A dream is a wish your heart makes
When you’re fast asleep
In dreams you lose your heartaches
Whatever you wish for, you keep

- Ilene Woods (Cinderella)

Ivy is our fairy.  She always has been.  Elfin-like, tiny.   Our totally enchanting and perfectly mischievous fairy.   She loves them herself, donning wings and fluttering around the house frequently..asking for fairy merchandise at the shops, watching The Fairies on tv. Secretly, I was relieved that this was her love..  Something I’d not had seen with Ava..a new experience, no association.

But there was a day, I knew it would come, where someone fondly called her Princess.     And in that moment, smiling and making polite conversation, my mind reeled.     My proper self knew it was as it should be..all three year old girls, along with being fairies and ballerinas and pretend Mommies, are Princesses.   But my sorrow-filled self could not bear the thought.   I had only ever known one Princess until that day.   But “the firsts” come and go..Ivy pested for her own sparkly, polyester frocks and I helped her perfect her curtsy.

And then, such is the way with grief and a whole lot of time, I made my way to the land of all things Princess – Disneyland.   With one sweet girl by my side and another on my mind, I sighed at tiaras and marveled at castles.    Time skipped back and forth and I wished for different but I was there, and doing it.  For Ivy.   We went to the Princess Makeover Salon.  She got to choose her whole outfit and spent an hour being made up by a Fairy Godmother.  It was so special and magical and so very, very hard.   With impossible sadness and so much gratitude, I took these photos.

Seeing the Princess costumes hanging up:

About to be taken into her dressing room after three spins and a wish:

THE dress:

And, the Princess:

The makeover: (A little miffed  that one’s hair has to be upswept – surely it’s all about the golden locks?)

But happy now there’s eye shadow involved:

On the news there will be sparkles:

The big unveil:

Happy girl :) (Natural light,  I love you).

And ten minutes later back at the hotel..hair un-assembled, mid flight.
I hereby give you Princess Ivy.

I love these photos.  I loved this day.  How thankful I am.  Grief almost stopped me from having this moment.   There are times I loathe grief to my core..and times I don’t.  There are hours and days and minutes of unbearable sorrow, this is true.  But oh the joy of being able to fully appreciate.  To breathe it in and find thankfulness and cherish too.  Grief..an external being but part of my soul.  It makes up who I am, it shows me a different view – every single day.  It tires me, it enlightens me.

Seeing these photos again, on a day filled with happiness and hope, I am just a little bit thankful for the grief.

Sheye xx

(And to my darling Ava.. Wish you were here.)

It’s getting hot here in Australia.  Summer is just about here.   For a long while after we lost Ava, I would  brace hearing the evening news, never wanting to know of another family enduring what we have..of someone elses precious child losing their life the way Ava did.  But that day came, another family lost their daughter, and then another.  One mother, she lost both her children.   Every time, it broke my heart all over again.  Such a simple thing -  family cars parked outside homes..a brief window where all of the planets made way for the perfect storm and then, just like that, nothing was ever the same.

How I wish just the simple act of distributing the Ava’s Rule postcard would mean this never happened again, anywhere, ever.  In reality I know it’s probably not possible.  We can try though, can’t we?    Please email this post card to every single person you know.  For us.  For Ava.   For families who adore their children, who think they’ve covered off all the risks, who may have never thought of the dangers of their car parked outside on a normal Sunny day.    Please.

There are two other things I want to share with you too.  Because of other grieving families I’ve met over the last three years, I am horribly aware of the many varied ways in which childrens lives are cut short.  Some of them are completely obscure and some are tragically, much more common.

The risk of drowning to young children, particularly here in Australia where we spend much of the year swimming, is very real.   If you have a pool, I ask you to strongly consider installing a pool safety net available, from here in Australia and here in the USA.   If you think it’s not necessary, the devastated parents of those lost children would tell you it is.    So many very good families lose their precious and adored babies in the blink of an eye, with pool fences in place.

I would also ask that you take a moment to read this post regarding new child restraint legislation here in Australia, effective March 2010.  Because of the tireless work of our beautiful friends, Danielle & Noel Broadhead, Isabelle’s Regulations have been introduced.  I am so proud and so sad at the same time.  I know this victory is bittersweet for them – just as sharing Ava’s Rule is near impossible but imperative for me.

It’s been difficult to write this post.  I’m not someone to tell others what they should be doing.  But how I wish, with every ounce of my being, that someone had sent me a postcard like  this one before we lost our Super Princess.   If someone had shown Yasmine or Hannah’s Mum a pool net.  If someone had mentioned to Danielle and Leanne the risks of booster seats and adult seat belts.    If only.

S x

ps: to email, just right click save then attach to your email.  If you want to blog this, I’d be ever so grateful.  Thankyou so much.

All that beauty.
All those hopes.
All that laughter.
All those dreams.
All those wishes.
All her kisses.

Gone.

We still don’t understand.

