My Daughter

Today would have been our daughter's first birthday. This was the first picture I ever took, not long after she was born. It is weird, one year on from the moment she was born, and having lost her back in January. Not sure how I feel at the moment, other than sad. Normally, a birthday would be a time of celebration, but how do you celebrate when she is gone? We've not been staying at home feeling sorry for ourselves, as that would do us no good and be too depressing. Instead we headed out to see where we want to move to, since we don't like either the flat we live or the area. Our Woodland Trust fund is doing well. More money to go in it too. By this time next year we'll have raised what we need to dedicate a post for Millie in some nice woodland somewhere. Then, one this day, we can always go and visit it, which will be lovely & special. The last picture I took We miss you. Simon & Lorraine.

Yesterday was the funeral of our daughter. It started by the two of use viewing her body, which was so much harder than I expected it to be. She looked so different, so very much a body rather than the little girl who left us. Although it was difficult, and there were tears aplenty, I am glad we saw her one last time, if only for the sense of closure. The funeral itself was lovely, and it was nice to see so many of our friends and family in attendance, most of whom had to travel a fair distance in order to be there. Some of them we hadn't seen for years, as we'd lost touch with people with all the trouble of the past few years; so it was nice to reconnect, albeit under circumstances that we wouldn't have wished for. Lorraine wrote a eulogy for our daughter, which I thought I would share here. To our dear family and friends, I just wanted to say a huge thank you on behalf of Simon and I for the outpouring of love and support you've given us over the ...

Amelia Iris Forster: born 31/10/12, died 26/01/13. My daughter died last night. It was the most awful experience I have ever been through, and not something I ever want to go through again. No one should have to experience that, and for all those who have, my heart goes out to you. She died in our arms, as peacefully as she could, and I don't think she felt any pain in the end. But it was hard, awful, and I can't get those last minutes out of my head. With time that will ease, and I'm remember her the way she was when she was getting better. For now, we will deal with the grief, sort out her arrangements, and allow life to move on to whatever happens next. We are both strong and coping well all things considered, and I know we'll get through it, but for the moment it is painful, tearful, and bloody hard. We were lucky to have our families with us yesterday, which gave us the support we needed to see us through the day. Our thanks and love go out to them. ...

My daughter is two months old now, and although she is technically still doing well, over the past couple of weeks she has put on lots of odema (edema)– swelling due to fluid retention– and this has been causing her problems with her respiration, and she has been fast asleep the past three days, and possibly suffering from withdrawal now that she is off her morphine. All very hard to witness, and quite stressful. Hopefully 2013 will be a much better year.

My daughter is now six weeks old, and had her surgery on Monday. You can see the size of her cut/scar/wound. They shifted organs around, but couldn't put all of her stomach back where it is supposed to me; this may or may not cause any problems, we'll just have to wait and see. She is stable, and doing well all things considered. Now we have to wait for her to recover, then work on her lungs getting better.

City of Bones is on hold, indefinitely. Why? This is why: My daughter, 3 weeks old today, still in intensive care, still stable but not stable enough for her surgery yet. She has a  diaphragmatic hernia , which basically means her liver in up in her chest, her lungs are squashed and her heart needs to do extra work to pump her blood around. Even if she has her surgery in the next couple of weeks (which is doubtful) she'll still be recovering come Christmas; which means that this year, we shall be spending Christmas in the hospital. That's going to be weird. So, until she has recovered and is home, the fortnightly Sunday game of the City of Bones campaign is in stasis; in case anyone was wondering.

Dear Jack, You'll never guess where I'm writing to you from! No really, try and guess. Wrong! Try again. Still Wrong! Give up? Ha! Ok then I'll tell you. We're in a giant metal coffin travelling down an underwater river! See? I told you you couldn't guess! Also, Mr. Black is dead. Let me try and describe what's going on. Well, we fought off the zombies and camped outside instead. This morning we finally got rid of all that purple fog. It was tough but I convinced the others to come with me into the room it all seemed to be coming from. We couldn't see anything so we were expecting to get attacked at any moment, but feeling along the walls we found a dwarf that looked like he was sitting in meditation next to a fire pit. Three weird seeds were burning to make all the smoke. I guess the dwarf was a zombie as well but Mr. Black cut off his head before he could do anything. Ishy carefully took the seeds outside and put them out. We all took a break while we wai...