Dirty Laugh

At the moment I'm trying to think about Isi's life, basically because it's a lot less painful than thinking about her death. I wish I could remember every day, every moment, but I know I can't.

It's the sounds that get forgotten so easily I think. I can still remember Isi's voice but this morning I thought - I can't remember her laugh. Isi was one for extremes - one minute angry, laughing the next. Nothing was done by halves and her laugh was no exception. Loud, throaty and full bodied - we used to call it her dirty laugh. And here it is.

Oh yes, now I remember!

Isi, no-one laughed like you.

Socks

The lighter side of life with Isi. I have posted a little about how different it is to have a child who is, well, different. Sometimes it's very hard.

But her differences could also make us laugh, and here we get to the socks. Now, Isi loved all footwear - boots, shoes, slippers, socks - the lot. All except the orthopedic boots that she was supposed to wear of course. While sock sorting (and as an aside, why does everyone in this house have to have lots of black socks that are all just subtly different?!) I thought about Isi's love affair with all things foot related.

I have some photos of Isi and what she would like to do with socks. She would go through the bag of mismatched socks (always plenty to chose from there) and put some on her feet. It didn't matter that they weren't hers, that they were far too big (she had tiny feet). Oh no, she had a solution for that. What she needed was more socks. So another pair, well okay not a matching pair, but another two socks would go on. And then another. And another - you get the idea?

So, here is the unique and special Isi guide to wearing socks.

1. Socks do not have to match.

2. If one pair of socks is good, two pairs must be twice as good. Continue until the supply of socks is exhausted.

3. Arrange your socks carefully for maximum effect.

4. Always check your socks before you set off!

5. Multiple socks will make your feet feel bigger and may make walking a little tricky.

6. Be ready to reach out for a helping hand from mummy with your socks.

7. If mummy is laughing too much to take a photo it's time to stop!

Isi, thanks to you socks will never be boring again!

My sister lives on the mantlepiece

Odd title? Not really as it's the title of a book I have just finished reading by Annabel Pitcher. Firstly, I think it's an excellent book. We bought it with the intention of giving it to Isi's sisters to read as it's written from a young child's point of view about the death of his sister. Well, we (me and Steve) decided to read it first to check it out. It's beautifully written but I don't want to implant in their heads that daddy is going to become an alcoholic and I'm going to run off with someone called Nigel, so we may not pass it on!

Anyway, I was thinking of her sisters, and how life has changed for them.

So here is one of my favourite pictures of the three of them.

This was taken in Parthenay at the annual games festival held each July. By the way, it's a great fun event - dedicated to play, they line the streets and the main square with board games and bouncy castles and stuff. What's not to like as far as the kids are concerned!

It's just a snapshot but it really shows the dynamics of their relationship at the time. Alex is in the background, looking quietly appalled as only a bored teenager can do (Alex has been a teenager since about age 8!). Rachael is next, bigger in the picture and acting the comedienne as she so often did (and still does) to get attention. And then there's Isi, the focus of the picture, mouth open as she chatted away to me.

Isi was a demanding girl. Her illness meant that much of my time and attention was taken up with dealing with that - the trips to hospital, physiotherapy, the feeding tube that she had for 2 years, and a load of other things. Then, by sheer force of personality she also demanded (and got) much of my attention. I don't know if it was to make up for not being able to see but she talked all the time, even in her sleep. Then there was the fact that some things took so much longer for her to learn and other things I still had to do for her that I didn't with her sisters at the same age.

Now, I have more time to spend with her sisters. I know they appreciate that but in many ways I resent it. Not because I don't want to spend time with them, far from it. It's more that I worry whether they think it's better now that their sister 'lives on the mantlepiece'.

Places I just don't go to anymore

Today I had to take Steve for a blood test. Which meant I had to go somewhere that I went to a lot until the beginning of September last year but haven't been to since. The lab in Melle is where Isi used to have regular blood tests - usually weekly, occasionally monthly, sometimes several times a week. And it was always me who took her. Always. This is the first time Steve has ever been there and it is the first time I have been since Isi died. And it was hard - all the people who work there knew Isi having regularly poked needles into her for years. I tried to just stay invisible in the waiting room, but they recognised Steve's surname and asked him if he was Isi's dad. We just about got out of there before we started crying, but it was close.

So, it brought back memories of all the times me and Isi used to go there. Actually we shouldn't have even had to go there in theory - Isi had a prescription to have a nurse visit her at home to take the blood samples. The local nurse came once, looked at Isi and told me in no uncertain terms she was NOT going to do that as it was too hard for her. So, off to the lab we went for the start of what would be hundreds of blood tests over her lifetime.

After a few weeks we got into the routine. She would eschew the local anaesthetic patches that she was supposed to put on her arm (she didn't like having them there for the necessary hour beforehand), and we would make sure we always got the same person to do the test. That person (and her successor) I will always be grateful to as they managed to do it both calmly and quickly, thus provoking the absolute minimum of tears (and often none at all). Then, when it was all done, we would make a game of running away and pretend we were never coming back, although we always knew we would be back all too soon. Finally, she would spend the fifteen minute journey back home asking me several times if we could take the plaster off when we got home and as soon as we were through the door it was coat and plaster off and normality was resumed!

Now, I don't have a picture of Isi having blood samples taken (it's just not the sort of thing you feel you should whip your camera out for!) but I do have this picture. This is the magnolia tree that sits in the centre of the lab's tiny car park that we usually had to manoeuvre around, but one day it just looked so lovely that I took a picture. I wish now that Isi was in the picture too but some things can't be undone.

This is just one of the places that I just don't go to anymore.

