11-9-12
2.5 months since she died.
Some days are good. Some days are bad. Some days start ok and end terribly. Like today. Tuesdays are my Paisley days. Or sometimes Thursdays. Or sometimes both in one week. Actually, usually its both in one week. My 2 year old goes to day care Tuesdays and Thursdays and with hubby at work I’m left on my own. These are supposed to be the days that I do house work and grocery shopping and run errands. But the truth is, I don’t like doing them on my own. It would be easier. And quicker. But I miss the company of my toddler. And going to the shops without her means I don’t have a distraction from the ridiculously large amount of pregnant women or idiots with no social skills who have somehow been granted the privilege of multiple children, children who are incredulously always eating McDonalds and drinking coke before they even look old enough to be off the boob. But anyway.
So Tuesdays and Thursdays are my Paisley days. Basically, I mope. I mope and sleep. And I look through Paisley’s things and sob. As loud as I want. Sometimes I watch TV. If I’m feeling brave I will run and errand or 2. In the first few weeks, I hated these days and purposely made lots of plans to do on these days to keep myself busy. I hated being alone and feeling sad. But somewhere in the last few weeks this has flipped. Now it seems too hard to be busy without my 3 foot tall, very chatty sidekick. It’s been 10.5 weeks and no one thinks I should be sad anymore. They’ve heard the story, we’ve talked it out. Time to move on Cashmore. The only problem is I’m not done talking. I probably never will be. I have nothing to add to conversations. I actually don’t really care much about most other people’s “stuff” and playing along takes a lot of energy. Energy that I just generally don’t have.
Being busy with The Sunshine every other day of the week means I don’t have the opportunity to just hang out and feel sad. I cant play sad music and bawl my eyes out because she will get upset and worried and bring me tissues and her favourite dolly to cuddle and that will just make me cry even more. So I don’t. I don’t cry around her anymore, I don’t get sad. I save it all up. And I actually look forward to Tuesdays. Or Thursdays. Or both.
I’m making my way through a DVD set of an old TV show at the moment and it keeps me busy for a few hours after I drop The Sunshine Princess to day care. Then I go to bed and nap til it’s time to pick her up. At the end of the day I’m always a little ashamed that i wasted so much of the day, that the house is still messy and there’s no dinner cooked. I always feel really bad for my husband who has been at work all day so we can pay the bills and I sat at home feeling sorry for myself. I run around like a mad woman tidying up and pretend that I am not the worlds laziest slob.
But then, the next Tuesday or Thursday comes and it’s back to moping. Today im adding writing to my Paisley day so I can feel semi productive.
Today I had an errand to run. I had to drop something off to someone and the quickest way there meant I would drive past the cemetery where Paisley is. That’s ok. I’ve done it a few times now. Usually my hubby is with me and we wind down the windows and yell “hello Paisley!” and Shyla wiggles in her car seat and mimics “Hiiii Plaseee!!!”
Today I was innocently listening to a CD that I’ve had for months and a song came on that I’ve heard a million times before. But Today it sent me into gasping sobs.
“It’s the last day on earth,
In my dreams, in my dreams,
It’s the last day on earth,
And you’ve come back to me,
In my dreams”
And
“any time anybody speaks your name I still feel the same,
I ache I ache I ache inside”
So I decided to pull in at the cemetery. Last time we were there, a new grave had been dug next to Paisley. We could tell by the Teddy bear it was for a boy. I was so upset. Another family going through what we were. How awful for them. Those poor people. No one should have to feel this.
Today when I pulled up there was a man sitting on the bench that overlooks our babies. I dont know how but I could tell it was the new baby’s dad. I was still crying from the song in the car. I wanted to go and sit with him and comfort him, but how does that conversation go? “hey my baby is next to yours, nice to meet you.” ? It’s just too cruel.
So I went to Paisley’s grave and picked up the flowers we had left there last time, they were dead, so I threw them in the bush.
When I walked back to the grave I noticed that Paisley has a plaque. Someone from the council must have put it in. It takes a little while for the grave to “settle” so she had been unmarked until now. The plaque says “Baby Paisley Jane Cashmore Rest in Peace”. Sounds nice doesn’t it? I hyperventilated and threw up. Thankfully not on any other graves. But then I had to kick dirt over my vomit because i didn’t want vomit near the babies.
We didn’t want a plaque. We didn’t order a plaque. We wanted to get a big beautiful headstone with a more personal message, than Rest in Peace. We wanted her date on it. We wanted it to say we will always love her. We were told that when the grave was ready we would be contacted and given the information on the various options of how we could mark the grave.
I’m sure that I can reverse this. That I can have the tacky little generic council plaque removed and replace it with a headstone. But now I have to ring the council and have a very awkward conversation with someone who will think I’m an absolute nutter. “you gave my baby a plaque! How dare you?!?” Oh yeh, this is going to go down real well.
And the worst part about it all is I’m sitting here now and I’m realizing that the reason I am so upset over the god damn plaque is because i feel like it’s my mistake. How did I let this happen. How did I let my baby get stuck with something so ordinary? So boring and so impersonal? This is not what I wanted. I feel like people will see this horrible little piece of plastic and think, “wow, they mustn’t have cared much” All the other babies have beautiful stones and Paisley has a cheap, trashy plaque. I am doing all I can to be the best mummy I can be to my dead baby, whom I will never actually get to do anything for, and I didn’t even get to have a say in the plaque!!! I didn’t even get a letter to say she had a plaque. I am so furious. That’s what happens when your baby dies. Inanimate objects like small pieces of plastic drive you absolutely insane.
Paisley, baby, I’m sorry bubba. I promise mummy will fix this. Just sit tight for a little bit and I’ll get you a pretty stone ok? I promise. I love you sweetheart.
The really hard thing about reading this nearly 2.5 years on, is that we still haven’t put a stone in. We never found ourselves able to agree on what it should say, and so we kept putting it off. I was/am still really uncomfortable with the fact that she is buried and not cremated (even though burying her was my decision) and putting in a stone just seemed so final. We will do it. One day.
Painting The House Pink 