Lonely when I'm not alone

Ezra's mummy Sarah posted a comment here a few days ago saying she felt lonely even when she was not alone.

Today I had a couple of friends visit who I hadn't seen since the chilly August day of little Hope's funeral. And even though they filled the house up with some much needed warm conversation, that's exactly what I felt. Lonely.

I wasn't really ready to see them but after I got ambushed by my old friend unexpectedly turning up uninvited last week, I felt like I was running out of options. I can't hide from my friends forever and I suppose the longer I put it off, the harder it was going to be. Everyone says the first time you do anything after a loss like this is the hardest. I guess that is true.

We talked about Hope. We talked about what happened. We talked about our anger towards the hospital and the midwives who let us down. They looked at photos. They cried and gushed. They said she looked like me. They asked questions about the birth. Lots of questions - all the nitty gritty. It was all good, and exactly what I wanted from them both. The perfect visit really, if there can be such a thing. They even bought food and some very belated birthday gifts. Even better.

Then of course we talked about what they'd been up to in the last four months. Moving house, house renovations, wedding plans, parties, holidays, fun times. I sat there and listened, trying my best to look interested. Once upon a time I would have been very interested in all this mundane every day stuff. Now, not really. But I tried.

Despite their presence and generosity, I still felt so alone. So alone in this heavy, all-encompassing grief. Even though they were trying so hard for me, they still really don't get it. And nor do I expect them to or want them to. Neither of them even have kids or are overly close to having kids. They are just so far removed from what happened to me. I know they will look at pregnancy and childbirth a lot differently though when the time does come for them. I learnt some very harsh lessons for all of my friends. No one I know will take things for granted next time, no one will delay in getting to hospital when they reach the finish line and go in to labour, and suspect something may be wrong. No longer will the people I know assume happy endings after nine months. I'm sad about that. Sad that I hadn't learnt those same lessons before Hope arrived. This is why we need to talk about our babies and talk about the horror of our losses as much as we can. It is scary and it is horrible. But it happens. And if by educating people we can prevent these things happening to a few others, then that is a good result, and our little babies brought about change and made an impact in this screwy world. No matter how small.

The places I am trying not to feel too lonely are with my family and here, amongst this community of heartbroken mothers and fathers. I know we all stand side by side in our grief. It is not where I want to be, but I'm trying to make the best of the situation. This is the last place I thought I would have turned to for refuge but the support I have found here so far has helped make my days that little bit easier. And it is giving me something to do, as I have a great love for writing and for talking about my baby.

One place I definitely don't feel lonely is with Simon and the dog. Only problem now is, Simon is at work.

So lonely it is for now. Alone and lonely. And missing my baby. My chubby-cheeked first born sweet baby girl.