Next Friday marks one thousand days since we lost Ava.  Lost.  It is much easier to imagine than died.  Even though, clearly, that is what happened to her.  She died.  But we lost her.    Missing.   Misplaced.  It seems, not for want of trying or wishing or pleading, she cannot be found.

Very slowly, as in one thousand days slowly, I am beginning to believe in the disbelief.  I’ve given up trying to understand.  I don’t look for signs.  There is no sense. We lost her and we found sadness and disbelief.  We found a different life, with different people greeting one another each morning.  Raising a different family with changed priorities and less expectation.  And a new appreciation for the simplest of things.

If you’d told me I would survive one thousand days without her, I could not have believed you.  It is true, from those early, terrifying days, we have moved.  One step, one breath at a time.  We have found some kind of  peace.   Most of the time.  And then there are those other days where grief smothers all over again and nothing feels very much better at all.   Where we still cry in cafes and try to make sense all over again.    

My darling girl, we will never forget.  One thousand, one hundred thousand, I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart).

S x

There have been many occasions since Feb 07 where I have been lost for words. This is one of them.  Have you seen all the photos?  The tea parties?   My goodness!  How can I convey what it means to see so many beautiful little people with their Mums and Dads and friends and family all making new precious memories over the sharing of tiny cakes and strawberry milk and raspberry tea..Just being together is enough for me but so many of you actually honored Ava at the same time.  Wow.

From beautiful little tea parties in lounge rooms, back gardens and local parks to cupcakes shared beside soccer games, families pulling up on the side of the road, sweet girls dressed in pink mid-forest.. The gorgeous photos I’ve only just begun to look through and each time I am left searching for the right words to express what it all means to us.

And not only the tea parties.. For the beautiful emails I received, the hundreds of messages sent via comments, FB, Flickr and ye olde letter post..  The most beautiful outfit for Ivy to wear at our own tea party.. A vintage dress for me.  Handmade cuff links for Crayton.  Balloons sent Heaven-bound.  A treasured photo of the pinkest sky.. Beautiful flowers in baby pink, with dragonflies, in spotty teacups..  Special drawings from budding artists.  A precious, tiny felt angel who made her way from the other side of the World.

I really don’t know what to say except, thank you.  For keeping Ava’s memory burning bright.   Truly, thank you.

Love Sheye xx

ps: If you do have photos..even those that have already sent links to me,  I would be SO grateful if you could add them to Facebook and tag them for me..  (Of course I will add you as a friend if I haven’t already).  Thank you!!  I’m sorry I don’t have more photos of our own Ava’s Tea Party to share but I only took a few.   S x

Links:

Tea Party Photos (Please add!!)

Ivy’s Custom Party Hat & Dress (Thank-you so much Leigh from A Rabbit in the Hat!)

Ava’s Tea Party Print

Ava’s Tea Party Invitations

I’m hanging out washing. Taking in the crisp of the air and the blue of the sky which today seem strange and new and amplified. Only a little bit earlier on this clear August morning, it seems my waters broke.   Not in a dramatic dear God get an ambulance the baby is coming kind of broke but enough to make me gather my pink rose pyjamas and clary sage oil.  I ring her Daddy at kindy.  Come home quickly, I say.  And quickly, he does.

We travel down the highway.  Forty minutes of excited chatter & nervous imagining.  The knowing that we’re leaving our home a family of four for the last time.   It’s my due date but more significantly, it’s the date Crayton’s mum left us, three years earlier.  It feels right that I would be birthing on this day.  I’ve waited so long to meet her. I am ready.

“You’re not ready”, the midwife tells us.  Not yet.  And still not after seven hours of walking and talking and willing and wishing.  I ring my far away sister.  “Please come.  Please bring your blue cohosh and your massage hands and your calm.  I need you.  Come quickly”.   And not very quickly at all it seems, she comes.

We walk that entire hospital. Inside and out.  Moon shining bright, up stairs and down hills.  With gritted teeth and willpower, real labor begins.  It’s ten pm.

I sway. In her Daddy’s arms I’m rocking and breathing and almost believing I can do this.  I’ve forgotten to unpack the oil.  The soft music has been switched off.   It’s one am.

The waves come and go and I’m not very sure any more and when I reach a point where I can no longer do this, I move to the bath.  Angie tells me how well I’m doing while I’m pleading for it to be over, for her to be out, for anything to make it stop.  I contemplate drowning myself. It is six am.

And then she is.   Black hair, olive skin, eyes wide open.  Finally, she is.  I can barely hold her, I can barely believe.  My dear, darling girl.   My Ava.

Today, you would have become six.  I can not greet you with a special hug. I cannot sing to you this day. I will not make your favorite breakfast nor see you open your gifts.  It the day of your birth, but not a birthday, as we know it.  You can not celebrate beside us but even still, we will forever cherish the day you came to be.

Happy Birthday, Superprincess Ava.

Love Mummy.

xxxxxxx