Nights are the worst, but the days aren’t much better..

It’s been almost 4 weeks since our baby took her last breaths, and 4 weeks of us asking ourselves why? The anger and the sadness has done nothing but fester inside of me to the point I want to scream at the top of my lungs but instead I do anything to keep busy and push it down. Mornings and evenings are the worst, but the days aren’t much better. Things have only got worse since the funeral and I find myself crying every single day now. I keep going over and over the last year in my head and I still don’t understand.

I keep trying to convince myself that I could have done more to save her. I could have taken her to the doctor’s earlier, then I’m reminded that nobody even believed me even when she was on the brink of death so it wouldn’t have mattered. My worries and concerns were brushed aside like I was an overreacting mother and now I’m sat here without my best friend. Every time I try and convince myself that it wasn’t my fault I’m slapped with the reality that I’m still her mum, and it was my job to keep her safe and protected, but I couldn’t.

I just feel like I’m torn with every decision I make now.

Part of me wants to take down all the pictures I have of her because every time I see them I want to cry. The other part knows that even without the pictures I’ll always see her face. It’s ingrained in my memory, every time I close my eyes, regardless of the photos that plaster my home.

Part of me wants to throw myself into helping other parents, advocating for those supporting their child through cancer, but another part of me never wants to see them again. I feel jealous and bitter sometimes that my baby didn’t make it and others did, even though I wouldn’t wish it on anybody else. Even though some of my best friends are these mums and I’m so grateful to have met them and their precious children, my heart is heavy that things didn’t turn out differently.

I don’t know what to do.

I threw myself into making her send off as perfect as I could, like it was the last thing I could do for her, but now she’s not here. I won’t get to see her ever again and now all I’ve got are these memories which are all tainted with sadness because I didn’t appreciate them enough at the time.

I find myself wanting to try harder for the two babies I still have, but I feel guilty that I might be a better mum to them than I was to Aurora, and I don’t want to. And I know it’s selfish because my babies deserve the world. I didn’t just lose a daughter, they lost a sister and a role model, and here I am wallowing in depression, choosing to hold back because I feel like I’m betraying my baby that isn’t here. I don’t want to be an absent mother, but it’s hard.

We all sat cuddled on the sofa and the phrase “cuddles with all my babies” slipped out which sent me into meltdown because it will never be all my babies anymore. It will always just be two of them, never the three.

In grief, all things seem wrong. It seems wrong that I’ve spent time with friends, or taken the kids out, or gone to work, because I feel like all that I should be doing is crying. Crying because I lost the best thing that ever happened to me, crying because life is cruel and unfair, crying because even though I’m no longer sat holding my dying child’s hand I’m still absolutely petrified that our other kids are poorly and I can’t fix them.

I’m petrified that I won’t be able to navigate my way through life like I would do if she was here. That I’ll end up pushing people away because it’s easier to feel nothing than it is to try and force something.