Blossie
My three month old grandaughter Blossie died two years ago. I decided to make a photo album of her short life for my daughter and other grandchildren to maybe look at one day. I asked Keri for anything that she had kept of Blossies' that I could maybe use for the album.
She said that she had kept a small tin of things and would bring them but that she didn't want to look inside nor did she want to talk about it.
(She has been in a very abusive relationship for about 10 years and wasn't allowed to grieve over the loss of her baby)
I thought that I'd do this album and it would be ok, I truely thought that I was over it.
When Keri went I looked in the bag she'd left for me. I saw the tin and my heart was banging. I was scared to open it. I sat there a while, looking at it.
I wished I'd never looked in there. I feel like it's just happened. I can't stop crying. For Keri. How the fuck has my baby coped with losing her baby?
How can she possibly shut that out of her mind just because some C**T tells her that he's sick of her grizzling and looking a fucking mess.
THREE days after her daughter died. She isn't allowed to cry and only does so when she comes to me and I get my courage up to talk to her about Blossie.
Why did I think that it would be a good idea to do a fucking album. Am I that fucking stupid?!
A sleep suit, scratch mittens, hair brush, hospital name bracelet, lock of hair, cards. And worse of all. Tissues. The tissues that she had used to wipe her dead babys' mouth and nose while she was waiting for the coffin to come and take and take her baby away. I know that's what they are because I saw her do it and she wouldn't let go of them afterwards.
How does she cope. She says he's changed and that they really get on now. She's been telling me that for ten years.
She is pregnant again. He always chooses the names.
The name he suggested this time was Blossie.
Can you fucking believe that.
Blossie is fucking dead. Have you forgot that you fucking unfeeling bastard.
She said that she had kept a small tin of things and would bring them but that she didn't want to look inside nor did she want to talk about it.
(She has been in a very abusive relationship for about 10 years and wasn't allowed to grieve over the loss of her baby)
I thought that I'd do this album and it would be ok, I truely thought that I was over it.
When Keri went I looked in the bag she'd left for me. I saw the tin and my heart was banging. I was scared to open it. I sat there a while, looking at it.
I wished I'd never looked in there. I feel like it's just happened. I can't stop crying. For Keri. How the fuck has my baby coped with losing her baby?
How can she possibly shut that out of her mind just because some C**T tells her that he's sick of her grizzling and looking a fucking mess.
THREE days after her daughter died. She isn't allowed to cry and only does so when she comes to me and I get my courage up to talk to her about Blossie.
Why did I think that it would be a good idea to do a fucking album. Am I that fucking stupid?!
A sleep suit, scratch mittens, hair brush, hospital name bracelet, lock of hair, cards. And worse of all. Tissues. The tissues that she had used to wipe her dead babys' mouth and nose while she was waiting for the coffin to come and take and take her baby away. I know that's what they are because I saw her do it and she wouldn't let go of them afterwards.
How does she cope. She says he's changed and that they really get on now. She's been telling me that for ten years.
She is pregnant again. He always chooses the names.
The name he suggested this time was Blossie.
Can you fucking believe that.
Blossie is fucking dead. Have you forgot that you fucking unfeeling bastard.