Scrapbooking

We fly to the States on 7 October. Hope will be induced on 9 October if she hasn't arrived before. I have our bags packed - or nearly packed - in the hall. I'm wandering around the place feeling panicky, tearful and excited. I wish I could enjoy all this more. Everyone keeps saying to me, 'Isn't this so exciting?' But I just can't enter into the whole thing as I should. I suppose the truth is that this is a pregnancy which follows a stillbirth and so excitement and joy perhaps just aren't really possible. I'm scared. I'm really scared. But we're getting through the days. Last night Thomas and I started making a big album of photographs and messages which is for our amazing surrogate Mum. We're decorating it with pretty papers and stickers and flowers. I'm pretty pleased with the way that it looks. Although in reality, I think that this whole album / scrap book business is really more for the under tens, right now it is the level of activity that my brain can manage.

A map of Minnesota

A couple of weeks ago I was in my Mum's tiny local town (Upton on Severn, Worcestershire) and it happens that there is a specialist map shop there. And you can go into that map shop and they will give you a map of anywhere in the world. And so I went in and asked for a map of Minnesota - which is where Hope will be born. I don't know why I've never done that before. I did once look at a map of Minnesota on line but I couldn't find Marshall - where Hope is - on the map. That made me feel a little panicky but it was also typical of this whole process. I didn't look any further in case it turned out that Marshall didn't exist. But now I've got a proper map and I managed to find Marshall. It certainly does look like an out of the way kind of place. While I was looking at the map Thomas was sitting on the sofa nearby and then my Mum came into the room. 'What is Mummy doing?' she said. 'She's looking for our baby,' Thomas said, without raising his eyes from his book. But then he came to kneel by me and looked at the map as well. It turns out that Marshall is near a place called Springfield. Thomas was thrilled by that. I don't watch the Simpsons but he does. 'Oh no,' he said. 'Oh no. My sister is going to be small and yellow and she's going to have a thing on her head which looks like a star or maybe like a rubber glove.' Well, surrogacy does have its lighter moments.

All the same story

For a while I have felt uncomfortable with this blog. I felt that it was a blog about Laura and about miscarriages and that, therefore, I didn't want to write about our new baby on it. I felt that there should be a cut off point, a new beginning. A moment when I said, 'All that difficult stuff in the past is done with now and I'm moving on.' But I didn't want to move on. I didn't want to leave Laura behind. And so I hesitated, uncertain what to do. But now I've realised that I don't need to do anything really. I don't need to start again by setting up a new blog. So all I've done is to updated the heading and the summary. There really is no big new beginning, just a seamless shift. Laura and Hope can exist together. I can feel sad about Laura and happy about Hope. Family and friends are beginning to ask for news of the surrogacy so I might even tell them about this blog. It's never been a secret, I just never told them before as I didn't think they would be interested. Now they might look at the blog and be shocked by some of the stuff I wrote in the past. But actually that's fine because if they want to understand what we are doing now, then they need to know what happened before. It's all the same story.

Death of Honey

Our friend Honey died at around 4.30 on Tuesday. Apparently she was with three friends and was, briefly, conscious. One of the friends was remembering something in the past, telling a story, and everyone laughed, including Honey. Then she just took three short breaths and died. That seems about as good a way to go as any. She had seen the children recently and they have had much good support from bereavement counsellors at the hospice. Her ex-husband's sister has courageously agreed to make the two older children her own. She already has two older children so I'm sure she'll be an amazing Mum to Honey's two. Joslin's younger child is being cared for with great tenderness by Mr Man and his friend. Everyone involved agrees that many opportunties must be created for the three children to be together. I don't know what else to say. She was an extra-ordinary person. I will miss her always - but I will also always be encouraged and inspired by her, as will everyone who knew her.

Honey's Grandmother

I think that Honey will die soon now. A friend saw her yesterday and she was in a very profound sleep. I could go to the hospice to see her but I've decided against it. I may go tomorrow. I don't feel great and I'm not sure I want to see her lying motionless on a bed - that isn't how she is to me and so I don't think it would help me to see that. Also I don't think I can help her. I realise that I've felt for a long time that everything is resolved between her and me. She knows how completely I love her and how much she means to me. The rest doesn't matter. But over the last couple of weeks a strange thing has been happening. Many people involved in this situation have thought a lot of Honey's grandmother. She died quite a while ago so we none of us knew her. But we all know how much Honey loved her. In particular, for me, I always picture Honey in a certain coat she wears - black velvet, embossed with faded coloured flowers and with a fur collar - and I know that that coat belonged to her grandmother. And now I find myself imagining this unknown grandmother vividly. Others have also felt her presence or dreamed of her. And Honey herself had seen her several times - but has been confused as to whether her grandmother was telling her to stay or to go. And now particularly today I'm imagining Joslin's grandmother on the shore, close to the waves as they come up the beach. And she's holding Laura in her arms and she's waving to Joslin and then Joslin walks up the beach towards her ...... I know that this is really all sentimental rubbish but right now it is helpful sentimental rubbish. I don't know. I know that there is really no reason to beleive in the after life but, actually, illogically, I do. Mainly because I just think that if someone burns so brightly in this life then they can't be totally extinguished. Some how I feel sure of that.

Honey - more news

Thanks to all those who posted messages about Honey. I spoke to her on Monday and she sounded quite well then. She said that she had had some really bad times and had felt that she had been very close to death but then she said, 'But then again, I'm still here.' And I could really hear her - the essence of her - in the way she said that. But then I went to see her in the hospice on Tuesday and I would have to say that the situation was really dire. She was incredibly distressed and upset. Her legal situation - and particularly the custody of her two oldest children - really isn't sorted out. The solicitor was there and we got a will signed which should help. But it is awful that she's still fighting with all that stuff when she should just be enjoying a bit of peace and quiet and love. Some people around her are saying, 'She needs to let go ... etc.' But realistically, if you have three small children, how can you let go? Last night I got a text saying that her condition has worsened and that the children are coming to see her again. I think that perhaps what everyone has hoped for is some moments of peace and acceptance at the end. But I myself have let go of that one. I think that she may go out raging and there are worse ways to go. She always lived with a great passion so perhaps it is right that she should die that way too. I know for sure that I've never seen courage like hers before and I don't expect to see it again. There is a lovely photograph of her which someone in the hospice took - she's there with her youngest daughter. Obviously very sick but some how radiant and full of love. I'm going to try and get that photograph and maybe post it up on line. It isn't actually reflective of how things have really been for the last two years. But I suppose it is a reminder that even in the very worst of times, there are still those moments of grace.

Honey

I'm just posting this up here in case there is anyone out there who used to read Honey's blog. If you did, and you find this, please pass this information on to anyone else who might want to know. I am afraid that Honey is very, very ill. I went to see her in the hospice yesterday. She was really very poorly. She doesn't want to die. This has come so much too soon for her and for everyone who loves her. She has fought so bravely over the last couple of years. I've never seen anything like it and I don't expect to see such courage ever again. I saw her just two weeks ago and she walked two miles then. The room in the hospice has a balcony which looks out over fields. There is also a bird table there and she was able to enjoy a robin which came and a fat pigeon. I am going to see her again tomorrow, I hope. It would be so good if she could have some peace at the end but I'm not sure she will. The pain is just so much. Selfishly, I had hoped that she would live to see our new baby but I don't think she will now. I wish so much that she hadn't had to give up her blog because she really needed that to keep in touch. Of course, the worst thing is that she had three young children. I can't even bear to think what this is doing to them. I keep thinking of Dylan Thomas. 'Do not go gentle into that long good night but rage, rage, against the dying of the light.'