Milestones, Grief and Time Travel

This is a postscript of the Address I gave at the SANDS Memorial Service ....

I have had cause over the last year to watch a ridiculous amount of My Little Pony. At first this felt like a burden but I'm here to tell you that season 5 is hardcore. There’s even a character called Dr Whooves. based on our best British icon Dr Who.

This of course has no relevance to today except that it enables me to talk about time travel.

I want to time travel now. 

2044 3rd June

My wife turns to me and says Grace would have been 30 today. For a moment I see her life, she’s probably moving in with her boyfriend  because in my mind none of my daughters are moving in with anybody before they hit 30.

lets go back a little

July 2037

I’m sitting somewhere imagining Grace graduating from University …maybe…if that’s what she wanted.We'll never know

My life, our lives are full of imaginary milestones and it’s not just me of the future that’s doing it.

We took note of the first week after Grace was born

the first fortnight

the first month

the second month

the sixth month

the nine month mark…because you know that’s enough time to have a baby.

More than just dates though.

We noted when she might have crawled, might have stood, might have walked.

We celebrated her 1st birthday and endured the anniversary of her death. And then we did it again a year after that.

we endured the memory of burying her and the pain of walking away from her grave again and again. 

We mark them with our tattoos and with our jewellery

These milestones have become the map of our relationship with Grace,a vital work, a heady mix of fact and imagination. But how long can we, how long should we do this for.

If David of the future could pop in right now I’m pretty sure of what he would have to say.

“you will never stop David and why should you, She’s your daughter"

I’ve spoken to too many people in the last 2 years who still know their dead children birthdays after decades to know that David from the future is not an idiot. That he knows what he’s talking about - which is a bit of a surprise to everyone.

So don’t worry about charting your children lives….in fact lets go one step further.  I’ll explain what that step is i a moment

I was speaking at a conference in Denmark about stillbirth.  2 women came up to me afterwards and both thanked me for speaking so openly as they had both had stillbirths about 6 years ago. One of them said that listening to me was the most amount of healing she had been allowed to do.

I’ve also spoken at a couple of events with well meaning academics who have forgotten the human cost in the midst of their research and professional life and thanked me for essentially shoving my grief in their faces. a reminder they needed.

So here's the next step. Do not be ashamed of your grief. We use the phrase stillborn, we talk of loosing our children. But we did not loose them and the word stillbirth has started to become a meaningless medical word. let’s make no mistake of what we are talking about here. Our dead children. Our babies that died. This is no small thing, this is trauma, this is something that can change the way your brain works and make the world actually look physically different. There is research that shows that trauma affects you on an epigenetic level meaning that it can even affect your genes. It can alter your brain chemistry. You all remember leaving the hospital wondering why everything looked and felt different? If this research is right it didn't just feel like it looked different it did look different.

So do not be ashamed of your grief, do not be ashamed or feel like your going crazy, do not hesitate to seek help if you need it, do not hesitate to see a Councillor, a therapist, a psychiatrist if you need it because this is no small thing.

Do not be ashamed to talk about your beautiful child , do not sacrifice your dignity to those friends or family who refuse to make the effort to understand.Because with all due respect, if you are a partner, or a parent, a grandparent or a best friend who doesn't get how big this is - then what use are you?

Do not think you are going crazy.

Do not feel ineffectual because 2 years later you don’t want to go back to work.

I was asked on a radio interview. How was i doing.  Well I said. People think I’m OK because I can speak and articulate, because I smile and laugh readily. But the reason i speak is because I’m not OK. This, this is my therapy. Make sure you find yours. 

You are not mad, you are not pathetic, you are not …alone

you are hurting, you are tired, you are struggling,  - yes yes yes

But be proud because like so many you are living with an empty weight in your arms, and you’re still going! 

you are strong

you are survivors of trauma

you are parents….and that’s what parents do, honour and love their fallen children 

After giving my acceptance speech at The Butterfly Awards, a man hugged me. 

I'm a soldier," he told me, "I've held dying men in my arms but I couldn't do what you do"  

Make no mistake at how big this thing is. Your grief is a wound. Wear it proudly, it is one of the few things we have to give our children.

Do not shrink into your grief but stand tall.

Take your time, find your way, live well in this new normal and own your grief because the milestones never stop coming.

4 years since Grace's Funeral

I woke up in the middle of the night thinking of Barry. I don’t know Barry, I have no idea what he looks like, what he did with his life, was he tall or short? ... I know nothing except 2 things

He died 2 years ago and Esther misses him.

