Christmas in our part of the world is almost over. And we survived. I guess what "they" say is true, the anticipation can be worse than the day itself..
We got up early to head to the cemetery (couple of pics included, we think it is the most beautiful spot). Lots of other sad faces there, but I get the impression most others were visiting grandmothers, grandfathers, mothers and fathers. Not tiny babies. I know there are no winners in grief, but sometimes it feels like we lost so much more. A tiny baby before her life really started. No memories of Christmases, birthdays or holidays gone by. Just nine happy months kicking around inside of me....
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We came home and continued preparing and cooking. It all went off well, as you can see by the huge amount of pics posted. (Which was a right pain the arse to do, btw).
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It really was a great success and I don't think any of us will need to eat for a month.
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The last pic is of us. People have stopped saying to me "you look great". I guess as the year draws to an end now, it is painfully obvious I am not looking my best - far from it. I haven't had my hair done since a few weeks before Hope died - I was making sure my baby met her Mummy looking as good as possible. Now I look so sad and tired, but resilient I think. Some days I have no idea how I'm still standing. Today, I didn't even cry at the cemetery. Not a drop. I think I'm still so numb to it all.
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So we'll be eating left over Lebanese nut rice, herb and tomato cous cous, cumin spiced beans, spicy chicken parcels, custard, marscapone and orange praline filo pastry pies, sesame pistachio biscuits and almond cookies for the rest of the week. All good though, the feast really was amazing.
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We'll also be learning more about our immediate future in the next few days. Right now we still have no idea. No visitor yet. But we also decided not to test today. We decided today was Hope's Christmas. If there is still no sign of it tomorrow, we may take a test then. But for now, we are just letting this Christmas be entirely for Hope and her memory. If there is the beginning of a new baby, we'll learn about him/her all in good time.
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Merry Christmas to everyone out there, in all corners of the world. Thinking of all of your precious missing babies today.
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Amazing feast. Glad it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be.
ReplyDeleteKeeping you, Simon, and Hope in my heart today.
It looks amazing and I am in awe of your cooking abilities. I'm glad it wasn't as bad as you thought. Norm and I just got back from the niche where Sam is (first time back), was not nearly as bad as I thought and was kind of peaceful. Merry Christmas, Sally. Thinking of you & Hope.
ReplyDeleteThinking of you today (although I know your Christmas is already over) ... hoping that next year will bring joy back to your lives.
ReplyDeleteHope's resting place looks absolutely beautiful and peaceful, love the photos, looks like Mr cute doggy is paying his respects too, haven't I read somewhere that animals can detect angels before we do!!!!,I am hungry looking at the food, it looks magnificent...can you express post a dish to my house...thinking of Hope and your family and I pray that a BFP will come your way very soon. Loux
ReplyDeleteTOU and that future xx All that food looks amazing, and I'm in awe of you doing that for yourself (and for everyone else!) this Christmas. Hope would be so proud of you both xx
ReplyDeletewow! that feast looked scrumptious. thinking of you guys as always.
ReplyDeletexoxo
Sally, you are a beautiful mama, hairdo or no...much love to you.
ReplyDeleteHi Sally - Just wanted to let you know that I'm thinking of you. I told my husband last night that I feel like all holidays will be a little sad. I can't imagine being completely happy knowing that someone is missing. As for the picture thing - I've never looked the same since Abbey's death - it's almost as if you can see her loss in my eyes.
ReplyDeleteWhat a feast!! Looks delish!
ReplyDeleteI ditto Sarah about the picture thing. In fact, now I avoid having my picture taken. I hate looking at the new me, because the difference is so clear to me.
Okay, I know it's summer there, but no snow? I'd love to partake in a Christmas feast in my backyard, under the sun. Lovely, Sally.
ReplyDeleteGlad you survived Christmas. XO.
Wow, you guys do Christmas in a big way! Glad it was better than you expected. I hope next year you do have that little one in your arms, keep us posted!
ReplyDeletexxoo
Hope's spot is so beautiful, I'm glad you went. And I'm glad Christmas day was survived, each day you survive is a testament to your resilience.
ReplyDeleteI hate photos of myself taken now when I should be huge but instead I look like I did before.
My fingers are still crossed for you Sally.
xxx
sally
ReplyDeletethinking of you constantly
can't find your e-mail but have lots to say
xox
carol
Turkey is absolutely overrated. Your feast looks amazing.
ReplyDeleteHope's plaque is beautiful. I am always in awe of everyone who knows what words to put on that right away. It took us a year and a half to figure out how we wanted it to look. Now it's made, but because it arrived after the frost it can't be put in until the spring sometime... So we wait again.
I just caught up on your last bunch of posts. I am glad that you are affecting change in Hope's memory. I agree with you-- this is not something anyone would ever choose for themselves. But this is how I try to look at things now-- this horrible thing happened to us, and it can't be undone. Given that that is so, what can/should I do now? I know that skips neatly over a couple of those stages of grief, but I did really seem to get to acceptance pretty early on. Doesn't make it any better, I think, just different. Anyway, what I am trying to say is that I am so impressed with you pushing through your pain to make things better for others, to save countless other little lives and countless other parents from this horrible place we live in... I think whichever way a baby dies before birth is both a tragedy and a catastrophe, but it is stories like yours, ones that didn't have to be, that leave me stupefied. I consider myself lucky (and also think it might account for my very early acceptance) that I don't have anything to ask "what if?" about. Imagining you having to live with that all the time simply breaks my heart.
Thinking of you, and hoping you are getting used to some scarily good new reality now...