My beautiful red-headed 13-month daughter died totally unexpectedly

[MiaAlexandrasmummy]

I have never posted on mumsnet before, while my beautiful Mia was alive, although I read all the advice often. So I feel a bit of a fraud now - I can't be her mummy anymore.

She died nearly four weeks ago now. We had the most beautiful, touching service, with our families from all over the world with us, and we have been so touched by all the love shown to us by friends, friends of family, friends of friends, and even people who we don't even know.

But I hurt so much. The pain returns afresh each day, overwhelming me, even though I am managing to get up, get out of the house, and function on a basic level.

Mia wasn't supposed to die. She was so happy, developing well, eating well, with no sign of illness. But she was, it turns out.

I am her mummy, and she spent so much time with me. How could I not know?? How can we go on and adapt to a life without her? Obviously, people manage somehow, but I keep fighting the fact that she is really gone, and we will never see her smile again, kiss her soft curls or hold her in our arms. It is so wrong.

miasmummy I'd love to hear more about Mia, as I think everyone else here would, especially if it helps you to share. As flubba said, we will cry and smile and laugh and wonder at your amazing Mia with you.

BTW, I have looked at your profile and the pictures of Mia - my, my WHAT a beautiful girl...she so suits and "fits" her name, doesn't she? My favourite picture is (one which I have subtitled in my head...) "the nonchalant highchair" moment - she looks so relaxed, so content, so confident. You and your DH created that contentment, some parents never could. You should be very proud of yourselves.

My DH loves the idea of creating a woodland for Mia (as do I). It is his dream to buy a little house in some woodland one day...to him, that is heaven. We miss trees and "green-ness" over here! We'd love to buy a tree for Mia when the time is right. It sounds like your DH is coping in very literal, practical ways and you in more spiritual (is that the right word?) ways...I think in time to come you will look back at what each has done and be so grateful for each other, coping differently but together.

I've tried to word this last part in so many ways and each time deleted it, I am afraid of sounding crass or plain bonkers but you said up thread that you cannot see hope in your future right now. That is so understandable, of course. I'd just like you to know that I am carrying a whole ton of hope for you. I hope that doesn't sound odd from a stranger, but you, Miss Nonchalant Mia and your DH have really entered my heart .

Hugs, and love as before x

I'm so sorry. As others have said, you will ALWAYS be her mummy just as Mia will always be your special, beautiful little girl.

Love and peace to you and your family.

miasmummy you continue to awe me with your eloquence and your love for your beautiful little one, thank you for sharing those photos of her.

I have read this thread, and my heart is aching for you. Mia is a beautiful little girl. I'm so sorry that this has happened to your family, I will light a candle tonight for you all.

So sorry for your loss xx

A friend knows the song of your heart, and remembers the words when you forget them.

I have forgotten my song. But through the words and actions of my friends, Mia will always live. Friends last night who helped me to laugh and smile for a few hours. A friend today who, in her Christmas letter, eloquently shared the story of the terrible loss of our flame-haired child to her large group of friends. Friends who text to just say hi, thinking of you. And lovely MN-ers, who encourage me to talk about Mia, and help me smile though my tears with their generosity of spirit.

Mia would have been 15 months old yesterday. I try to think of her now as toddler Mia, rather than baby Mia. She would have been enchanted by the snow yesterday, and I can see her in my mind, curiously picking up a handful and putting some in her mouth, then making a funny face as the cold touched her tongue, and then clapping and squealing, trying to brush it off her mittens, and then come running back to me so I could explain snow to her as we cuddled.

She was always so fascinated by the outdoors, stopping what she was doing just to listen to the wind rustle in the leaves, or to point to the birds singing. I loved her inquisitive nature, and telling her about the world.

Please do hold onto that hope for us, nicenivea, and protect it for me. I also love that highchair photo, it was taken just after she had been enthusiastically climbing out to help blow out her father's birthday candles! And only a few hours later, our nightmare began... it shouldn't have happened.

Many thanks, and deepest gratitude, to flubba for her kindness in capturing this thread. I and my DH, and the rest of my family will add this to our precious bank of memories of Mia.

Mia's mummy - I am in floods of tears having read this. I too have alittl e girl the same age as Mia and can only imagine what terrible and utter grief you feel. I am so very very very sorry for your raw and aching loss.

To wish you strenght and fortitude sounds so trite but then everything does.

What has happened is so terribly bloody unfair and I feel for you so deeply.

With all my love

Lisa x

PS I'd also like to buy a tree in Mia's wood and think this is such a special and beautiful idea as Mia obviously was ( still is) too.

My thoughts are with you tonight.

Oh sweetheart, my little girl. I can't stand the thought that you aren't here. So many tears, and they don't change anything, they don't even make me feel better.

My thoughts of you tonight - Bouncing up and down with excitement, singing your da-da-da happy sound, grabbing your shoes, pulling off your socks and waving them like a flag.

Best of all, you did love playing with balloons. Squeezing them until we thought that they would burst, pulling on their strings and giggling as they floated up again, laughing as we bopped them gently on your head, and clutching them tightly as you climbed the stairs, so pleased with your new toy.

I love you Sweet Pea. My Little Squeak. You are a magical little person, and I will be forever under your enchantment.

Oh God Mia'sMummy I feel your pain. I can't believe there's nothing any of us can do to bring her back.

I am so sorry, wish I could do something. I am crying for you, Mia sounds so beautiful. I will be thinking of you.

You write so magically, Miasmummy, I'm captivated by Mia once again. Your Little Squeak! I wish we could share out your pain into small pieces and each carry a little of your load for you. Instead, I'm just holding your hand from afar again and wishing I could do more.