Yesterday I spoke about Grace at a bereavement study day near Southend. As usual when I speak I wear my grief proudly, I let my tears speak as much as my words and I let my words leave you in no doubt as to the fact I’m still working out who I am in the light of my daughters death 4 years and 2 weeks ago.

Today marks the anniversary of Grace’s funeral, the day I walked my daughter down the aisle in a white willow coffin, the day my wife and I sang Amazing Grace past the ache in our hearts and throats, the day a congregation joined us in singing with such love and gusto that it almost blew us of our feet. Today marks the anniversary of watching my little girl being lowered into a hole in the ground that My brother Peter helped me dig, the day I watched that tiny coffin being covered with dirt.

Bradford Babyloss Conference - Pt 2- The Arrival

…And whadya know it worked. I found myself at the conference with enough time for a bit of banter before lunch. Some would call that a result…..which it was!

I’ve done a fair bit of speaking abut Grace since she died and my biggest audience was 6000 people in Denmark, but as we sat munching on sandwiches and debating the spiciness of the samosas (bless you Heidi) there was something playing on my mind.

Understanding Babyloss Conference Pt1 - The journey - an epic saga

On Friday my family and I set out to attend the Understanding Baby Loss and Bereavement Support Conference organised by the University of Bradford Midwifery Society and Our Angels charity.

We didn't get very far.

2 weeks of crying....

For the last 2 weeks or so i have cried everyday. I am emotionally exhausted…and I’m pretty happy about it.

Today marks 10 days to The Butterfly Award and I thought I would put something relevant up every day until we get there.

The Butterfly Awards now in its fourth year, is an amazing opportunity to celebrate those who do so much work around bereavement as well as honoring parents who have experienced the loss of a baby. The event aims to celebrate survivors and champions of baby loss.

That means it’s almost a year since I won this award in the Inspirational Father category. I got to say it’s a tough award to win, when you evaluate what it is you’re actually winning.

Anyway this year I will be speaking and performing at the awards and my wife will be singing. I have also been on the judging pane. Now I've judged things before. I've been on the British Comic awards panel for a couple of years and while I've read comics that have moved me to tears, this is another thing altogether.

Over the last couple of weeks I have read  75 profiles, a list which comprises all the finalists (how Mel and Jade, the organisers managed to read all the entrants and keep their sanity I'll never know)

These people ….are amazing, they are inspirational, they move me tears again and again and again. Tragic stories, stories you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy, and so much bravery. Have a look for yourself if you want - https://thebutterflyawards.com/voting/

So yea I have cried and I’m glad because to have been part of this process, to aid in the honouring of so many inspiring people. Well that’s a privilege. So yea, I'm tired, I'm raw, I'm done but I'm happy about it

To be an Inspirational father ?

When a stillbirth occurs in hospital, a butterfly is fixed to the door so that all staff know what has occurred before they come into the room. Consequently, butterflies have become synonymous with stillbirth.

Skip forward a year and out of the blue I received an email saying I’d been nominated in the Butterfly Awards.

“The What Now?”

I almost deleted the email thinking it must be spam but decided to give it a read.

The Butterfly Awards celebrate survivors and champions of babyloss, that seek to break the silence surrounding stillbirth. They were started by Mel Scott and Jade Deverill: both of whom have had tragedies of their own.

It seemed I’d been nominated for awards in the categories of Inspirational Father and Best Author/Blogger.

The Butterfly Awards

So I have been nominated in 2 categories for a Butterfly Award

The Butterfly Awards celebrate survivors and champions of baby loss. You can find out more about the awards here - http://www.thebutterflyawards.com/index.php

The awards are a public vote and while I would like to win because I believe that having the awards would help me on some of my upcoming plans to honour my daughter, a quick read through of the other nominees profiles has left me so utterly humble.

This then is my wish.

Have a read through the nominees and vote for whomever you think is most worthy. It is far more important to me that this issue is highlighted than that I win

The profiles of the nominees are here - http://www.thebutterflyawards.com/index.php/voting

I have been nominated for the Inspirational Father award - http://www.thebutterflyawards.com/index.php/voting/userprofile/DavidMonteith

and the best blog award - http://www.thebutterflyawards.com/index.php/voting/userprofile/1377

Thank you 

The Best of times, the Worst of times

Three months ago the new normal switched again

I've talked about the new normal on this blog before. I've talked about how everything is different now that Grace has died. How fear and sadness is part of our every day reality.

