21 🤍✨

21 months since we lost Ollie. 21 months I’ve been searching for something I thought was unattainable - peace. The definition of peace is free from disturbance, a feeling of tranquility. An entirely foreign concept to me since the 15th October 2021 at approximately 1pm. It was over for me. I've been trying to write down how I was feeling for a while now, but found it hard to, I think I've found the words now...

21 months isn’t a particularly big milestone in any way, but for me it feels like it is, because of how I’m feeling now compared to how I was feel at month 20. Month 21 was when I saw a picture of Ollie for the first time, I know a lot of people won’t understand how that could even be fathomable but it’s the choice we made at the time & have had to stick by. If I could go back in time & change my mind would I? I don’t know, all I know is that something like this cannot be undone & you can drive yourself insane thinking about trying to. I looked at that picture for 2 seconds & slammed the envelope shut, I wasn’t ready. At the back of my mind I knew I wasn’t but wanted to try anyway, it backfired. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve - peace? Clarity? Understanding? I didn’t achieve any of that. For me it opened me into a new world of grief that I hadn’t ventured into before & it was scary, scary to the point where I had to admit I needed yet more help & succumbed to medication after almost 2 years of trying not to.

Ollie looked peaceful, he looked like he was asleep, he looked a lot like this sister, he was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But for those 2 seconds I didn’t have time to analyse his face for as long as I wanted to, because my brain shut it off as self preservation. My arm was almost independent from my body when I slammed it shut. Not the right time - mentally absolutely not okay for me to do.

I remember when Ollie first died maybe 4 weeks after I went to a SANDS support group, the befriender there told me that she hadn’t looked in her sons memory box in 7 years…at the time I thought ‘how can you not know for 7 years’ but now? I absolutely get it. Because I’m year 2 & I’ve only seen my sons hand…but it did give me some clarity that grief is not linear, we all move at our own pace & one day we will see him.

For 21 months I was waiting for a light bulb moment that would magically just appear to me & I would be set free of feeling horrendous all the time, at moments when I felt happy l, thoughts of that day creeping into my concious ness ‘how can you be laughing like this your babies dead’ because yes he is dead. We didn’t lose him like a shopping bag, he didn’t pass through like the wind on a summers day, he died. He is dead. And that’s all there is to it. But it wasn’t coming…countless hours of therapy, grief counselling, some medication...was I rushing things? Giving myself too many expectations? Overthinking it? The thought of never feeling ‘ok’ or what I would class as ‘normal’ again was too scary to think about. My anxiety was through the roof again, I felt really low & sobbed to my GP about how truly awful I was feeling (topped off my a follow up letter from my therapy team referring to Ollie as ‘Oliver’ despite talking about him once a week for 1 hour over a period of 7 months)

A week later I was due to go to Palma which was impossible, my anxiety about leaving Ella/flying/being away was absolutely not allowing it. But I forced myself - partly because I didn’t want to let my friend down, partly because Reece needed his time with Ella & partly because I knew how desperately I needed a break. Ella is the most wonderful thing in this world, but she’s a handful. She’s the baby at the back of the class screaming & tantruming when all the other babies are playing nicely, the baby crying in the coffee shop while you’re trying to eat your panini. She’s that baby…as wonderful as she is she's a tough little love to handle!

So I went, I was crying on the train on the way to the airport, my anxiety was another level queuing up to security, I considered not boarding the plane many times - but then all of a sudden it just wasn’t. On day 3, I was sat by the pool having a glass of wine with my best friend Barry & realised that I hadn’t felt that pang of loss & guilt & pain for almost 3 days. It hadn’t even occurred to me when usually I take myself away & have a cry in the toilet or get some air to calm my breathing. I hadn’t done that once, for the first time in 21 months I felt like myself. The old me will never come back, but that’s the same for everyone who has children whether they made it or not. Everyone feels different when they’re a parent, I wasn’t the bereaved mother or the grieving woman in the corner. I was just Hayley. Even though I barely knew the majority of the people on the trip, I have never felt more like myself than I did those 3 days. And actually since I’ve come home, it’s stuck.

The lightbulb moment of peace never came, it

was a gradual process that crept up on me when I didn’t even realise it. I was still anxious, I still rang Reece every couple of hours to check on Ella & still took my tablets every day, but something felt different, because I’d been lost for so long when I felt myself returning I didn’t really know what it was.

We have a lot going on at the moment - we’ve bought our first house, we have Ella, I’m due back at work shortly, the days are long & busy, but things seems new & possible & exciting for the first time in 21 months. I’ve reached a point where I don’t have to talk about my son every 5 minutes to make people remember him, because he will always be remembered. The anger isn’t as severe as it was because it’s happened & it’s over & I can’t change it, but I can choose how I react & how I live. I say Ollies name as often as I say Ella’s. We treat both children the same. The unfairness of it all is still something I grapple with but I try to think of things that we were blessed with - Ollie’s death was fast & he was in no pain, I was able to carry him for 9 beautiful months where he was happy & warm & content. It will never ever be fair, it will never be ok & there will never be a reason for what happened. On the rough days which absolutely still happen these things are harder to remember but I have to try….for Ella, for Reece & for myself. Peace comes in the mundane; shopping for a kitchen, watching your rainbow baby swim for the first time, drinking your favourite wine in the pub on a Friday night, eating prawns on the beach. It's in the ordinary that I feel most content. I don't ever want to reach a point where I stop trying & it's up to me to do that for myself because no one can do it for me.

Ollie isn’t a ghost, I don’t want to live in the shadow of a ghost. I want to see a butterfly or a white feather & smile because I know it’s him, I want to remember him when I see sunsets or swim in the sea or walk in the rain or even when I see a little octopus somewhere, because that’s the impact he had. All he is, is love & beauty & joy & warmth, I don’t want to live in the shadow of his death, I want to live in the light that he brought to so many of our lives. He will never be left behind, we carry him with us everywhere we go. And because I choose to believe that this is temporary, that we will be reunited one day & never be separated, that also helps me navigate those days when carrying on seems impossible. But it feels time for me accept that sometimes people won't always act in the way I want them to when it comes to remembering Ollie, it will always make people uncomfortable and people will always be afraid of upsetting me. I can't say it any more times or keep getting increasingly upset about it, for me I will always keep at it, always keep talking about him about our loss, about other losses because it's important. But my expectations of people in year 2 of grief have drastically changed, for me it's a matter of distancing myself from those who aren't respectful or cause me more harm than good and getting on with it, because who knows how much time we have left. I don't want to spend my life like that, angry or in fear. Ollie didn't get this chance, so I have to take this chance for him as his mum. I owe him that and I owe it to his sister too.

Like most people my mental health ebbs & flows, just like my grief does. Right now things are okay, good even. It’s hard to admit that because I catastophise everything in the belief that I should always be prepared for something to go wrong because inevitably it will. But isn’t that the same for everyone? Isn’t that just life?

Baby loss will always be a huge part of who I am because those who lose a child are never truly recovered. But for those who are at the start of their journey or even 5 years, 10 years, 30 years - there is hope, there is light at the end of this long tunnel you see ahead, you will feel like yourself again. Even if it’s fleeting or temporary, you will feel at peace. Grief is so unique to everyone, but also it’s very similar. We’ve all lost a baby, in whatever way or form, we are all United in that fact.

I can’t speak for tomorrow or even the next 10 minutes, but I can say right now I’m okay. And you will be too.

And to Ollie, our darling beautiful little boy, who we love so much, you are always on our minds. Until we meet again, we will look for you always, because you’re right here with us ✨🤍 sleep tight our little star.

Mummy x