A love story : Living without my beautiful red-headed Mia

[MiaAlexandrasmummy]

This love story began before Mia was born, intensified when she entered our lives, and it will continue to burn strongly forever. Mia is my red-headed flame, my sweet pea, my noisy sprite. Mia is joy, she is love, she is every good thing you can imagine. And I am so incredibly proud to be her mummy.

Yet she is gone. Mia died totally unexpectedly last October at the age of 13 months. Impossible, but true.

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.

I cannot begin to adequately describe the love that we have for our little girl. I can only ask you to imagine the most perfect feeling of love and warmth that you can, to double its intensity, and extend it to infinity and you are still not even close to the amount of love that we shared with Mia every second of the her 13 months.

This is her story, and mine, and my reality.

What a wonderful and heartbreaking tribute from a father to his child who could not have been more loved. Thank you for sharing it with us x

Thank you for sharing MrMias tribute with us. He painted your love and Mia's life so eloquently. She lives still - in your hearts, words and in the pictures you paint that give her life to us, your virtual friends.

Mia was as blessed to have you as her parents, as you are to have had her as your wriggly, red-haired, inquisitive daughter, painted so clearly to the world.
Love to you both, and to her lucky sibling who will know and love Mia as you do.

Xxx

Spectacular words for a spectacular little person.

MrMia loves his daughter so completely, so desperately. She gave him a new level of utter joy.

I started to pack up Mia's clothes today, so that her little sibling could have some space. It felt it was the right time. Her favourite clothes now sit in a special box I can easily access, but the dresses we loved most are carefully hung in the wardrobe.

I cleared the shelves of all the extra toys Mia never used, and we are going to give them to a Christmas charity, as many of them still had tags on them. We have kept all her books - Yellow Worm, The Hungry Caterpillar, Wheels on the Bus, The Belly Button book, amongst many others - although there was one in particular which I might still give away. It is called Dad's Birthday. I don't think MrMia knows we have it.

Boxes of love, stored away carefully. Books of love, ready to be opened and shared again one day.

I hope. Still very hard to banish fear.

MrMia is as eloquent as you are in expressing his love for your daughter.

It must be hard to sort out her clothes and books, and wonderful that other children will enjoy the toys she didn't have the opportunity to play with.

It's understandable that you feel anxious about her sibling's health. I hope you will feel reassured when he or she is here, and you can look forward to sharing the stories that Mia loved.

I don't think it's ever possible to banish the dark fears. I think the moment we become parents, that fear lurks somewhere in the background, and sadly, when life deals a cruel blow, it inevitably comes to the forefront of our thoughts.

I hope you can relax and feel at peace, as far as humanly possible in the run up to Mia's little sibling arriving. I hope Mia feels close, watching and waiting with you for the new arrival. I have an image in my mind of Mia looking and laughing along with her little sibling as you and mrMia read those stories aloud, I'm sure there will be happy and joyful times not far away now.

Your strength constantly astounds me. When your precious baby arrives , be sure Mia will be there watching over you all and sharing in the delight of it all.... I wish you luck in the coming weeks and send you love and blessings. xxxxxxxxx

A lovely text from a friend - when she picked up her daughter from nursery today, she asked about her day. Her daughter replied "Me Skype Mia, mummy" as if it was the most natural thing to be doing at the age of two... extraordinary.

You are right, our world was filled with joy, every day. Mia's smile ensured that. It had a magical effect on us both.

It has been a busy week, as I have joined up with two other bereaved mothers to approach the hospital to learn more about past improvements in paediatric care because of our children's deaths, but also to see if we can become involved in future improvements. It has generated some media interest, but also, far more importantly, a response from the hospital. We are keeping an open mind, but the proof will be how willing they will be to properly listen and involve us, as this has not happened in the past. Today's news about NHS complaints being mainly due to poor communications certainly rang true.

I have also been mulling over about possibly turning all my writing into some sort of book, with all your encouragement to do so. I think I have a broad outline of what I would like to do, and an opportunity arose to listen to some published fiction authors. It was really interesting evening, but one did admit that she had read through a book written by a friend who had lost a child, and her words were "It was beautiful, but unprintable. It was so painful to read." I can understand why, but it gave me something to think about.

Tonight I was going through the huge pile of Mia papers we have had in MrMia's study for a year. The happiness of so many birth congratulations, and all the special first birthday cards... then many, so many more letters and cards of sympathy. Hundreds. Alongside were such beautiful drawings by her cousins - one showed MrMia, Mia and I holding hands under a rainbow ; a poem from a sensitive 16-year-old boy ; letters from people who have also lost children ; disks of photos from caring friends ; letters from family friends grieving for us... and then I found the envelope where we had carefully placed locks of Mia's hair. Little red curls. It was too much, and I sobbed, for the first time in ages.