Well three months ago Kira, our Rainbow Baby was born. The definition of a rainbow baby is this -

A Rainbow Baby is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn't mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

The Invisible Parent

I usually write my thoughts but after the birth of my daughter Kira Renee Monteith, the mish mash of thoughts were a bit paralysing. However they were forced into being when I was asked to speak at a memorial service, so here's my latest post - something I think is communicated better by hearing rather than reading

If you or anyone you know needs support with bearevement or supporting friends and family though theirs then please contact SANDS - https://www.uk-sands.org/

The Last Milestone

I have absolutely no memory of last night from a year ago. We were preparing to bury our daughter and I have no recollection of our what we did or our state of mind whatsoever. So many moments from 1 year ago today are achingly etched in my mind but the anticipation of the night before….nothing!

Funnily enough in the run up to the 1st anniversary of Grace's death and birth we felt surprisingly

Birthday Wishes

Today I listened to a heartbeat. It's on my phone. You can see what the heartbeat looks like in the above picture.
1 year ago yesterday, Friday 1st May, my wife and I had the loveliest of days. We knew our baby's arrival was just around the corner and we were doing some prep in what would be the birth room. Hanging pictures that would be nice to look at during labour, generally making the room as lovely a place to give birth as we could.

The Gestation of Grief & Mothers Day

Tree Planting at Grace's resting place

It's enough time to have a baby I used to jokingly say when anyone would refer to a time period of nine months. It's a powerful phrase with a lot of weight attached to it. You just have to say the phrase '9 months' and pregnancy automatically comes to mind (despite the fact that a growing number of women, my wife included, find themselves giving birth nearer to 10 months)

I was reminded by Siobhan that when we started attending a support group for parents of still born children, organised by Kent SANDS, one of the things that was raised by some of these parents was how things got suddenly more difficult around the 7/8 month mark. At the time this was something I couldn't understand. Our grief was so raw, our experience so fresh, how could things get worse? And yet somehow it did.

Maybe it was dealing with the fact that life goes on and a routine is once again establishing itself in our minds and bodies; and yet there is something,deep inside, playing with the emotional weight of our new reality that doesn't want to acknowledge that life 'just goes on'. The tectonics of this internal landscape causes emotional tremors of a brand new variety.

Play Mas & Actings Black Promise

There have been a number of 'moments' for me in my latest job.

I went for an audition at The Orange Tree Theatre with Paulette Randell. Paulette has directed some great plays and also co-directed the Olympics Opening Ceremony in London. I knew Paulette from Fences, a play she directed with Lenny Henry in which I understudied. Although I was happy to audition I wasn't convinced it would go anywhere as the shoe, Play Mas, is a Trinidadian play and let's just say my Trinidadian accent wasn't the best.

Maelstrom of a Mindscape

Imagine if you will a powerful vortex of water, a downdraft of spiraling liquid energy, a maelstrom if you like, an inescapable force of nature endangering life and limb. Imagine next that this force is suddenly reversed, geysering into the air with all the power of nature behind it. And then maybe there is a moment of calm before it once more becomes a whirlpool.

Welcome to our world.

The cat like grief of a 3 yr old

My eldest daughter is for the most part a very happy child, she is quirky, hilarious, stubborn, cheeky, annoying. She listens when she wants to and ignores you when she doesn't. She doesn't seem to believe in sitting down for very long but can amuse herself for hours with a trowel and some mud.

I tried to discipline her the other day and she stopped me in my tracks by shouting - "What have I ever done to you".  Where the hell did that come from? She starts nursery next week and I'm scared at whatever else she may pick up.

She is the essence of a 3yr old and I had to ask myself, how does a 3yr old process grief? She understands that she has a sister and that that sister did not come home and was in fact buried in the ground. She understands that we are sad about this. But can a 3yr old with an imperfect understanding of the nature of death truly come to terms with this grief, with this penetrating sadness.

My daughter & the symbolism of Remembrance

Three months ago today surrounded by friends and family, whom I cannot thank enough for your love and support, we got stuck in traffic on the way to church. Among other things my wife and I sang Amazing Grace; we celebrated and mourned our little Grace's womb life and then  buried our daughter.

I feel like I'm boring people, because I keep wanting to point out all the anniversaries. The anniversary of Grace's conception, the first scan, the second scan, the day she first visibly moved.

