to dispense?
Things are said when you are grieving to make you feel ok,
But is any of it true or just words people say?
At the funeral I was strong, said words that then seemed true,
But now all I have is time and a future without you.
I know I’ll search for answers that I will never find,
And I know guilt will forever haunt the corners of my mind.
Even if they could tell me exactly what went wrong,
Would it make any difference – bring you back where you belong?
Where are you now my precious little boy?
Are you filled with light and with love and with joy?
Are you looking down on me and looking after us?
Or have you just returned to the dust?
Heaven, hell, dirt – in the end I just don’t care,
All I know is my arms are empty and my baby should be there.
I know how to be a mother
to a child of flesh and bone.
But how to be a mother
when his world is not my own?
I know how to change a nappy,
I know how to give a feed,
but how can I be your mother
when I don’t know your every need?
I know how to give comfort,
I know how to dry tears,
but how can I make it better
when I never learned your fears?
I know how to play peek-a-boo
and I can do it for quite a while.
But how can I make you laugh
when I never saw your smile?
I know how to plan a birthday
what presents please a son
But how can I give you a party
When your birth day was your only one?
How can I be your mummy?
What’s the best thing I can do?
For I am still your mummy
And I love and cherish you
I will light a candle to remember
I will leave butterflies at your grave
I will talk about you often
Honour you and be brave
One day we might meet again,
I’d tickle your little tummy,
you’d laugh and squeal with delight
and I’d hear you call me “Mummy.”
There is a place I go to,
Even though it makes me cry.
There is a place I go to,
Though it makes me wonder why.
Why so many little lives,
Were tragically cut short.
There is a little garden,
Which holds more children than it ought.
My little son is amongst them,
Amongst the graves and flowers,
Amongst butterflies and windmills,
Amongst sad and silent hours.
He has a little grave,
Where the mound is still high.
He’s next to another boy,
Who shouldn’t have had to die.
I wonder if he watches me,
Crying over his tiny grave.
I wonder if he whispers,
“oh mummy, please be brave”
I wonder if he plays with,
The other children who are here.
Is he now best friends,
With the baby who is near?
I will never meet his little mates,
Never know who’s his favourite one.
But I like to think of them,
together, playing in the sun.
I hope that he is happy,
That he’s surround by love and light.
I hope he know his mummy,
Keeps his memory bright.
So I’ll keep on coming,
And every time I’ll shed a tear.
You are so very far away,
But it’s the place you feel most near.
The Broken People
I am one of the broken people
The people who are hollow
The people made of glass
The people made of sorrow
You might not know it
Think me the same as you
But look a little closer
You’ll see straight through
I am weightless, groundless
I am battered, I am broken
I am bruised, I am tired
I am words left unspoken
I am acting when I’m smiling
I am pretending even now
Appearing to be living
When I have forgotten how
I go through the motions
I wake up every day
Do the things that need doing
Say what I am supposed to say
But this vessel is broken, empty
It is cracked beyond repair
And sometimes when you see me
I have vanished into air
I am living on the outer
Each breath hangs by a thread
I am half way between the living
I am half way to the dead
One day I’ll find my feet
Feel the earth and remain
But even when I make it there
I’ll never be the same
Because now I am so fragile
Heart shattered on the floor
And ‘though I am made of glass now
I am somehow stronger than before