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This memorial website was created in the memory of our much loved, first born daughter, Penny-Lane Kutylowski who was born in Australia on 8th September 2004 and passed away on 6th September 2004 at the age of 40 weeks. We will remember her and miss her dearly forever and a day.
The mention of my child's name may bring tears to my eyes,
But it never fails to bring music to my ears.
If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of her name.
It soothes my broken heart, and sings to my soul.
-Author Unknown-
penny-lane's star:
http://www.yourstar.com/star_lookup.php?star_id_1=7113509&star_id_2=84
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 Tributes and Condolences |
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Let Love Heal Your Soul / Jean Cumings (Grandmother)
It happens.
The unimaginable is now reality.
Grief grabs you by the throat and squeezes
Until you can't breathe and tears threaten to drown you.
Pain tears at the center of your soul.
Rage replaces reason.
Sadness overwhelms a...
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Where are you all? / Cherie Bish
dear penny lane i just needed to write and ask you
are you there with my baby? he has gone too
to your world your universe.
although its unreachable what makes it worse
is the constant never knowing
always guessing
how would you be growin...
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:( / Lyss Evans (mum)
i will love your dear daddy forever and a day. he's an amazing man and he would have been the best father to you, we could have been a beautiful family. i'll always be so sad and so sorry things didn't work out for us as a little family. i'll never u...
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may her memory never fade / Lisa Whitlock (Alyssa's friend )
Dearest Alyssa and Justin,Rikki told me about your beautiful website for Penny-Lane it is amazing how such saddness and tragedy still cannot fully break the human spirit. I often think about you and your beautiful daughter...she truly was beaut...
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Loving Penny-Lane / Sandra (Grandma)
Dearest Alyssa and Justin
I often drop by to say hello to Penny-Lane and to listen to her songs and read the words that are here. Nothing can ever take her place in our family, I miss her very much. This is a beautiful way for us to be a...
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at the baseball / Alyssa Read >> |
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| Her legacy |
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it's been a while.
the following rant is lovingly dedicated to my dear friend leonie;
it's been a while. in fact it's been years. in hindsight, the story is a bit different. when i first wrote about the whole thing i highlighted different points. i think i couldn't handle the whole story. now with time different facts come forward, stick in my mind, play over and over. i've become bitter and hard. where there once was soft sad grief is now hard and bitter anger. i've stopped talking about it. it's not worth the trouble. there are only a select few who can handle me talking to them about this. and even they can only hold so much. so i try not to burden them too often either. mostly, i've found, people don't want to know. it weirds them out. or they don't understand and i end up hating them for their ignorance. or they say they are sorry, and all the right things they think they should, but i can see in their eyes, their face, their gesture, that it's not so much that they are sorry it happened, but that they are sorry its come up in conversation, sorry they've been confronted with this topic, and glad it was me and not them. i've come to accept all of this. it's taken a while. over three years actually.
so i thought i'd tell the story as it now sits in my mind. though the old version is still true and will always be a good point of reference, as will this one.
i wanted to be a young mum. i was obsessed. i wanted to be a young mum. i wanted to be a good mum. it was my goal. i was going to succeed. i was 20. i felt that i wasn't too young, neither too old. my plan was to start young, raise my child/ children while i was young, enthusiastic, energetic, full of hope and hopefully 'cool'. when my children were in their late teens i would still be young enough to relate, and also young enough to still do all the things i wanted to do. have my cake and eat it to i thought. three particular mother figures in my life that i looked up to immensely were all young mothers and in my eyes were so succesful, so wonderful. i wanted what they have. i had ideas of surfing togther, shopping together, travelling together. everything was going swimmingly. i was doing oodles of research, of planning. i have diaries filled with intentions on the sort of mother i would strive to be. lists and plans and articles and research. i was going to be the best mother. i was going to give my child the best start, the best childhood.
