Those Posy Days

Two weeks on from celebrating Posy’s first birthday and I think it’s finally catching up to me. We had a lovely weekend, just as we had hoped, and I feel really proud that we were able to honour our beautiful girl in the way that we did, that we were able to separate it from the memories of this coming weekend. I am content that we made it a memorable celebration, just as it would have been, and that M and I, and those around us, had the opportunity to commemorate and remember Posy in a way that suited her and our little family. Don’t get me wrong, it was not easy. It took a lot of work and energy trying to keep the celebration and joy in a weekend that was bittered by sadness and, in the times when we were alone, there were lots of tears. But every child deserves to have their birthday celebrated and this is just what we did. She received more cards than we had hoped for, each one containing a special, personal message for the birthday girl and we are so grateful for each hand that put pen to paper for Posy. I feel privileged to know such wonderful people and to be able to see and read how loved our baby girl is. They were truly special and added some sparkle to an emotional weekend. I'm looking forward to being able to go through them with Roo and show her that all of her favourite people love and miss her big sister too.

However, some recovery time has been needed in the days following as we experience the anniversary of every single Posy day that we were blessed with. I think, because two weeks is such a short amount of time, all of our memories of Posy are remarkably intense and strangely concentrated to a particular day within those two weeks. So much so that I can identify every single day of her life as a separate occasion and when I wake up each morning I remember, very specifically, what each day consisted of. Whether we left the house or not, whether we had guests or not, who Posy got to meet on each day, who gave her a cuddle, what meal we ate, what we watched on TV, where we took her, what clothes she wore, how each individual cuddle felt and so on. Every day since her birthday has been bundled with all the feels and treasured memories but, as we near the end of those two weeks - the end of those Posy days - and approach her final days, it’s really starting to sting.

I’m looking through our collection of photos and videos, trying not to notice how few there are, attempting to ignore their insufficiency in reflecting a child’s first year, and instead remembering the pure bliss that filled those first two weeks of being Posy’s parents. The unfamiliar love that overpowered me; the adoration, the responsibility, the fear, the excitement, the weighted wonderment. My heart grew a couple of sizes in those days and when we had to say goodbye, it didn’t shrink back. Those feelings remain, catching me off-guard whenever I spend some time simply looking through her photos, seeking her face; when watching videos of her, reminding myself of all the little noises she used to make; when I visit my girl in her woodland, acquainting myself with her surroundings and woodland pals. I am still surprised by the depth of my love and longing for her.

I don’t feel that I got to establish myself as Posy’s mama or that I was given a real chance to bond with her, and so my heart aches for her with a new, curious love that I still can’t place or put anywhere. When you become a mother you naturally learn to love another human in a way that you couldn’t before. You care for them, you tend to their every need, you nurture them, you grow them, you teach them, you lead them, you love them unconditionally - not because you have to but because it’s impossible not to. You suddenly have a sense of responsibility thrust upon you and that, for me, has been somewhat left unfulfilled. Yes, I make choices that revolve around Posy, that are for her, but let’s be honest, she doesn’t require much of the above. Instead, I have to create the opportunities to mother her, to ensure others remember her, to honour her in the best possible way. Nevertheless, our parental decisions are tainted by selfishness and elements of what is easiest for us, as we continue to grieve for her; they are all unfairly affected by her absence.

I can still remember all the little decisions we made for Posy in the two weeks of her life, the acts of love, the cherished moments of being her mum and dad, and they remind me of the mama I was and will soon get to be again. However, the choices we had to make in the days and weeks following her death, and during the last year, are part of the motherhood I wish I could change. The memories of this weekend last year are still all so fresh, like a gaping wound, and all the unexpected triggers from this week are just pouring the salt into it. After finding myself uncontrollably shaking and on the verge of tears during a lesson at work, having to escape to the staff room before breaking down without any obvious reason, I realised that I’m definitely feeling the weight of the burden we carry surrounding Posy’s death.

The flashbacks are vivid and heightened at times like these and it makes it really difficult to focus. Once one memory comes flooding back, it’s near impossible to shake and then they all start rolling in. I see the faces, I smell the smells, I hear the sounds. I feel hatred for the doctor who, while seemingly harsh and uncaring, swooped in, only to tell us how serious it was and that she might not make it. I feel the cold panic as we run through the hospital corridors down to the anaesthetists. I feel the heart wrenching terror when we hear that Posy’s heart has stopped beating. I feel the heartbreak as I hold her for the last time. It’s a lot for my poor brain to handle.

Today, I am wondering if I succeeded in doing the best for Posy, in being her Mama and doing right by her. The decisions that we had to make a year ago still haunt me. As her parents, we recognised the pain that she was in and made the very best choice for her under terrifying circumstances. We put her needs ahead of ours, and agreed that the doctors should stop performing CPR. At that moment we were burdened with that decision and even though I know it was, I still wonder if it was the right one.

Spending that day in hospital with her, in the tiny room on the children’s ward, we had to decide when to leave her and go home. We had to choose how and when we were going to say goodbye and I still don’t know how we ever found the strength to walk out of that hospital; how we chose the moment where we laid eyes on her for the last time; how we chose what song to sing to her and what to say before our goodbye. Leaving the hospital without her was the hardest thing I have ever had to do and just remembering that afternoon makes my knees crumble.

In the days and weeks following we had to make her funeral plans. We had to decide where she was going to be, what bed we were going to give her, what we wanted to say, what readings, songs and flowers we were going to give her. Michael had to choose whether he was going to carry her down the aisle and speak for her. All things that no parent should ever have to do.

It’s only when I stop and think - questioning why today is a bad day, why I’m finding it hard to breathe or function - that I remember that the trauma of our loss hasn’t disappeared with the time that has passed. It has almost been a year since our last day with Posy but the pain is still as raw and devastating as ever. The infinite ripples cast by that traumatic day are spreading far and wide, tripping me up, chasing me as I follow my rainbow, landing me on my butt while forgetting the reason behind the tears running down my face. Reliving our Posy memories over the last couple weeks has been both wonderful and immensely difficult, but dealing with the traumatic memories of saying goodbye is inconceivable. We may have to retreat to hibernation mode this weekend.

I love that I can still be Posy's mama in the little ways but I've found its those ways that people struggle with. For the first time since I've been back, someone at work asked to see photos of Posy and I could feel my heart swell as I just got to be a proud mum in that moment. I can only hope that Little Sister and I get to experience more of the bonding journey that I yearn for and that I have a chance to experience more of the natural motherhood. But also that Posy's presence as Big Sister is normalised so that Roo will never be seen as an only child - this is very much not a part of her identity.

We have thirteen days of perfect Posy memories; thirteen days of knowing the sweetest, cuddliest girl; thirteen days of being her mummy and daddy in the way that we had prepared for; thirteen days of collecting all our favourite photos and videos; thirteen days of holding her and loving her. Those Posy days are my absolute favourite, I just hate that they had to end.

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Becca

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