Miss you, darling girl. Irreplaceable.

I'm sorry missing Mia is so painful for you, and seeing those little red curls again broke your heart. It does help sometimes to have a good cry.
I would encourage you to write a book, and I don't think that just because it might be painful to read in parts means there isn't a place for it. I am sure the book would be full of positive things too, and show the love and joy that Mia brought you, and your courage would shine through as well. Thinking of you x

You must write a book, you have such talent. xxxx

Sorry to hear of your pain - I can't begin to imagine how hard it must be to look through her cards filled with such love for you all and to see her darling hair xxx
The last few weeks of pregnancy is hard for anybody, an emotional time, physically demanding and impossible to escape from fears of the unknown- and given your loss of Mia it must make things so much harder.

So wonderful to see that you are the other mums are standing together to ensure that care at the hospital will improve. You certainly strike me a force to be reckoned with, and if I hope the med director or CE are going to work with you all to move things forward- what a legacy for your girl.
You certainly have a talent with your words and if you are able to a book would be just so beautiful.

I will keep you, your DH and Mia in my prayers and thoughts - and pray for your little unborn baby as he/ she gets ready to make such an amazing journey.
Love and light to you xxxx

I love the idea of Mia being a bridge of love and light from my old life to the next one, thank you for giving me this image eightytwenty.

I still think I do want to write something, and the shape of a story is forming in my mind. Not only will it be about Mia, but it will also be about all the kindness and support I have received here, from strangers who have become friends and advisors over this past year since I wrote my first words on MN. You all here have been such an integral part of helping me through.

Last night, we had our neighbourhood Bonfire Night. All the houses can invite guests, so all Mia's friends and their families came along, and the little girls were entranced by the sparks from the bonfire, and the colours and noise of the fireworks. It is lovely hearing them express themselves. I did have to smile when two of them were both concerned that the fireworks might hit Mia's star, and had to be reassured that she would be fine, and that she was watching the fireworks too.

I couldn't help but recall the last two bonfire nights we had. At the first, we wrapped Mia up in her little fluffy white snowsuit, and how MrMia proudly, carefully, delightedly, carried his newborn daughter to meet everyone. She was so good, despite the fact she was passed around like a little parcel..

Last year, it was so hard. We were completely undone and adrift. A lovely family asked if we would mind if they lit a Chinese lantern for Mia, as they did the same for a friend of their son, who had also recently died. We all wrote on the lanterns, and I remember MrMia's words so vividly - Fly high, my darling.

Lovely images of lanterns in the sky....Yes Mia you are up there looking down and giggling with delight. Stay strong, in the next few weeks the pain in your heart will not be so great, enough space to open up to another gorgeous one , who is so connected to his/her sister. xxxxxxx

Love and light
x

MrMia opened the curtains today, and in the blue sky was an array of three cloud kisses. My immediate thought was that they were from Mia - one for me, one for MrMia, and one for her sibling. She just wanted to let us know she loves us all.

A lovely reminder from darling Mia of the unbreakable bond the 4 of you will always have. x

Today was a Mia day. Sunshine made the autumn colours glow - reds, oranges and yellows. A few important steps were made today too.

MrMia and I met with the hospital this morning. While it was unsettling to return to the very entrance we had entered with Mia, so unknowingly, a year ago, it turned out to be a very useful and (hopefully) productive meeting. We had a frank conversation about our experiences, and the hospital seemed to take our concerns, criticisms and suggestions on board. Leaving, there was a some sense of relief that we were finally able to do something for Mia, in an environment where our actions can really count. Perhaps a way of healing too.

This afternoon too, was about Mia. I have now spoken to the local nursery, and they were very amenable to the idea of setting up a gift list for Mia's Wood. The Woodland Trust have advised us on the sorts of trees and shurbs suitable to our area, and the nursery is able to supply all of these. MrMia and I now just need to determine which trees are required for the initial stage of planting, which we hope to do before Christmas with friends, and at Christmas with our families.

Mia remains such a part of our lives in these ways. Not how we would ever want it to be, but a way to show our love, nonetheless.

Sitting in a restaurant tonight, and it is busy, friendly and bustling. Another couple with a baby entered after us, and I saw that the little boy had a tube attached to his nose. Yet he was very sweet, content just to play and watch the activity around him.

It makes me sad to see him. I don't know their story at all, and it might be heartbreakingly sad. Yet he has been identified as sick, and something is being done about that.

If only we had some warning, perhaps could have acted and Mia would be wiggling on the seat next to me now... Or perhaps we couldn't have helped her, and watched her decline. That could have been worse, instead of a life completely filled with happiness.

Such thoughts. Not helpful, really. But you always wonder.