i was the model pregnant woman. i took the right vitamins, ate the right food, walked everywhere for exercise, right until the end. never had even a sniff, or a taste or a whiff of anything and everything that had even had an inkling of doubt placed on it ever in relation to the pregnant woman or the developing child. i did pregnancy yoga, i read natural labour books, i hired a doula, researched every corner of anything that could or would come near me and if it would or could harm my baby. i'd prepared as best i could. everything was ready washed folded setup packed ready to roll. only the best products, best materials etc etc. i was ready. i was excited.
and then that dreaded day came. i was catching public transport to the hospital. it was a hot townsville day. i bumped into a friend, she was going that way anyway and insisted on dropping me off. as i stepped out of her car, she assured me that all would be fine as her god would look after me and not let me come to any harm. in the maternity ward the nurses and midwives were lovely, charming, perfect. the male doctor was rude, inconsiderate, quick to jump to conclusions and insensitive. he accused me of doing drugs, drinking and smoking. it was awful. like doing time for a crime i didn't do. he yelled at me and made me feel bad. when i was in the ultrasound room, when it was time to break the news i was alone and terrified. the crowd around me was awful. there was a lovely midwife she held me and cried with me. that was and is a comforting moment.
the time spent calling around to find justin, and then cherie seemed to go on forever. i had a few moments alone in the ensuite bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. i looked dead. i felt dead. i had died. i loved that baby more than i could ever describe. more than i feel i could ever love again and at that moment it was all over. i was dead. i could have just lie down and died if they had let me. the midwife that stayed with me was sobbing. that really helped. it's strange. i don't know how or why, but when i think about her grief at that moment, in that room, for me and with me it's such a nice soft memory in contrast to the stark and downright mean demeanor of the two male doctors who came and left the room every now and then. i think i even remember the older one laughing at one point. highly innaproppriate. i was in shock. i was terrified. i was devastated. there was no time for laughter.
justin was so still. still like a rock in my mind. he was so quiet. he didn't touch the guitar. he didn't touch food. it was perfect. i was holding on to him like a civilian holding onto a tree being swept away by a flood.
the labour and the birth went well. justin and the woman we had hired to be a doula were stern and stood up for me. no she doesn't want the drugs. no she's not taking too long. etc etc. the midwives that stayed around me were always genuine and compassionate and truly involved. they used their arms and their eyes to help me around the room and through the hours. one of the younger ones slipped a letter under my pillow at the end of her shift. it was filled with love and praise and i still have it. the doctors that marched in and out are jarring and sharp memories to me. they stormed in and out, held the door open for all to see, took notes, brought in students to see while i stood, mid contraction, naked, blood down my legs, puffy faced and heavy. i was so angry when they handed me the "i was born at...." card that had the name of one of the doctors that was hardly around at all as my midwife that i messily scribbled it out and wrote the name of the woman i considered 'the' midwife.
afterwards is a bit of a blur really. i walked out of the delivery room and back down to our room in maternity. there was a moment where i felt empowered and strong and what i had just conquered, i was probably high on natural adrenaline and post birth hormones. i remember the haunted look on the face of the man whose job it was to put our meals on the bed for us, i think there may have been a sign on the door warning them of what they would find inside. i remember the weight and the smell and the feel of my dead baby. i remember feeling tricked at all the 'sleeping' talk. she looked dead. her jar dropped open if you let it. her little tongue sank low and pale and lifeless in her little mouth, against her little gums. her head was heavy on my arm. her skin, cold pallid and almost hard in deathliness. she smelt like morgue and death and cleaning. only a little like baby. she had been born with her eyes wide open, dark and brown. empty like a cow or a horses eyes. they had pushed her eyelids down to close. when they had taken her away and bathed and dressed her for us. parts of her skin had already blistered a little, peeled a little. the blood was beginning to pool in places, had the appearance of light bruises. she was bigger than i'd realised, but somehow also smaller. i could hear the other babies in the maternity ward crying or gurgling. i could hear the other mothers chatting, laughing, napping.
