Saturday night saw the most harrowing event happen in the Edspire house. This tragedy has hit me really hard, harder than I feel it ought, and I’m left now with a sense of guilt overhanging the grief I am feeling for Matilda Mae.
I never met her, I never met her mum or dad or her older brother and sister. I followed Jennie’s blog, particularly just after Matilda Mae was born, as she spoke honestly about being a mum of toddlers under two and a newborn, a position I would be in a few short weeks later. We chatted a little on Twitter about pregnancy and the fear of becoming a mum again so quickly, but this is as far as our ‘relationship’ went.
Matilda Mae’s death has shaken me and cut me deeply, despite not really knowing her or her family. I feel that not being closer to Jennie and not ever meeting Matilda Mae deprives me of any right to hurt, yet hurting I am.
I think about death a lot. That sounds morbid. I don’t dwell on it, but I think about it, and despite knowing all the facts and advantages and guidelines for co-sleeping, waking to find my baby has stopped breathing is both my worst nightmare and my most regularly occurring thought. Hearing that Jennie and her husband acyually lived this nightmare has brought many tears and a deep sense of fear. It frightens me that this was an accident, that Matilda Mae was not poorly, not diagnosed with a terminally ill disease, she just went to bed and she didn’t wake up. It frightens me that death is this easy. It frightens me that it could happen to anyone, any baby, my baby.
I have cried every day for Matilda Mae. Jennie’s strength amazes me, she is writing and conversing, she is there for her twin toddlers, and she is living her life, despite the searing pain of her loss. I don’t know that I could be that strong, and for that reason I have the utmost admiration and awe for Jennie.
God bless you Matilda Mae, and God bless you Jennie and your wonderful family too.