Smile

Isi often smiled. Don't get me wrong - she had anger and fear and frustration too, but her moods changed so quickly and smiley was definitely her default setting.

So when I came across these pictures on my mac, actually while I was looking for a decent photo of our missing cat, I smiled too. I have found it hard to look at photos - I can do it sometimes but often I shy away. But I saw these and I even felt confident enough to scrap them.

So, here we go - first the photos ...

It saddens me now that I can't remember why I took them - I think it was just one of the 'just because' times. But I love these photos because they capture just how facially expressive she was.

And because I smiled when I saw them, I scrapped them. I followed the sketch for the monthly challenge over at UKScrappers simply because the sketch had 5 pictures. It didn't win the challenge but I don't care - to me it's lovely. Not because of the way I did the page, but because it brought me a smile as well as the usual tears.

The writing on it - "smile when you think of me" came from the lyrics of a song we played at her funeral. The song is by Megedeath and yes, Isi was a fan. Her version of "Symphony of Destruction" had to be seen to be believed!

So Isi, you always surprised me and you still do.

What do you see?

Well, what do you see when you look at this picture? A beautiful little girl, carefree, smiling, fresh from a bath and ready for bed, holding her favourite soft toy. Look a little closer and the background isn't a normal room, maybe a hospital room instead? Does that change your perception?

This is the photo that went on Steve's facebook page when he had to announce Isi's death. This is the photo that I put on UKScrappers to do the same. This is the photo that was printed in the order of service for her funeral. This is one of the last photos I took of Isi before her operation on 6 September 2011 from which she never woke up. This is the photo that made Steve cry when I came back from the hospital after her death and uploaded it because he wasn't there that night but looking after our other two daughters and he hadn't seen it.

This is the last record I have of Isi being her normal self, and for a while I hated this photo. Well, not hated exactly, but I couldn't look at it again afterwards. It reminded me too much of her death - it was her 'poster child' picture for her passing. So I'm going to start here.

I remember this night so well, but that memory may fade so I will put it down now. We got to the hospital in the afternoon, unpacked a bit, faffed for a bit more. The doctor wanted yet another blood test that we had done on Friday. I asked why as we had the results from Friday's test but the doctor said it had to be done the night before. I asked him why it had to be done on Friday as well but I didn't get a satisfactory answer and that pissed me off. You see, Isi hated blood tests - she had so many during her life and so often they had problems finding a vein because she was pale and small that she was scared of them. I hated the thought that we had put her through unnecessary pain, But, we got over that, played with all the toys we had brought to the hospital (apart from her chess set as that was daddy's game!), poked around a meal that she didn't like, ate a yoghurt instead and then had a long bath which she enjoyed. It was in the special bathroom at the hospital and it was more comfortable for her than our setup at home. After this special bath, we were confined pretty much to our room and I told her I wanted to take her picture again. Now, she loved having her picture taken (ironic really as because of her blindness photos meant nothing to her) so she smiled and even though she wasn't facing the camera and it is not a perfectly composed shot, I like to think it shows how easily she could find something good in a bad situation. She was scared of her operation and in hospital again, which she hated. But the simple pleasures of a nice bath, some time with mum just playing, a strawberry yogurt and having her picture taken brought her huge smile back to her face. The smile that everyone commented on, the smile which could (and I know this is such a cliche) light up a room. I miss that smile, I miss her but I think the thing that I will take from this photo is to embrace the little pleasures in life. Those small moments that make you smile are worth more than gold as they keep you going and they make the unbearable bearable.

Thank you Isi.

The worst day of my life

Now, you would think that it would be the day Isi died. I mean, that's the obvious answer, right? I'm not so sure. When Isi died there was so much support around us, holding us up, keeping us going. Steve comes from a large family and also has a wide circle of friends, all of who rallied round in their own ways, making their way over to us in France for the funeral, listening to us for hours if we needed to talk, sharing companionable silences when there were no words, helping with practical arrangements. And then there were the cards and letters from those who couldn't make it over and all the online condolence messages. The children from her school who sent pictures and the parents who I had never met with their letters about my daughter. And then, there was so much activity - funeral arrangements to be made, people to see, our other two daughters to be looked after, places to go and decisions to be made. It felt like we were near the edge of a cliff, but there were so many people in front of us that we couldn't really see it or focus on how far down it dropped.

Now, there are days like today. Just ordinary days, no special occasions or date to commemorate. The crowds of people have all gone. There's nothing in particular to do. Today it has really hit me that she is not here. Not only is she not here, she will never be here, ever, ever again. I can see the edge of the cliff now that there are no other people in the way and the Grand Canyon has nothing on this baby! And I think this is worse because there is no end in sight. Isi was ill for most of her all too short life but there were always goals in her treatment, progress that could be made, things that could be done. Now, there's just this bottomless pit. How does this nothingness, this emptiness get batter? I don't know. I'm not sure it ever will, I just know I have to keep going.

The worst thing that has happened in my life is Isi's death. The worst day of my life, well the jury's still out ion that.

So here's my plan - every time I post I will take one of the photos we have of Isi and write something about it. If I have no photo but a memory then I will write that. She is the void in my life and I will attempt to fill it a little with memories and thoughts of her. It won't be the same, but maybe it will help a little.

If anyone reads this then thank you, if not then it doesn't matter. The sprint is over - the marathon begins!

Take care.

Rebecca

Introduction

First of all, please let me say that if you don't want to read unhappy posts then look away now.

This blog is about remembering my daughter, Isi, who died on 12 September 2011. By the very nature of its subject it will not be a happy blog.

I need to do this to help me remember, but also so that others who knew and cared about Isi do not forget. This should probably be a private thing but the way I feel right now I want the whole world to know about my special little girl.