i felt an intense protection of her. not shame, but something similar. i didn't want people to see her look like this. dead and damaged, scarred by the memory of how she looked, tarnished in their memories, so no-one else saw her other than the quick peek and stroke of a hand by my mother in her coffin, in the funeral home, ten minutes before her funeral. but now i think its a shame. i should have been proud and let people look at her. she was just a baby. she looked like justin. she looked like me. i think that because now one else saw her they have problems relating to her, or thinking of her as a person. sometimes i wonder if they consider her a fetus. imagine some kind of small transparent alien. she was far from that. she was chubby and fully formed. she looked just like that baby the woman in the elevator with you is holding. just like that baby in the pram over there. just like the baby on the front of that card. but dead. dead dead dead.
once we went home my breast swelled and went hard as my milk came in. i looked like pamela anderson. it was ridiculous. they were nearly up to my chin. there was no baby to drink the milk so it just started to come out. the pressure was agonising. i stuffed cabbage leaves in my shirt and that helped an amazing amount. it was a frustrating time, i was physically fine, i had milk pouring from my body, i'd spent almost a year preparing for this time, my body was ravaged and stretched and torn and scarred and swollen and all for absolutely nothing. nothing. i was somewhat numb. it was a survival tactic.
these are some of the thoughts and imageries i carry around with me silently. people say stupid things like 'did she have a name?' 'but you didn't have to actually give birth though right?' 'did you see her?' 'you had a funeral!!?' i put up with a constant barrage of dead baby jokes, inappropriate comments, people slagging off young mothers and describing people they know with kids 'losers', post-pregnancy woman as saggy and ugly. i'm often patronised as being 'young', 'inexperienced', 'oh when your older and have children of your own you'll understand' etc ec. when other women talk about their pregnancies, their labours, their babies i have to keep quiet. i'm not allowed to join the mothers club. i submitted my application, it was denied. people say that it's not true, i have every right to join the conversation. that's bullshit. others in this same boat understand. no one wants to hear it.
i keep quiet. |
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obituary
http://concordmonitor.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20040925/REPOSITORY/409250355/1006/COMMUNITY02 |
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her birth story
Penny-lane was due on the 11th of september. by the last weeks of the pregnancy i was as big as a house and i was getting ferocious kicks in the ribs. i was hoping that penny-lane would come to meet us early. justin and i were excited and ready for our baby to arrive. on the weekend on the 4th/5th i noticed that i wasn't getting kicked. of course i was worried. i spent the whole weekend with my hand on my belly expecting a kick at any moment. i thought that i was just being silly though, perhaps imagining things and i just kept telling myself that the baby was just slowing down because maybe i was about to go into labour.
By monday morning i was quietly fretting. i still thought that everything was probably fine and that me stressing was going to be doing more harm than good. after justin left for uni, i rang the hospital. i remember saying sorry for being silly but could they just check everything with the doppler to ease my mind. the midwifes were great, very understanding. they said they were sure that the baby was just getting ready for labour but it was better to come in so that i wouldn't worry. so i went to the hospital and the midwifes checked the heartbeat. i'll never forget that sound, a beautiful strong heartbeat. they said that everything sounded fine but they would like to moniter me for a while just to make sure because i still had felt no kicks. i felt a bit silly for even having worried at all but i didn't mind because i loved listening to the heartbeat. i stayed hooked up to a moniter for 2 and a half hours. i'll never forget that time. i just layed on the bed with my hand on my belly, smiling to myself, thinking about when the baby was going to come. a doctor eventually came in to read the print out. he said that it generally looked fine, a bit slower than normal but that it was just consistent with a baby that was sleeping. he decided to send me for an ultrasound just to check the amniotic fluid and placenta because i was so close to my due date. the ultrasound section was just a short walk down the hall from where i was. at the ultra sound i was just chatting away to the nurse about something silly when she just got up and left the room. i didn't think much of it. she came back with another nurse and they pointed and talked quietly together. i just assumed she was teaching a prac student or something. they both left the room and then a few minutes later came back with some doctors. one of the doctors squeezed my arm and gave me a small smile. i thought that was a bit weird but still i had no idea. then my world just spun out of control. the doctor said "i'm sorry but there is no heartbeat". i just remember saying over and over that i didn't understand and that there must be a mistake because i had just been listening to it. i started hyperventilating and crying and it felt like i was on some evil drugs or trapped in a nightmare or something. i was shaking and my eyes were nearly popping out of my head, i think i was in shock. they suggested i call someone so i got out my mobile and tried to call justin at home, but he was still at uni. i rang all of his friends and mine but no one was answering. finally i reached cherie and told her to come to the hospital right away. i made the nurses take me back to the room where i had been hooked up to the monitor and show me that there was no heartbeat, i was sure someone would come in and apologise for the mistake. but it didn't happen. the midwife showed me that there was no longer any heartbeat with tears streaming down her face. she kept saying that she was sorry. i just remember doubling over on the bed and howling when i heard nothing but silence from the fetal moniter.
