Tuesday, 12 December 2017

The Sweetest of Goodbyes

Today was the day I had been dreading for the past 3 weeks.

Ever since I gave birth to my sleeping baby at almost 5 months pregnant, I have been both longing for and dreading the day I would say Goodbye.

After the birth, we were advised by the hospital that they would be arranging a simple cremation service and we would be notified by post when it would be. It took almost 2 weeks for the letter to come through and I worried that they would forget to notify me of the time/date to attend. 

I needn't have worried though as it turned up eventually, advising us that the cremation service would be carried out at Streetly Crematorium on Tuesday 12th December at 9.15am.

The roads have been awash with snow and ice the past few days after a big frosty downfall leaving all schools around the area closed for a few days and the roads treacherous for driving and walking on. I worried that maybe the service would be cancelled due to the poor weather conditions, but it wasn't gladly. We set out at 8am this morning after dropping our two young sons at their Nan's house who conveniently lives over the road. 

After driving carefully and rather nervously through the snow, we arrived at the crematorium and were introduced by the Reverend who would be conducting the service. She ran through what would happen as this was all new to us. We were never advised that the service would be so personal, a number of midwives at the hospital had mentioned that the service would be communial and we would share it with other grieving parents. But this was not the case. I felt sad and guilty that more people weren't there to pay they're respects to our baby. It was solely me and Stewart, clinging to each other lost in our own personal tidal wave of sadness.

The service started with Stewart carrying the tiny white coffin in from the funeral car and placing it onto the altar. He took his place next to me, his face wet with tears and pain. I held onto him, mostly as an anchor to keep me from falling and also as comfort for him. We listened and sobbed as the readings and poems were read out to us, each word resonating through us, striking every nerve within us. I couldn't take my eyes away from the coffin, my last chance to have my baby in the same room as me. I wanted to run over and grab it before the curtains were drawn around it, I wanted to prize the lid off and cradle my baby, never letting it go. I stared at the box through every sentence read and through every tear...I watched as the curtains were finally drawn and clung helplessly to Stewart as we both struggled to control what we were feeling, which was raw sadness.

I wanted more than anything to have my baby, why is life so unfair?
I should be six months pregnant now, I should be looking forward to holding it.
I should be looking forward to all the things that comes with having a baby and a new child...the new addition to our family.
I should be buying a new pram and a new crib.
I should be shopping for gender, knowing whether to buy pink or blue.

I shouldn't be feeling so empty, I shouldn't be sad at every moment I wont now experience.
I shouldn't be watching as my Husband carries our baby in a coffin.
I shouldn't be listening to prayers and readings or watching as my baby is finally laid to rest. 
I shouldn't be feeling sad when I see new babies that are introduced on social media feeds.
I shouldn't cry myself to sleep as I feel the loss of my baby, missing the bumps and nudges from inside my uterus.

I can never say that the service was not beautiful. As sad as it was, it was also very special to us. It was small, simple and personal. In a way, it was better that it was just us, the two main people who would feel the loss the most. I will always be grateful to the hospital and funeral services for providing this touching gesture without any pay from ourselves. It was absolutely amazing. 

And this final paragraph is to you, Harper Geary. We may not have got to hold you, we may not have got to keep you, but please remember that you have and will always have a place in our hearts. You are very much loved, I just wish I could have protected you as any mother should. One day I will be with you and I will take you in my arms and never ever let you go. Until that day, please be safe in my Nan's arms, she will always look after you. 

RIP Harper Geary 13/11/2017

Monday, 11 December 2017

Moving Forward

Following on from my previous post, I have had a few positive days.
I am not always going to feel so positive. There are going to be a lot of low days. I miss being pregnant, I miss my baby and I miss all of the days ahead that I am now not going to experience....I should be six months pregnant.

I should be feeling the baby bump around in my belly, I should be getting things ready and shopping for baby items....but instead I am busying myself so I don't think of all the negatives....instead I should be concentrating on the family I have with me.

Tomorrow will be a hard day, we are attending a service at the Streetly Crematorium for the baby.
It is going to be hard, but I hope I can then start moving forward a little. I hope I can see it as the baby being released to live freely in the sky. I have never been a big believer in God and Heaven but I like to think that there is something or someone up there who will take care of my baby whilst I am here...and that one day I will have it back in my arms. 

