These walls are different now..

A sickness bug in the house led to our first admittance into the hospital since Aurora passed away, a day that we’ve been dreading. Because of the kids dependency on steroids, a simple sickness bug can be extremely detrimental to them. Failure to absorb their medication can lead to an adrenal crisis which comes with a risk of falling into a coma or death at worst, but nothing easy to deal with even in the best case scenario.

I haven’t written in a few weeks because I feel like it would be a case of me repeating myself. Repeating that I feel lost without Aurora, guilty for living when she isn’t, and angry all of the time. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with that, I’m just trying to make it out of each day alive, but last night was one of the hardest nights we’ve had in a while.

I’ve found out that there are certain people I can see and I’m fine with. I can put my walls up, and I can talk about Rory without crying. Sometimes I can even laugh and smile at her memory, but there’s other times when certain people only have to look at me and I’m in pieces.

Mainly the looks are those of pity or sympathy and I know people don’t mean them, but they still hurt. People want to ask if I’m okay, but always follow it up with “I know it’s a stupid question”, they just don’t know what else to say. And people aren’t wrong for feeling sad for me, I’d feel hurt if they didn’t. It’s just really hard to deal with everyone else’s emotions when I can’t seem to get my own in check.

I guess I always worried about how I would feel going back to the hospital without Rory here. Despite all of our kids being in and out over the past year and a half, it was where I spent most of my time with her. Those cubicles have seen every emotion I have to offer, and even on the darkest of days I have the fondest memories of our little girl there. The walk down the corridors used to make me feel anxious, and out of my depth but they always held a sense of familiarity, it wasn’t where we wanted to be, but it became a home away from home.

Now, they just stir up feelings of anger and resentment because every time I walk down them I feel like I’m on my way to see her and then I get slapped with the reality she’s gone. I expect to see her in the same cubicle she always slept in curled up under the blankets watching YouTube, but the room is empty now. Nothing has changed for anyone there, but for me everything has. My little girl isn’t there barking orders and throwing tantrums anymore, and I still don’t understand why? I still feel anger in the pit of my stomach walking in there without her and I worry because I’m absolutely petrified of anything happening to my other two children.

And the nurses are them familiar faces. They know how many nights and days I spent by Auroras side. They’ve seen me climbing the walls, throwing my weight around, demanding answers, but I feel like I’ve lost that person now, regardless of the fact my other babies still need her. I know anyone who reads our story or who knows me, tells me I’m strong, but I don’t feel it anymore. I feel like I’m on autopilot now and I’m not half the person I used to be when I had Aurora. I always got my strength from her but now I feel weak. I feel like I’m spiralling with grief and anger and self doubt and confusion because I don’t know what I want. The only thing I truly want is never coming back and so I’m desperately looking for a replacement that’s never going to come.

I spoke to our therapist the other day and I said that through it all my overwhelming emotion is anger. I’m angry at the world, because there’s people out there with there babies and I’ve lost mine. I tried everything and it still wasn’t enough, and it’s deflating to know that even sometimes your best isn’t good enough.

What I’ve come to realise though, is that more so than anger is guilt. I feel so torn about everything. I feel guilty for being able to offer my two babies a better life than I could’ve offered Aurora when I was a single mum. I feel guilty for going back to work and leaving my babies with someone else, but I know I’ll also feel guilty if I don’t, because Aurora never had that privilege. Every day when we do something with the kids I feel guilty knowing how much Aurora would have loved it, and I feel guilty because I don’t know how to stop feeling guilty and show up as a mum for my babies. I don’t want my them growing up thinking that I was less than what they needed after we lost Aurora because none of this is their fault, but I can’t help but feel that I shouldn’t live having fun and enjoying anything because I should be grieving and crying more.

I feel so conflicted between giving my children the best life I can, and not treating them any differently to how Aurora grew up, even though I would have given her the world if I could. I feel like going forward, anything I choose will be wrong because she’s not here, and I don’t know how to get myself out of it. We have one good day without tears, followed by a week of bad days because we feel guilty for not crying. People keep telling me it’s all normal and I have to grieve but I still don’t know how I do that or what that means. I don’t know anything anymore other than 2 years ago my life was perfect, and now it’s completely fallen apart.

I look for her in every place we go, whether it’s songs, or stars, or feathers, or sunflowers, and whilst they bring comfort, it also reminds me of what I need comfort for, and that’s hard. Motherhood never came with a guide, and neither does grief, but I really wish it did. When Rory was here I would’ve given anything not to be in hospital for days and weeks on end, but now, I’d give anything to be back there holding her hand even if she couldn’t hold it back.