3 Months Later

3 months, a quarter of a year later. It's an eternity.  3 months ago today my littlest wing, my youngest daughter, my Grace died and in the early hours of tomorrow morning it will be 3 months since she was born. 

There are so many feelings and thoughts vying for attention in my head. Here are some of them.

A complete lack of understanding as to why the world hasn't stopped. It feels like no realises that everything changed for me that day. Everything. I remember so clearly leaving the hospital with Siobhan and looking around in mystification. The world looked different, felt different and people were just going about their buisness as normal. How dare they. And it still feels that way, sometimes I just want to shout at people "Don't you realise what's happened?"

A complete sense of awe over my wife. If I feel a little broken then how does my wife who carried that little life for 9 months feel. 3 months later I am still awed by her ability, in the middle of the most awful labour to declare that she was going to deliver this child with the Grace she deserve and in so doing provide her with a name. I am in awe of this women in who has donated over 20 litres of breast milk for neonatal units.

I am moved anew by the support of friends and family and stunned at how you have raised over £2000 for SANDS and £1000 for the United Kingdom Associations of Milk Banks as well as giving to us personally

I am still stunned and thrilled by how many people have and continue to post a #momentforgrace

I am so in love with my daughter Alannah whose response to the whole thing has been raw, honest, moving and heartbreaking and whose utter hilarious day to day craziness brings me joy.

I am moved with joy every time it see a newborn. I love that life works sometimes and I am overcome with sadness at the most random things some times.

I ache to father Grace and no other child will ever replace that ache. I remember dressing her in her stillness, putting on a nappy that seemed so redundant but so necessary. The sweetness and  pain of doing that indelibly marking my soul. I remember leaving her in a corner to attend to Siobhan who was struggling with a stuck placenta and feeling guilty for leaving her alone. And I cannot bury that feeling of abandoning her.

I find joy in each day. I refuse not to. I think of Grace and I smile, I think of Grace and the thin veil that hides my sadness becomes more apparent.

3 months. It's been an eternity and yet no time at all.

Grace's Farewell

It's been 4 weeks since my daughter died, 4 weeks since she was born and 2 weeks since we said farewell to her body. The world seems like a different place. An epic transformation has taken place and it hurts that the world carries on just the same, and yet it should.

For a day that I never wanted to happen and never want to happen again, we had a wonderful, wonderful day. The service was exactly what we wanted. We decided we did not want to be passive in our daughter's farewell and designed the service and participated. Our lovely friend Loretta Hopkins sang beautifully for us and we were honoured by friends who read and prayed for us. Over the next couple of weeks I will post the readings and poems that comprised the service. Father Christian preached the most compassionate yet real sermon I've ever heard at funeral and wore a stole decorated with children's hand and footprints.

Everyone participated in a ritual of farewell by lighting a candle and placing it on the altar. It was beautiful.  Despite the lumps in our throats, we proudly read the Eulogy, asserting our decision not to give up on the joy of living in the midst of grief. However, the moment that moved us the most, that we will never forget, is this:

Today I will bury my daughter so do me a favour

My inspiring wife carried our daughter Grace for 9 months and upon her death still had to deliver her into this world with sweat and pain. In a vague attempt to bring some symmetry to our experience I with the help of my brother dug her grave yesterday.

Although I can in no way approximate my wife's experience I needed to sweat, I needed to ache. And in the same way, while I can never come near to the experience of carrying and nurturing my child in the same way as Siobhan did, I will carry her on my own down the aisle today in her white willow basket.
I have 2 favours to ask of you.

Thanks and My Warrior Wife

On Saturday  the 3rd May Siobhan and I slept in the hospital with our beautiful daughter in a cot by our side. We wanted a night where we could have an echo in our hearts of what it would have been like to have her in our home.

On Sunday we came home and on Monday posted our terrible news.

On Monday our house was full of friends and family, we talked, laughed, joked and cried together and our spirits were buoyed amidst the turmoil in our souls.

On Tuesday Morning we sat in bed and read over 300 of your comments. We were overwhelmed and humbled. We cannot express how much this outpouring of sympathy and love has lifted us and carried us forward, how much it has given us light in the dark journey we now find ourselves on, and continues to do so. I wish we could reply to you all.

My warrior wife is now trying to express milk that has nowhere to go in order to help the lives of premature and sick babies whose mothers are unable to provide them with sufficient breast milk of their own. If you know of anyone that you think would consider donating then please send them to this page http://www.ukamb.org/

Once again, I will say the words which cannot adequately express what you all have done for us - Thank You