hello Anais. My beautiful red-headed daughter Mia died unexpectedly at the age of 13 months. It turns out that she had a very rare bacterial infection of the heart which could only have been diagnosed once it was acute - and it wasn't. She died five hours after being admitted to hospital. So I perhaps have some understanding of the pain and confusion you feel at the moment.
I gained a lot of comfort from my own thread here on MN, where I found an abundance of kindness from strangers. And I found the MN thread already mentioned here, a group that no-one wants to join, a group that can bring fear into others, because we are joined by the worst thing imaginable, losing one or more of our children.
I cried buckets - MrMia calls tears "liquid love." And I remembered and wrote and looked at her photos.
I wondered why. I wondered why her, why me? I just didn't understand - but I slowly came to realise that understanding was not helpful. It would not bring my darling Mia back to me. I had to find a 'new normal', and to be frank, I floundered…
People will want to help you, and to try and take away your pain. But they won't know how. They will say, "Just ask". I never knew what to say to that. I didn't know myself.
What did help me
- we had a 'celebration of Mia's life', not a funeral. We encouraged children to come along, and we had songs and musical instruments for them.
- listening to other people's stories and impressions of Mia. Seeing their photos, unseen treasures of my little girl, seeing her through their eyes.
- not allowing people to tell me "Mia is in a better place" or allowing them to dictate how I should grieve, or how long I should grieve. Grief is personal. Everyone is different.
- asking my good friends to remain in contact, whether it was by phone, text or email, asking me to come and do something, anything with them. And even if I didn't answer, to keep in contact, and allow me the space to join in or not. This was immensely helpful
- encouraging people to talk about Mia, by leading by example. You do have to tell people that you want to talk about your little girl, as they will feel awkward in case they will upset you… but what can upset you after the worst thing in the world has already happened?
- I actively avoided new social situations for a long time. I didn't want to explain my life to anyone. I stayed in a friendship circle which was a safe haven
- there will be moments, brief and fleeting, where you will feel happy. Don't feel guilty about that. It's ok. Sometimes your brain and your heart need a break. Trashy books or DVD box sets are good for this too.
- we wanted to create a positive legacy for Mia, so we have established a wood in her name, where we want children to enjoy the beauty of nature, just as she did. It is an important way that we keep Mia in our lives, and her name as part of our regular conversations.
I am now three years, one month and thirteen days on the journey on this 'crappy path' as we call it. The searing pain you are feeling now has gone from my heart. I have accepted Mia's death. I hate it, but I had to. My grief is a part of me. It forms and shapes me, my decisions and my life. I live louder, more vibrantly, for her. I have since had a little brother for Mia, who just turned two. He looks like her, and recognises her from photos.
Most of all, I am shamelessly proud in my love for my special girl. I will always tell people how wonderful she is. Is, not was. She is part of my present, and part of my future. Just as your little girl is.
I promise that there is a way forward. You can't see it yet. Of course you can't. Be gentle on yourself. One breath at a time, one step at a time.
If you would like, there are people here who would love to know her more. What makes her laugh? What does she like to eat? What sort of things does she do that are cheeky and perhaps a bit naughty? What made your heart burst with love and pride when you looked at her?