All I want for Christmas

I feel like I have my feet firmly planted in two worlds, on two sides of a fence. And at this time of year, I can't help but feel that divide so much more intensely.

Christmas is just around the corner and last year we were in the thick newborn fog and not really able to lift our heads and acknowledge it was here, dead baby or not - Angus was just bloody hard work. And the year before, there was no Christmas. At least not in our world. In case everyone else missed the memo, Christmas 2008 was cancelled. If you had joy in your life that year, it wasn't real. Because Hope was dead and to me, joy on any level for any person was surely impossible. She died, and all the lights went out.

This year, there is no doubt that joy is back. And how. Angus lights up our world. The tree is up, presents are wrapped and stacked underneath and I am able to answer questions about what I'm doing for Christmas without dissolving in to a puddle of grief-filled tears, anger and anxiety. I can certainly breathe again and if I didn't know any better, I'd call that healing. I hate to admit that, but I am so much better than I was. The passage of time has taken me to a place I never thought I'd reach. Two years ago, this all seemed absolutely impossible. So to any newbies reading here, as I certainly am reading a lot of very new blogs these days, try and have hope. Keep hanging in there.

But. But..... There is still that hole. That void. That giant ache in my life that has not and will not ever go away and I know at this time of year, the wounds can begin to feel fresh and new again. I think that's what has drawn me to so many new blogs of late. Because in a way I miss that world where it was ok and socially acceptable to grieve 24/7. Where the world expected nothing else of you - you just had to cry and grieve for your baby until you were "all better again". Simple.

These days I find myself delicately balancing on the joy side of the fence, where I'm able to smile, laugh, talk to my mummy friends as if I am "normal" and one of them. But without warning I can fall flat on my arse on the other side of the fence and I'm right back to wanting to break things, punch holes in walls, kick the god damn Christmas tree over and scream at the top of my lungs at the injustice of it all.

We're out and about a lot more this year. Celebrating Christmas. Attending birthday parties. Mixing with friends. Things I one day thought I'd never do again. And there is no doubt that Angus has helped with that. But she's still not here. My baby girl. My baby girl who would absolutely not be a baby any more. A fully fledged little person of her own, probably looking more and more like me every day which makes my toes curl over and stomach lurch. The further she moves away, the less idea I have of who she'd be. Everything is getting very fuzzy. I lost a baby, not a toddler. I certainly remember the baby I lost.

A lot of people are asking what I want for Christmas this year. Apparently I am hard to buy for. And honestly, there is nothing I want. Stuff and things, I most certainly do not need. But of course there is something I want. The very thing that no one on this planet can give me. Maybe I should start answering that? My daughter - thanks very much, that would be great. Back, alive, healthy and whole. I don't really care if she was somehow miraculously teleported back to me as the brand new squirming newborn or a rowdy little toddler - I'll take her anyway I can get her. If we got her back as a toddler, I have no problem with making up for lost time. But I just want her back and I want a second chance with her. There is no possible way to shake that feeling that I totally and utterly failed her. Oh Hope, I am still so sorry.

I guess memories of her pregnancy and brief life are also close to the surface this time of year for another reason. It was three years ago today that I dangled a plastic stick in my pee in the wee hours of the morning, held it up in front of my face and watched as two lines appeared (or was it one of those ones with a little cross, I can't remember? I never kept it as I don't think I ever thought I'd need or want things like that for the memory box, as I thought I'd get so much more). That unique rush of pure excitement and anticipation that you only ever experience the first time you find out you're pregnant washed over me and I knew in that moment, I had changed and life would never be the same. This day isn't as heavy an anniversary as the ones that come in August, but I think it will always be a day where I stop and dream of all that could have and should have been. Today was the first day she came in to my life. Today was the beginning of the nine, incredibly short months we got together.

In case I haven't said it enough in the past two years, it is still all too hard to believe. It is Christmas, she's still not here, but she's still all I want.