When cherie arrived i couldn't explain, the midwife had to tell her what had happened. i'll never forget her face. she just went so pale and all she could do was hold me, that was all i wanted though. i kept saying how i couldn't do this and asking how i could possibly get through labour knowing at the end there was only to be a dead baby. cherie was so brave that day, it must have been so scary for her because i was absolutely delirious with shock. finally we found justin and cherie left and brought him to the hospital.
That night justin and i went home. we din't eat, we didn't drink. we just cried and cried. we packed up everything in the house that we had set up waiting for the baby. all the cloth nappies that i had folded and ready, all the clothes hung on their little hangers, all the tiny bonds singlets. we folded down the bassinet and repacked the hospital bag. our doula, philippa, came and helped us to sort through and discuss what was ahead and what my options were. she made me realise that at the end of all this i still would want to have made it through labour how i had originally planned. (and she was right) i don't know how we slept that night. i guess we were just emotionally exhausted. in the morning i remember that we just both opened our eyes and had to remember all over again what had happened. we just held each other and cried and cried. by midday we were ready to go to the hospital to be induced. we spent that night at home again but by 1am i returned back to the hospital because my contractions had started. we both took lots of sleeping pills and slept to try and be ready for the terrible day we had ahead of us. at 6am my waters broke all over the bed with a loud pop. i got up to go into the bathroom but i wasn't prepared for what the waters would look like. pouring out of me was what looked like green slime. i was devastated. my poor baby. i was absolutley hysterical, the midwives and justin calmed me down by telling me that the baby probably hadn't been distressed and that the meconin was probly released into the waters after she died. it was so horrible though, for me that was one of the worst parts. i guess it just really hit home that there really was going to be a dead baby at the end of all this. until then i just thought that perhaps there was still a chance that it had all been a horrible mistake and that i would hear a cry from my baby when she was born.
After my waters broke i was thrown straight into contractions that were a couple of minutes apart. i laboured like this all day. with the help of some gas i had a rest at about midday and then another rest at about 7pm with the help of pethidine. philippa and justin were so strong and helpful through the whole thing, without them i couldn't have survived the ordeal. penny-lane was born at 10;49pm that night. pushing was so hard because she wasn't helping me by tucking her head because she wasn't alive. when she was born, and justin announced that it was a girl and that her name was penny-lane, i rememember looking down between my legs and seeing her lifeless litle grey legs. they should have been kicking, i should have been hearing that distinct newborn cry. penny-lane was wrapped up and put aside while i delivered the placenta.
Afterwards, i think justin and i were in shock. we looked at her and touched her and talked to her, but we couldn't cry. we were numb. justin hadn't eaten for 2 days and i was shaking so much. we went and spent the night in a room with a double bed in the maternity section.
The next day we held her and talked to her and kissed her. she had been given a bath and dressed by the nurses. she was so heavy and cold but she was perfect. she was 3070 gms, (7 pounds) she had lots of dark hair like both of us, dark dark eyes, big hands and feet and long nails. besides the trauma her skin had recieved from death and birth, she was absolutely perfectly formed in everyway.
Leaving the hospital that night to go home was terrible. i was a hysterical mess by the time we reached the car park. i felt as if my heart was going to break in two. so many times i had imagined that leaving the hospital with my little bundle. she was meant to be dressed in all the cute yellow clothes that we had for her, smelling of milk and yummy baby smells. it was meant to be a bright sunny morning and we were all meant to be happy.
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| Penny-Lane's Photo Album |
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