The above photograph is of a rock I found while walking on the shore of Lake Huron on Mackinac Island. To me, it shows how a grieving mother’s heart can contain a hole, yet be as strong as stone.
With this post, I am going to start a habit of sharing other grieving mothers’ writing about child loss. I’m honored to start this with the sharing of a piece of writing by Crystal Silveous. A mother, who lost her child, and shares her journey on her blog site “Living Through Our Loss”. Thank you so very much, Crystal. You are courageous in the sharing of such a personal journey. The following words are hers:
There is nothing quite like the ache you feel after you lose a child. It’s been over two years since I lost my first born, a beautiful little girl, but that ache is still very much there. Days after losing her my arms empty, my breasts hard from my milk coming in but no baby to feed, my heart broken. These tragedies happen to other people, you never think they will happen to you. I always wonder why me? I still wake up and think this can’t be reality. Is this really my life? Instead of raising a two year old I am reaching out to other Mothers that have lost babies, to comfort one another, share our stories, keep the memory of our babies alive.
She should be here though. She should be playing in the backyard not in an urn on a table. I sometimes close my eyes and picture a world with her still in it. I can feel her little hugs, her kisses. I imagine her sweet little voice and the pitter patter of her feet. She will forever be a part of my imagination. A part of my life I was unable to live.
Some people think that “you can just have another one”. Like children are like puppies, replaceable. I wanted her though. I still want her even though I’ve had another baby. Some may think the pain subsides when you have another child. It doesn’t. It still hurts, and sometimes more because of the constant reminders of what we missed out on with the child we’ve lost. Some wonder how we can miss and grieve someone that we didn’t know. I knew her. I grew her inside me for 8 months. I knew what foods she liked, I knew she loved Daddy’s voice, and which side of my belly she preferred. I didn’t get to raise her, but isn’t that what hurts the most? The what could have been? We miss the lost moments, the memories we will never have, the pictures never taken, the child we will never see grow.
Seeing children that are the same age my daughter would have been hurts. You would think it was something I would get used to but I don’t. I find myself asking why my child? What did this child do to deserve to live? It sounds so horrible but it’s the thoughts of a loss Mom.
When a women complains about her pregnancy or isn’t happy with the sex of the child she is carrying, it bothers me like nothing else. So many women lose pregnancies, babies, or struggle to get pregnant at all. I’m sorry your back hurts but be mindful of the fact that you will most likely go on to deliver a healthy baby that is alive all while another women somewhere cries in despair over the one she has lost.
I will not tell you that my child died for a reason because I don’t truly believe that. Or maybe it’s not that I don’t believe it or do not want to believe my daughter’s life was taken for any type of purpose. I will tell you though that losing her has ignited something inside of me all while extinguishing other parts. Things I thought mattered before don’t anymore. I try not to sweat the small stuff anymore. I appreciate moments more and live to be more mindful. My purpose in life has changed. I strive to be more kind, live each moment to the fullest. I live for her.
I am not 100% certain that I will see her again, though I hope with all my heart that I do. And if I get to, I imagine our reunion, and it brings the biggest smile to my face. I love you my sweet girl.