Life is for living and I have to continue to be there for my family. So the last few days we have done things as a family.

Things can only get Better

The Christmas Tree has gone up with the help of my husband and my two young boys. We brought new baubles as we do every year...with the boys choosing a new one each. Ethan (6) went for a circle bauble with feathers in it. Oliver (3) went for a cathedral which lights up. It looks very festive in our home now...with the added addition of the naughty elf. 

Then on Saturday we surprised the boys with a festive day out at Thomas Land. It was just what we needed as a family, a day together. It wasn't even dampened by the cold snow which was forecast for most of the weekend. The boys loved it, we kept it a secret until we drove through the gates of Drayton Manor and they're faces were a picture. 

The days ahead are going to a mix of good and bad, but I wouldn't be able to get through them at all if it weren't for these boys...and that includes my husband. :)

Sunday Morning we woke to heaps and I mean HEAPS of snow outside. The whole place was covered. There was no way I was driving in it, so we had a snow day. We went in the garden, threw snowballs.....made a snowman....and enjoyed more family time. These last few days have put a big smile on my face. Time is going to be the biggest healer...but these chaps of mine are the medicine! They are the best.

Friday, 8 December 2017

Lost Baby

It has been a while since I wrote on this blog....and to be honest its not for lack of wanting to. I have been pretty busy with work and then I became pregnant with my 3rd child. Anyone who knows me knows how I struggle with sickness, etc during pregnancy so this stopped me from wanting to even look at my computer screen.

Below is a video blog I recently did.

Its not an easy subject to talk about or even to listen to.

At my routine 5 month scan I was told that my unborn baby had no heartbeat! The words will constantly echo around my head. Since then I have been in emotional turmoil.
What is the best way to think after a miscarriage? How long do I give myself to grieve?

The past 3 weeks have been the hardest of my life...

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Blog Update

Hi All
Its been a while since I wrote on here so I figured I would pop by, in between editing photographs from a wedding I covered, and update on recent stuff that has been happening.

So for a long time then I have wanted to write. Whether it be fiction or non fiction then I have always felt like I wanted to put myself out there in words, but I also have a passion for working within the television industry. Not in front of the screen, but behind....within the production team possibly or combining my love for writing and media and having some sort of broadcast journalism role. So last week I did my usual job search of any type of careers that may be waiting for me to apply within this industry. There were the usual 'too good to be true' vacancies, but I applied for a couple of jobs that I found on indeed.co.uk.

The first being a job within the HR department at BBC Studios. Not exactly a production role but a step in the door at least. I applied for an admin role at a local radio station too which again isn't within the team I would like to be in but its a start.

One thing that I applied for which has been torn in two as to whether I really want it or not is the BBC Trainee Journalism Apprentice Scheme. This is a training course which annually gets offered to so many people who apply (which I can imagine is probably hundreds) - The opportunity is for 10 months and involves possibly relocating to one of the BBC sites around the country and training in broadcast journalism. The training sounds very hands on. There is a big part of me that would love this opportunity. Although there is no guarantee of a contract at the end, it would be amazing experience. But the thought of relocating and spending time away from my husband and boys makes me not want it. My husband has been very supportive and has said that if I want to do it then I should go for it. Which I have done, the application has been completed and has been sent in a few days ago. I am pretty sure there is not much chance of me getting the position but the fact that I want it is making me want to apply for more positions.

As well as this then I have had some ideas for script and short stories which I will be putting together over the next few weeks.

Logging off now as I am about to watch Legion!

Saturday, 18 February 2017

Writing Competitions

I have entered a writing competition tonight, its not that I expect or want to win, I just want to get into the habit of writing and getting my work out there. A lot of my work will be showcased here too obviously.

I entered Moving On (my short story I posted previously) into the Writing Ink Monthly Competition; a small online magazine competition with a prize consisting of a £10 Amazon voucher and the winning entry posted on their website.

I am currently enjoying making notes for future short stories, poems and articles. Its challenging my imagination and I embrace it thoroughly.
 Sitting staring into space is getting me some looks but I play it off as tiredness or me having lots of things on my mind.

As much as I want to have people honour me for my work, I haven't really shared these stories on my personal social media pages yet. It's one thing admitting that I want to be a writer, another entirely to admit it loudly when I don't know whether or not I will fail.

