Blog Posts

Just a car ride.

Posted by Crystal Zeeman on

Replaying these painful but beautiful moments. Searching for the beauty in them because otherwise.. how could we even get out of bed every morning?!

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Your Nursery is a Time Machine

Posted by Crystal Zeeman on

Your Nursery is a Time Machine

I fell asleep on your nursery floor again today. I often find myself in there just looking at the wall that’s opposite where your empty cot once stood, trying to imagine what you would have drifted off to sleep staring at or woken up to at all hours of the night searching for the familiarity your nursery would bring you, crying out for your mummy and daddy to comfort you. Sometimes I smile. Other times I feel so mad. Today I just sat there shaking my head in disbelief you’re not here. Instead of bright colourful toys and piles of...

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How to Navigate Big Milestones

Posted by Crystal Zeeman on

How to Navigate Big Milestones

You will hear me say this often.. while I am absolutely no expert on grief nor do I wish to be, I can definitely share with you what I have learnt in these past 12 months, navigating the death of my daughter. Within the space of a year, you will face events that were once met with so much joy and celebration but now only emphasis the gravity of your loss and the pain in your heart. Go gentle with yourself.   Anticipatory anxiety is always worse Anticipatory anxiety: the fear and dread you experience before the event. While your...

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Forever the Couple who’s Baby Died..

Posted by Crystal Zeeman on

Forever the Couple who’s Baby Died..

I want to know when this will get easier but I feel like the only answer would be when Whittaker doesn’t consume my every thought. And right now, that day is never. So this is our life now.. forever the couple who’s baby died.

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One

Posted by Crystal Zeeman on

One

It’s been one year. One year since our lives changed forever. And not in the way we were expecting it to. One year since I felt you kick for what would be the last time. One year since we heard those shocking words “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat”. One year since you came into this world, already gone. One year since those 8,311 minutes we spent with you. I know that exact number because your daddy now has it tattooed on his wrist, on his arm that is dedicated to you, where your sleepy head should be resting instead. One...

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