Do you have a plan for today? Is there more snow, keeping DH at home? XX

Today, I have felt such desolation. It happened exactly eight weeks ago tonight. Yet I feel like I am just learning (all over again) that Mia had died. Even these words make me shiver. Such a pit of pain within me. Each time I recall that evening, I recoil in horror at the memory. It's real. After all, who believes that when your child seems a little unwell and you take her to the hospital, that you aren't going to bring her again? It is a nightmare of epic proportions, yet somehow, this has become my life.

Oh Mia. You are so beautiful and innocent and happy. You love us so much.

We spent the day with DH's family, as we are going different ways for Christmas. It was so very hard to travel there in the car, without feeding Mia her favourite ricecakes, giving her toys to amuse her, and sing songs. It would always be such an adventure, and her aunt would be so pleased and excited to see Mia, finding some silly toy and running around the house with her.

I will write some of my happy memories in a little while. They are within me. Right now, I just hurt too much.

Feeling a tiny bit better now, trying to capture the love and joy...

We miss Mia?s cuddles, her weight and her little legs curled around us, her face against our cheeks and her warm arms around our necks, the soothing pats on the back that she would give us as we in turn patted her. She was intimate, coming to us, arms raised, for a reassuring cuddle, but then with a smile, content, she would wiggle free, independent and inquisitive about everything around her, exploring her world, looking in cupboards, peeking between the banisters as she climbed the stairs and just revelling in her existence.

I have tried to estimate how many times a day we kissed Mia. Picking her up, putting her down, dressing her, feeding her, washing her hands, just because? it must have been hundreds. Equally, we always made a point to tell Mia every day just how much we loved her. We know she listened.

More wonderful words about Mia, thank you. I am sorry you have felt such awful pain, desolation is a terrible emotion. Wishing you some more better moments today Miasmummy.

Much love and many, many hopeful prayers, as before xx

You will have many "firsts" without Mia and each one will be as hard as the other. We will be here to listen to each and every account if you want us to be.

I have not read the entire thread but I just wanted to say how so so sorry I am!! Mia was a beautiful girl!

Sing and shout about Mia, sing and shout. As a wise five-year-old said about Mia. That's what I have to remember... I have to remember I had so many beautiful days with my daughter, and try to be glad for those, even if I wish with all my heart that I could be creating more...

So here is a very cute story. I think of it as When Mia officially became a 'busy little girl' One morning, I had forgotten that Mia was becoming increasingly fascinated by the shower, and I left the door open from the bedroom. Mia seized the moment, and decided to join me in our shower (no door), crawling in fully clothed, and held her hands to be picked up. Laughing, I stripped her off so she could join me properly. Happy in my arms, and while the water was still running, she then decided it was the perfect opportunity to have a little feed - my multi-tasking, hungry little caterpillar. Then after that, while I was getting dressed, again slightly distracted, Mia crawled over to the washing basket, pulled it over and pulled out some of the clothes and put them on her head. She was so pleased with herself with this achievement, and then whizzed out, found DH's laptop sitting on the floor, and proudly pushed it around. She was just so cute and funny that day - and she knew it, smiling cheekily up at me with a wide grin and happy squeaks.

My funny little girl.

What a gentle, special, intimate memory, I so enjoyed reading it . My DS is very close to Mia in age and he is frightened of the shower, so I will now think of Mia as a true feisty red-head!

You must be going on holiday soon, I hope the preparations are going ok.

Thinking of you x

The Vikings believed, as far as I remember, that people who had died were always with us so long as they were remembered in story and song. So yes, singing and shouting sounds pretty much spot on - hurray for 5 yo little vikings, and their little friends who will never be forgotten.

Thinking of you Mia'sMummy
x

It's so hard when people say to me "I can't believe it. It shouldn't have happened."

Why? Because their disbelief brings a tiny sliver of hope, that perhaps I have misunderstood the situation, and perhaps there is a way, after all, of making it all right and I will see Mia again and it's all been a bad dream or a dreadful mistake.

But it's not. It is still inconceivable, and horribly true at the same time. So the door to happiness and hope is slammed in my face, yet again, and I have to revisit my grief all over again. I am still shocked and appalled, devastated and bereft, each time.

How can it be that I am never going to see Mia grow up? It's wrong in every way.

In the kitchen, Mia's highchair is now tucked in a corner, instead of sitting at the end of the table commanding the view. It is so clean now, without all its amazing array of food she would love to eat, store in her bib pocket or rub happily into her hair. Eating was a very important past-time, and her family overseas often enjoyed skype calls while Mia was safely ensconced there, busily watching and interacting with cousins and grandparents half a world away.

However, we have put away the playpen which (admittedly) she only tolerated. Over the last few months, she and I would have great games in it where she would stand up and pop her head over the top, then crouch down, and push her face agains the webbing, so I could kiss her through it. Hysterically funny, she thought.

In the corner on a shelf, in front of some jars, sits a napkin ring. Mia had been playing with it, and now I can't bear to move it. Such a little thing, but so very reminiscent of a little girl who was so interested in exploring her surroundings.

On the bottom of another shelf is Mia's little store of treasures. A champagne cork, a tin of Smints which rattles delightfully, a little car, a wooden bowl, and a glittery balloon weight. I would sometimes add a new toy to her collection, and when she discovered it, she would squeak to attract my attention, and wave and show it to me, so pleased. One day, I added a glittery Little Miss Birthday book, and it simply entranced Mia - the colour, the texture, and the fact that she could turn the pages.

I so loved her little discoveries and victories. Perhaps everyday moments for some, but very precious to me.