I know I need to have faith and be confident in myself but this is a completely new field that I am venturing into...with there being so many talented writers out there, its not unusual for some to be hidden from view. So, for now this is my hobby, running alongside my daily life.....I love to hope that something will come of it but if it doesn't, then I am having fun all the same. :)

Thursday, 16 February 2017


The last post I made was a short story I wrote a couple of years ago. Its not perfect, and having gone through it tonight I have changed a few things from the original....and altered some grammatical errors, but other than that this story is how I wrote it originally.

I am going to continue to write stories and put them on here.

Hope you enjoy reading them... :)

Wednesday, 15 February 2017

Moving On (short story)

Life flashes by, birds tweet and weather changes but I feel so obsolete. Nobody sees me, but I see them. I see their faces, alive and bright. I am here but nobody sees me, I am here but I am not.

I fight to move, I fight to feel, I fight to live but there is nothing. I am a shell with a hollow centre. I am nothing. I am here, but I am not. My eyes see all, my ears hear everything. My body craves the movement I had before. I see their pain, I see their love, but I fail to show mine. My body screams for a release, my mind screams to be heard and my heart aches for them. I see the pain of her, I see her hands as they caress my skin, the warmth of her touch shooting through my body like shocks of electric.

I want to call out to them, I want to shout her name. I want to tell her that I am here, I want to tell her not to cry for me. I can sense her pain and that makes me ache with love and sadness. My mind is swimming with endless thoughts of life, thoughts of love and memories of laughter and joy. All of it gone in a moment. I was happy, young and I loved my life. Before I was gone, before my life changed I took so many things for granted and adored material things. But now I see that there is only one thing a person can own and that's love. To love and to be loved is a precious thing. Everyone craves it, everyone fights for it and most of us are lucky enough to have it.

I have tried to grasp where the point of change was, when I went from being alive to being here. Memories swim around my mind. The laughter I had with my friends and the excitement I felt when I finished school for half term. I remember seeing the boy I liked across the road and the vague memory of his shocked expression as I stepped out towards him. Following that came a mixed muddled mess of noise and images. The screams and crying came first, then the realization that I was lying on the floor looking up into the faces of people crowding me, followed shortly by ambulance crew. Everything happened too quickly, even now when I try to remember all of the details it feels like someone has their finger pressed down on the fast forward button. I tried to move, but they had me strapped down onto the board, which was eventually lifted up onto an ambulance. My eyes hurt when I looked up into the light.

Of all the things I remember the most, it's the pain that sticks out in my mind. I couldn't originate where the pain was from but I heard words of 'head trauma' and risk of internal bleeding thrown around as the vehicle I was in sped towards its destination, blue lights flashing and sounding out a piercing siren which made me feel pain in parts which I never knew existed. I tried to call out for my mom but i couldn't find my voice and I could only taste the acrid metal blood which soaked the inside of my mouth. There was another voice in the vehicle, separate from the paramedics who were working to save my life. A voice I recognised was talking wildly, sobs separating her words as she spoke.  At the time I couldn't place it but having had time to go over these events over and over again,  I now realize that it was my best friend, Zara. She held my hand, although I didn't feel it at the time. She was talking about an accident and something about how the car had come out of nowhere but I was swiftly drifting into darkness as I realised that she was talking about what had happened to me.

