Christmas without Max

I kept thinking that this Christmas would be our first without Max, but of course it wasn't. Christmas came exactly a month after he left us, festive cheer hurtling towards it when we were least equipped to deal with it. I remember thinking it seemed like cruel timing having to face family events and other people's happy children at a time when we were still struggling to draw breath. Due to some incredible thoughtlessness on behalf of Leslie's family, who had all made plans that did not involve us, we found ourselves facing Christmas day alone, bereaved, with only boxes full of a dead baby's clothes for company. Thankfully it didn't come to that. My dearest Kate and her amazing family came to the rescue with a wonderfully pleasant lunch invitation that we accepted, almost desperately. Though we were quiet, withdrawn and sad, we managed to make an acceptable, if not enjoyable, day out of it with wonderful company, none of whom expected anything of us except to sit, eat and drink, which was about all we were capable of.

This Christmas we had planned to fly to Hobart to spend it with my mum and my family, which we had not done for the last two years. We booked Leslie's dad to come and feed the kitties (it's impossible to get them into a cattery at this time of year), rolled our way out of bed at 5am on Christmas Eve and made our way to the airport, even though part of me felt like we'd be better off spending it alone where we did not have to pretend to be happy. I'm glad we didn't though. We had a peaceful, easy day with my small family and the excitement of all the small children present (my family has a lot of toddlers) didn't seem to sting as much as I had expected it might. My skin is tougher these days - so much tougher, like Teflon, where things don't stick as much as they might once have done.

Max was in our thoughts at many times throughout the day, but perhaps most of all on Christmas Eve for some reason. We both missed him. We just missed him so much. It wasn't so much of a distressing emotion - I didn't sob or break down - but it was just there, hanging heavily within us where we suspect it will always be. So many of my thoughts were also with the families of other missing babies I have come to know over this past year. I wondered how they were getting through the day and what rituals they'd stumbled upon to make their little darlings a part of the life that has gone on without them.

We were very touched that my mum made a special effort to make sure Max was included in our Christmas traditions. She had two special baubles made with his name on them, one for our tree at home, and one for her tree, which we just loved. And when I was strolling at the shops one day recently I found another little bear decoration with Max's name on it that I could not resist. Both of them have come to mean so much to us and we will always make sure to make a special occasion out of putting them on the tree in years to come. We hope that next year Max's baby sister will be able to help us with her chubby baby hands.

Speaking of baby sister, she was also not forgotten on Christmas day. She had her own presents under the tree from her very excited Nanna. She got so many things that both Leslie and I were secretly fearful that there might be nothing for us under the tree next year and instead a million presents with her name on them! I hoped....you know what, I might have even prayed that we'd have this baby with us next Christmas.

The Christmas season has fallen at a very vulnerable time of my pregnancy, with the terrifying 23 week mark just a few ticks of the new year clock away. My fear of this baby dying is, I would say, quite extreme at this moment and I know I won't see myself clear of it until she reaches the point of viability, probably not even then. How many ways can I compel her to stay in there? I've been tempted to grab a needle and thread and conduct my own cervical suture procedure so she couldn't get out no matter how hard she tried. I'm struggling to sit with this 'wait and see' approach that the preterm labour clinic are taking. They won't provide any preventative treatment or intervention unless they see evidence of the cervix shortening. I'm not quite that trusting. I want all of the interventions. It still feels like they're taking chances I'm desperately uncomfortable taking. But I have to trust them. That's what everyone keeps telling me. But that kind of trust is hard to cultivate let alone maintain alongside this level of terror.

Leslie has two weeks home from work and we plan to do some things around the house and take the time to enjoy each other's company. I'm feeling well right now, really well, I just wish I could shake the feeling that my world is only a breath away from crashing down around me.