I wish I didn't have the experience to write this (My Experience Of Bereavement)

Member Name: chocaholic110

Product:	My Experience Of Bereavement
Date:	09/02/09 (247 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: None, absolutely none

Disadvantages: Everything!

I have been toying with writing this for a few days and to be quite honest, I'm still not one hundred percent sure I'll even press the Submit button at the end. Even thinking about writing it my heart is pounding and I feel ever so slightly sick. I'm not the greatest writer in the world and I'm not entirely sure that the words I write can entirely describe my feelings, but I'll give it a go.

I was very lucky to reach the ripe old age of twenty six without really having experienced death in any form. My Grandad died when I was four, but to be honest, I didn't really understand and I don't really remember much about it except for the fact that my parents were upset and I wasn't sure why.

After that, I remained largely unaffected by death for many years. Yes, I vaguely knew people who died and yes, it was very sad and occasionally shocking, but I was cushioned from any real hurt by the fact that they were just acquaintances.

All that changed in October 2000. My very much loved, kind, cuddly, wise, beautiful Grandma had been very ill for a while and was growing weaker and weaker by the day. She spent her final week in hospital and while no-one really said anything, I think we all knew she was nearing the end. She begged repeatedly to be able to go home and when the doctors finally allowed her to go home she died that very night. I think the worst thing, even worse than my Grandma actually dying was seeing my Mum so upset and knowing that I couldn't really help. Although it wasn't the best of times it was somehow a consolation that she was quite old and had lived a good life full of people who loved her.

My second experience of death came just two months later, when we received a call to say my mother-in-law was seriously ill in hospital. She had been diagnosed with cancer during the year but to be quite honest I don't think anyone realised quite how serious it was. As it turned out she too died the same day, sadly without regaining consciousness. It was a little bit of a shock that not having experienced death for my whole life, it had now happened twice in two months.

If only that had been the end, but old wives' tales do say that everything comes in threes.

In March the following year, my sister phoned me quite early on the morning. She was complaining about a CD player she'd bought that wasn't working properly and she wanted me to drive her into town to return it. To be honest, I didn't really want to and told her to double check and make sure it definitely wasn't working and I would think about it. When her flatmate phoned back five minutes later laughing so hard she could barely speak I assumed they hadn't had it plugged in or some such silly error. Until I realised that she wasn't laughing at all...

Through her sobs she finally was able to say that when my sister had gone to check on her three month old baby boy he hadn't been breathing. She said the ambulance had been called and my sister had been giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I was in total shock and when she said the ambulance men had been trying to get him breathing in the ambulance I remember asking if they'd managed to start him breathing before they'd left. Her reaction was "I don't know. I don't think so"

All I could think of was to phone my Mum at work. She was laughing when she answered the phone and I can't remember the exact words I used. How do you tell someone something like that? She said she would go straight to the hospital which was only five minutes drive from her work and would let me know as soon as she had any news.

I can't remember how long I waited. It seemed like forever. I was home alone with my two year old daughter and I sat and read to her the whole time, holding her so tight that it's a wonder she sat still. We read a whole pile of Tweenies books and I forced myself to read every word, convincing myself that if I read the whole book, each and every word, including author's name, printing details, everything, that things would be fine. Silly, but I wasn't quite thinking straight. Even today I feel quite ill when I see a Tweenies book. Eventually the phone rang and I answered it to be met with silence. I asked my Mum "Is everything alright?" and she answered with the tiniest "No."

I howled. My sister told me years later she could hear me down the phone even though she was across the room. That seems selfish to me now. I was just the aunt and she was his Mum. Surely whatever I felt must have been magnified a hundred, thousand, million times for her. The rest of the day remains in a blur. Somehow I phoned my husband and he came home from work. I don't remember doing it but he can tell me where he was when I phoned with the news, and he came home so I must have done it somehow.

Later, my Mum came to see me and she looked old and grey. Older and greyer than the forty seven years old that she was. She told me how my sister had just been sitting holding him in the hospital, sitting holding him wrapped in a blanket.

I remember that evening I went to work. At the time I worked behind a bar and my boss told me to take time off but I felt it would be better to be busy. I remember one customer at the bar complaining her baby had whinged all day long and she was glad to get out. I wanted to shake her and tell her to be glad her baby could whinge. I didn't though!