The moment I closed my eyes was the moment I lost, I will forever wish that I fought harder to stay awake, that I used all of my inner strength to keep myself afloat long enough to survive. Since that moment I have been floating on a choppy wave, waiting for something but not knowing what it is. Monitors beep in the distance and signs of life wrap around me, containing me inside my own bubble, a world where only I exist. My eyelids are still closed. Since that 'moment' in the ambulance I haven't opened them again. But I can still see, I can see more now than I could before. I see the love of those around me and hear their sorrow. My body feels nothing, but I ache inside, emotions and feelings weighing me down. I feel as though I am drowning, but there is no relief from my anguish. Time has gone by slowly, but I don't know how long I have been lying here. Days, weeks, months, I have no way of tracing the time, but the time I wait seems endless, causing me to feel impatient and frustrated. It would feel good to scream, to put all of my energy into opening my mouth and letting the sound roll effortlessly from my lips, but my body is frozen and numb. I can only scream on the inside, but what is the point? It is silent and small and trapped as am I. Nobody can hear me, they can only see my lifeless body lay out before them. I see my mother as she paces around the hospital room. Her eyes are red from crying, lines of mascara tracing down her cheeks. She is clutching a small brown teddy bear, a stuffed toy that I slept with when I was a child and had always refused to throw out. The material on its body is torn and it has a small rip on its right ear from where I wrestled it from my younger brother. My mother hugs it tightly to her chest and her small shoulders rise and drop as her tears turn into sobs. My heart hurts and I try to look away but I feel myself drawn to her. The woman who gave me life, who blew raspberries on my belly when I was young, the woman who helped clean up my cuts and bruises and protected me from the monsters in my room, she was now having to consider a very difficult decision. The only option we have left. Dr. Thompson had spoken to my mother hours earlier whilst she had stood holding my hand, he had informed her of my brain damage and how my lack of blood supply to my brain following trauma had caused irreparable damage. He had stated that they had done all they could and that my body was being kept alive by machines. My mother clutched my hand, squeezing and kneading it as if she could somehow revive me. Great sobs broke from her lips and she fell forwards, putting her weight against my bed and resting heavily on me, begging me without words to open my eyes. The doctors words echoed through me, resonating around my body. It was at that moment that I accepted my fate peacefully. My life was no more but I needed to tell her to live and to go on living. Grief was inevitable after the death of a loved one but I wanted my mother to embrace it and live my life through her.

The room had brightened considerably once I accepted that I was moving on, but there was no sun coming in through the windows, there was only a small circle of light which had appeared on the opposite wall. It was bright and beautiful and bathed the area in so much light that I just wanted to touch it. Nobody else could see it, or if they could, then they weren't taking much notice of it. There are four people in the room, including me. My mother stood near me, clutching my teddy to her. Behind her stood my stepfather, his hands clasped onto my mothers shoulders, his eyes low, searching the floor as though he's looking for answers which he won't find. We have always had a close relationship, my real father never played a part in my life and I never missed him as Alan made me feel like his daughter every single day. The pain in his eyes hits me in the chest and I long to hug him to me. On th opposite side of the bed is Dr. Thompson, his stance and straight face showing sympathy and patience towards my parents painfully hard decision. The responsibility lies solely with them and I will them with all of my being to let me go. Not just for me, but got them. I want them to live for me; I want them to go on and be happy and to remember me as I was, not how I am now. My stepfather squeezes my mother to him and nods in the direction of the doctor and mouths the words, 'we're ready'.

The light is slowly growing and the room takes on a white-washed look. It's as if someone has turned up the brightness. The features of the people around me become more difficult to make out and, against the white light they're forms appear like silhouettes. Dr. Thompson mutters a few words to my parents, but I don't catch what he is saying. Condolences maybe? All I am focused on is that circle of light which is now big enough for me to crawl through. The tunnel it opens up is stunning to look at; there are a hundred different swirling colors, all of them bright and sparkling. The tunnel is long and as the hole gets bigger, I see that there is an end to it, there is life there.

The machines in my room stop beeping and the ventilator which has been pumping up and down rhythmically and endlessly now stops and stands silent. My mother looks down at me and holds onto my hand, tears trailing down her cheeks. Behind her, still holding her tightly is Alan, his face taut and struggling to control his emotions. His face is pinched in pain and he tries unsuccessfully to hold himself together, trying not to cry, but he cant control it and he swiftly covers his face with his hands and sheds tears for me, his little girl. Maybe we aren't connected by blood, but I know he holds me in his heart as though I am.

I am suddenly aware that I am no longer lying down on the hospital bed, but I am standing up. My parents are next to me, both lost in their sadness, neither noticing that I am inches from them. Looking down at my body, I see what they see. Wires snake across my body, leading up to the now silent machines. My head is wrapped in bandages, pieces of my blonde hair streak across my damp skin. Purple circles are evident around my closed eyes. The colour of my skin appears grey and dull, even in the blinding whiteness of the room. Small is the word that comes to mind, I look small; lying tucked up in the clean white sheets that cover my final bed.

