I loved Christmas as a child – going into town to see the Christmas decorations and the window displays at Myer. Leaving biscuits and a can of beer out for Santa on Christmas Eve. Waking up too early and being sent back to bed. Opening presents, playing with toys, spending time with family and friends.

As I got older Christmas began to lose its sparkle. Then I had Troy – I had a child to share the magic of Christmas with.

Christmas is a family time; to spend with loved ones, to reflect on the year that has passed and to be thankful for what we have. It is also a time to remember those who are no longer with us. To ponder the memories we have.

So if I shed a tear this Christmas, or I get a little sad – I’m just remembering what may have been – the empty stockings on the mantle, empty chairs at the table and those who are no longer here to share the Christmas cheer.

Rosebud
The roses are full of new growth and are just starting to bloom. The harsh pruning that we gave them some months ago did not do them any harm. It made me think that perhaps we are like the roses that need to be pruned each winter. That these difficult times that we have had to endure are sent to make us stronger and help us to flourish. Believing this does not make it any easier to go through it at the time, but given time you can see the progress that is being made.

I have been blessed to have wonderful support people, my family, my friends and people who come into my life almost by accident. It is not by accident, they are sent because I need their support and encouragement. I am thankful for that.

I am gearing up for my 30th birthday next week, a milestone of sorts. I have a lot to show for my thirty years in this world. I still have much to achieve and accomplish. I feel that I am a rosebud, only beginning its time, just getting ready to bloom. Let us see if this rose will flourish.

Pruning the roses.
It would have passed for a spring day today, if not for the cold. Standing in the shadows. It was bitterly cold, though not much warmer in the sun. Today could only be descibed as Odd Job Day. Ken climbed the ladder and cleaned out the gutter. An assortment of tennis balls were blocking the way. Once cleared he flushed out what could only be described as sludge, decomposed matter oozing out water. I'm glad it was him and not me.

And the pruning of the roses, I couldn't bring myself to prune them, even though they will come back much stronger and healthier in spring. My roses are no longer beautiful as once they were. They are frail looking, wasted stalks, shadows of their former selves. I've decided that I'm going to keep a photographic journal of the metamorphosis that occurs over the next few months.

Thinking about the change in seasons and the changes that take place in the rose garden, made me consider the seasons, the changes that take place in all our lives. A series of ups and downs, high points and low lights. Life and death are often events that we have no real control over. That is why I document my journey, the terrain travelled, the good, the bad, the love and the loss; to map the seasons of my existance.

Answers
We seek answers to everything in our life, in particular whenever things go wrong. What did we do wrong, could the situation have been handled differently, what happened and why did it happen?

After the loss of our sons I have consistently sought answers to my questions. Yesterday I got some answers. They have determined why I go into preterm labour - infection. The most common cause of pregnancy loss.

I thought that having answers would make a difference, in some way help to close that door in my life. (Not that I would ever get over the loss of my sons, only get through it) Instead having answers has left me with more questions and currently no solution.

Stop to Smell the Roses
I went oustside, a number of the rose bushes are in bloom at the moment. They are beautiful and fragrant. I bent to smell the roses.
While I was inhaling their fragrance, I thought how often we are so preoccupied with trivial matters in our lives that we do not focus on what really is important. Our families, the people we love and the things we do to nurture ourselves and our creativity.

I am guilty of this myself, I have said many times that there are more important things in life than money and quibbles about insignificant matters. After the deaths of my sons. I have come to believe that life is too short for trivial pursuits. I try to make the most of every day and make sure that I tell the people I love, that I love them, everyday.

Take time to appreciate the small things in life and stop to smell the roses.

For me writing is beneficial, it helps me to remember my boys, but also to heal the pain of the losses. You don't have to be able to write brilliantly or grammatically correct to express yourself. It is much about the process as it is about the end product. Whether it is something to share or something that is kept private and close to the heart, it is all important. It helps to release the feelings of pain and grief that will continue to build inside. These thoughts must be released and ho better than writing. Whether you choose to keep a journal of your experiences, write letters to the loved ones you have lost, stories or poetry.

I have chosen to share my story in the hope of helping others cope with their experience of loss. I don't profess to know all the answers. I sometimes wish I did, then perhaps I wouldn't be in this situation. All I can say is take heart - you are not alone.

To me the rose is a symbol of life, its beauty, uniqueness - its blooms - but also the sorrow and painfulness -its thorns

I keep roses as reminders of the short lives of our sons that have died. It is every parents worst nightmare to have to face the death of their own child. The death of a child during pregnancy or after birth is a devastating loss. The loss is compounded by the loss of dreams and the future. All the plans that had been made for the family you were to become.
The death of a baby by miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death, does not hold the same regard in society as the death of an older child or adult whose life and memory is permitted. With these tiny lives the memories are often limited to the pregnancy. The most wonderful thing a person can do is remember of acknowledge these precious lives lost, to us.

Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones says "We have lived; our moments are important. This is what it is to be a writer: to be the carrier of details that make up history ..." This is what has prompted me to write. I have always written, although now I am more passionate about it. I have lived, the things that have happened to me are important, as are the people in my life - those living and those that live in my memory. This is my history.