That week was the strangest, most awful week of my life. Every time I spoke to some-one who didn't know, every time I saw a baby on TV, everything seemed so hard. I can't even begin to think of how it must have been for my sister. How do you go through something like that and not go mad. It's not something I ever want to find out. I'm ashamed to say I didn't go and see my sister straight away; we haven't always got on that well and I honestly didn't know what to say to her. Plus she spent most of the next week at the funeral parlour, dressing and holding her baby. I bought her a locket and gave it to her when I did visit. I wanted to show that I cared but didn't seem to be able to say. By this time she had brought her baby home and laid him in his coffin inside his moses basket but I couldn't go and see him. The idea was just too heartbreaking and terrifying and I wanted to remember him as I last saw him.

Fittingly the funeral was on a rainy day. The church was packed and I was amazed at how many people turned up, people I wouldn't have expected to see there. To be honest, I don't remember much about it, other than the music playing as we walked into church and my other sister sobbing in the pew behind me. I think we both pretty much cried the whole way through. My other sister, the baby's mum didn't seem to cry at all. It was as if nothing was quite real for her or that she was acting a part in a play. She said all the right things, did all the right things but it was as if she didn't quite believe it was all happening. I imagine this was shock or some form of self-protection.

After burying him in the churchyard I couldn't believe that was it. I remember crying to my Mum, "We can't just leave him here on his own" and my Mum saying "No, but we have to". The idea of that just broke my heart.

In the months that followed, my sister wouldn't talk about what had happened at all. My niece who was three at the time would often talk about her brother and she still does regularly, as does her younger sister who wasn't even born at the time.

The post mortem revealed that he died from cot death, but what does that mean? Really it just means that they rule out what didn't cause the death. He wasn't ill, didn't have any disease, didn't suffocate. There was no real cause and in a way that makes it harder as it just makes it so futile. I was angry for a while because he wasn't asleep in a cot, he was on the sofa and he had a baby quilt over him - a major no-no for babies under one year. Plus my sister was a smoker, another risk factor. He was three months old, a peak time for cot death. Could it have been avoided if these risk factors had been taken away? No-one can say. It might have been, there again it might not. The coroner wrote a very nice letter saying he could tell that the baby was well-fed and well cared for. No-one put any blame on my sister at all, but it's still hard not to wonder.

Over the following months I found it very hard to look to the future. Three deaths in six months had me constantly wondering who would be next. I used to look at people who seemed happy and wonder why they didn't seem to have the worries I had. I wandered the rooms of my house during the night constantly checking on my own children, aged six and two, poking them into wakefulness if they seemed to be sleeping too deeply. I decided against the idea of having a third child as I just couldn't cope with the idea of what could happen. Plus I questioned everything. What was the point in life? I've always thought that everything happens for a reason - but what reason? How can there possibly be a good reason for this? In later years, since the birth of my niece I've wondered if she could be the reason. After all, she probably wouldn't have been born had things been different but the logic of it is still tricky and doesn't seem fair somehow. And as I've said, I'm only the auntie. My sister doesn't talk much but she's gone through dark periods in her life since then and I'm sure much of it stems from this event.

Almost eight years later, and there's still not a day when I don't think about him and what he would be like now. My sister's next door neighbour had a baby the same age and when I see him now, a cheeky, good-natured, football loving eight year old, I think about my nephew. One of the hardest things is that there's virtually no photos of him. Who knew that time would be so short? When I finally did pluck up the courage to have my long awaited third baby, who arrived last year, I took photos practically every day - still do in fact. I have also followed cot death advice to the letter as I never wanted to be in the position of wondering what if...? My midwife was excellent in dealing with my fears and placed me on the CONI (Care of Next Infant) Programme which provided me with a breathing monitor, regular support and immediate access to a GP if I had any worries. They didn't think any of my worries were silly and it was very reassuring for the first six months. Not that it really helped me relax - I still don't even though my baby is twelve months old. I don't know if I ever will completely. The birth of my baby has had another good effect; my sister now talks about her own baby, not often, but often enough and that's a start.

So there it is, my own experience of bereavement. I appreciate that the content of it is difficult to read - it was difficult to write - and I half wonder if I should have a "spoiler" type warning at the top as I wouldn't want to upset any parents and I know it is an emotive subject. If anyone feels I should have added this please feel free to send me a message and I will. The last thing I want is to cause any upset.

I probably won't read this through so excuse any typos. Thank you for reading!

Summary: For my beautiful nephew who didn't get the chance to live his life