My gaze is drawn back towards the circle of light, which is now big enough for me to walk through. The end of the tunnel is easy to make out and I see beauty and happiness there. There are hundreds of people waiting there, smiling and waving; calling me to them. I see faces I recognise, great aunts whose funerals I attended when I was a kid, an uncle who died when he was my age and plenty more faces that I recognise from my childhood onwards and from photographs I had seen. The field they stand in is full of pretty flowers of all colours and my eyes pick out animals amongst the group who wait for me. Behind one of my great aunts I spy a dog I recognise, his brown familiar fur gently ruffling in the breeze. Everyone looks happy and everyone is smiling. There is no pain there; I know I will be safe forever. I see it, I hear it and I feel it. I breathe in the rich lavender scent, carried on a light breeze that blows my hair and cools my skin. I feel alive and ready for my new life.

I turn back, looking at my heartbroken parents, both of them lost in their grief, both unable to speak through their pain. Words can not describe how I am feeling. Happy and excited about my next chapter, but sad and angry about having to leave my old one behind so soon. I love my parents, I love my life but I know I cannot stay. Stepping back towards my parents, I feel deep sorrow for having to leave them behind. Maybe I can stay; maybe I don't have to leave. I look back towards the tunnel and see my Grandma Poppy approaching me. We hug each other tightly, both jubilant about seeing one another again and I know then that I will see them all again. My parents will live their lives and when the time comes, I will welcome them to their new home. My heart sings for that moment. Granny Poppy holds her hand out to me, eager to take me with her. With as much energy as I can muster, I walk back to my parents, wrap my arms around them, hold them tightly to me and whisper, 'I love you.' My breathe comes out like a breeze and blows my mothers fringe. She looks up and her eyes meet mine, I know she can see me, because she starts towards me. Holding out for my Granny's hand, I walk towards the tunnel, breathing in the rich floral aroma.

I take one last glance at my mother. She is watching me leave, her arms clinging to my oblivious father. Smiling at her, tears steaming down my face, I raise my hand and wave at her. My mother smiles lightly, her face also wet from tears. As her words of love follow me down the long tunnel, I know that everything will be okay.

This isn't the end for me, it is only the beginning.

The End.

Tuesday, 14 February 2017

New Blog

What do I want this blog to be about? I have been asking myself that question since I decided to create one. This isn't the first blog I have put together, but I want it to be more than just a way for me to rant about daily stresses and griping about my life.

For as far back as I can remember I have always wanted to write. Whether it be diaries, stories, articles, etc I have always enjoyed putting words down and piecing them together to create something that was worthy of a read. 

When I was little, I wrote in a diary every year.....I started when I was as young as 5 or 6 so a lot of my entries at that point was simple and childlike, but as I got older I used my diary to write about my fears and dreams, used it to unburden myself from the daily struggle of school and early adult life and basically used it like a best friend (not that I didn't have friends)

It's been many years since I wrote in a diary but throughout the years I have regularly wrote short stories and make many notes for any future writing I might make. 

Life over the years has taken over, marriage, children, work, bills. It's all meant that I took a step from my writing and focused on my life as a wife and parent. 

Another passion of mine is photography and I run quite a successful small photography business company for the last few years, building up clientele and reputation. But the past few years have seen me lose focus when it comes to my work. I covered many events as a photographer; weddings, christenings.....I even shot studio style Photoshoots. I love the people I work with and all the young babies and children that I get to photograph but the work can seem a bit predictable at times and I feel that I am losing what I loved about photography in the first place, the fact that you can take photographs of pretty much anything, anywhere and make them look amazing and arty just by the lighting or angle used. I feel that I want to go back to that, so I am reeling in my photo bookings and I have agreed with myself (I am my own boss you know) that I wouldn't do anymore of the stuff that doesn't make me happy. And after the past 7 months, I need to find something that will help reconfirm that life is for living. I have had a good life up until now but I have always put off the one thing I wanted - to have work of mine published. Whether it be photographs or a book....

So having answered my own question as I wrote this first post, this blog is going to be a place where I can show off some of my work, create new photo pieces and write reviews, short stories etc. Whether any of it will be good is another thing entirely, but if it is rubbish and you read it, please be kind to me - so here I go! 

Let the creative juices flow! 

Okay I'm sorry, that's totally cheesy! 😂