Sand in my eyes

A Dandelion Family Story

Let me take you back a couple of weeks. I was chilling on the sofa with a nice hot brew and a custard cream when I saw it; a simple post from one of my favourites on Instagram. It made me cry.

Now I’m not sure if you’re familiar with Dandelion Military Families?  They’re a group of amazing military spouses, who, have created a unique platform for armed forces families to talk about the daily challenges they face. Their beautifully presented posts on Instagram and private safe space on Facebook allow people to connect and reach out to each other, for support, reassurance, and friendship. I’ve been following them for some months now, and I hasten to add that they don’t usually make me cry!  With posts ranging from the moving, to the motivational, to the absolutely hilarious; whatever they post, it resonates with so many aspects of military life.  They understand our community and what we need. It’s refreshing and simply brilliant.

So what had they posted that night that made me stop in my tracks and find sand in my eyes. (Sniff sniff).

As it’s infant and baby loss awareness week, I felt I should shout this amazing collaboration from the rooftops.  I have a very personal reason for doing this, and I felt the time was right to share…

DEEP BREATH. (PULLS UP BIG GIRL PANTS). HERE I GO!

I’m taking you back 16 years. I was screaming like a banshee. The gas and air wasn’t helping much, and my husband, suggesting the current contraction wasn’t as strong as the last one, wasn’t helping either! After what seemed like an eternity of swearing and pushing, our beautiful daughter was born. It was absolute love at first sight.

But our euphoria was crushed in a second, as the midwives realised something was wrong. Our hopes and dreams evaporated,  turned to mist before our eyes.

Specialists came and went, heads were scratched. Days turned to weeks and then came the dreaded prognosis. I held my husband tight as they told us it was terminal. They gave her a few short months to live.

It was agony. For her and for us.

Luckily we were not alone.

An amazing support network sprang into action. Great Ormand Street nurses, palliative care specialists, respite carers, our amazing family and friends, and my husbands chain of command, all rallied round to make our lives as bearable as possible.

We welcomed our new life with acceptance. We had no choice. My husband returned to night shifts, and we cared for her together at home in our little married quarter. The shopping, the washing, the cooking, all played second fiddle to the stringent medical routines of caring for our tiny girl. We were on a rollercoaster of emotion, personal growth and discovery as we learned more about her needs. We did our very best to stay afloat, until 14 exhausting months later, she fell asleep in our arms for the last time.

And that, was that.

The specialists melted away, the nurses turned to new families, our friends had their own lives to lead, and, although our family tried, they were too far away to be there when we needed them most. We were offered counselling, but, in a typically military stiff upper lip way we decided to “get on with it“, “we manned up“. 

We said “No thank you.  We’re fine“.

And after we had declined that initial support,

no one ever checked in on us again.

Life ticked along, and we tried to move on.  Later that year my husband flew on a 4 month tour of Iraq and left me behind. My family were amazing even though they were grieving, too.  They visited me when they could for hugs, but couldn’t stay long; they had to work.

I threw myself into a job I didn’t really want, just for something to do. I introduced myself to new colleagues and clients with a smile; a professional woman, no dramas, no family, no ties, no one to go home to at night. It was then that the most awful thing dawned on me. That I must face my new reality, as someone who used to be a mum. “Have you got any children” ? people would ask, as people randomly do.  “No” I would say. “It’s just me“.

And that’s when my life stood still. No longer a mum, just a fraud. An alien to myself.

I felt alone. At this point I should have reached out, but I didn’t know how.

Our circumstances as military parents are so, so unique.  Mobility governs us. It drags us away from our partners, dedicated to their careers, it keeps us detached from our family in our home towns and it eventually takes away those friends on whom we have come to rely during our darkest, darkest hours.

I remember the pain in my heart the day my best friend left me.  She was the ONE, the one who had been there. She understood a subtle look and knew it meant “I need you”. She laughed and cried with me. She saw the funny side of all life’s rubbish, she kept me swimming when I most wanted to sink.

But the military posted them.

They took her away.

Alone again.

As the years have passed by I’ve come to terms with what happened. I’ve made my peace with myself and the world, and I’m doing just fine. Thanks to the wonder of genetic testing we now have two extremely beautiful, healthy kids, we’re such a happy family and I’m so thankful. We are lucky.

BUT.

• What if I had I had an external network to rely upon in these early days?

• People to say, “we hear you”. You are not alone!

• A safe space to go to talk?

• A place to share my experience with others who just knew?

• A platform on which to meet bereavement experts from the comfort of my own home?

My experience and my recovery may have been very different indeed.

Sadly I’m not the only military mum to have experienced loss and loneliness like this.  In fact I’m just one of multiple amazing mummies I’ve personally met along my military journey and one of thousands of parents I haven’t met, who know EXACTLY how I feel.  From those who carried a baby they never got the chance to hold, to those who fought long hard battles like mine, to keep them by their sides. 

It is for all these parents, that I am writing this blog.

The creators of Dandelion families are all military mums who’ve experienced maternal mental health challenges. Fuelled by their own negative experiences of both military and civilian support providers, they realised that neither were able to recognise the stressors of military life that make our mental health needs so unique.  They have made it their mission to effect positive change.  And this is proof right here.

I am so grateful to Dandelion Families and Sands for recognising the niche needs bereaved military families have. They have created a  wonderful opportunity for people to share their experiences with professionals and other people who… well… just know.

Contacting them and reaching out for the first time, may just be the first step on the road to recovery for a family who didn’t even know they needed fixing. This is really going to make a huge difference to the lives of military families affected by baby loss and I can’t thank Dandelion Families enough for the work they are doing to champion the military parent’s unique cause.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

Some words from Dandelion Families about their collaboration with SANDS

We recognise the unique and isolating circumstances of pregnancy and baby loss alongside military life. We feel there is a need to create a platform and a safe space for members of the armed forces community to connect with others that understand the difficulties, barriers and added pressures of the military lifestyle whilst grieving a bereavement or loss.

Our partnership with sands, hopes to combine expertise of facilitating baby loss support groups, with insight into the complex circumstances of military life.

It was important for both Sands and Dandelion that we created something that was exclusively for the military community. We hope that families find it to be a warm and welcoming space to talk, or just listen because everyone’s experiences of loss are different, which is why this bespoke and culturally sensitive group is vital

If you have been affected by pregnancy or baby loss please do get in touch with Dandelion families on dandelionmilfamilies@gmail.com or join their next dedicated bereavement support meeting with Sands.