https://youtu.be/GCyqhi55O-8 ~ Gone Too Soon~Daughtry
“A flower bloomed already wilting. Beginning its life with an early ending...” ― R.J. Gonzales
“Some people say it is a shame. Others even imply that it would have been better if the baby had never been created. But, the short time I had with my child is precious to me. It is painful to me, but I still wouldn’t wish it away. I prayed that God would bless us with a baby. Each child is a gift, and I am proud that we cooperated with God in the creation of a new soul for all eternity. Although not with me, my baby lives.” ― Christine O’Keeffe Lafser, An Empty Cradle, a Full Heart: Reflections for Mothers and Fathers after Miscarriage, Stillbirth, or Infant Death
I hate this day! It is my third, least favorite day of the year. The other two days are the days that I lost our babies, who, for me, would have made this day a joyous celebration. It is a day when the facade that I have carefully put into place, that tells the rest of the world that it’s okay most of the time for me, crumbles all around me, because it’s NOT okay, and it never will be. My truth is unearthed and exposed, once again! Seventeen and 14 years later, and the sting of their losses is still acutely felt.
William David and Adrian Rae – my gifts of immortality, who unfortunately became immortal before their father and I did. It goes against the grain...
This last week, I have tried not to venture out any more than I have to, because I cannot bear to see all of the various assaults to my senses that have no adverse affect for anyone who hasn’t lost a child through miscarriage or stillbirth or early child death – all of the Mother’s Day cards, boxes of candy, offers for THIS perfect Mother’s Day gift or that one! “Send your Mother a special bouquet of flowers; take your Mother out for a well-deserved lunch...” It’s ALL too much for the heart of a mother such as I, to bear! It’s like the scab that’s been covering this wound, is ripped off, once again and the pain becomes overwhelming, in the blink of an eye. It is a stark reminder of what we lost – what we don’t have – what we’ll never have. It is an un-welcomed admonisher that I am a childless Mother here upon this earth.
I see pictures of friends with their children on Facebook and Twitter, and hear about the gifts given, all deservedly so, but it makes my heart hurt. It’s not jealousy on my part, because I could never be jealous of such wonderful blessings that my friends and loved ones share with their children and vice versa. It’s more about all the life-experiences that my husband and I did not get to share with our children, that is driven home on a day like today with brut force.
Perhaps, this year is a particularly bad one for me, because this would be a milestone year in our household, had I carried my pregnancies to term: our son would be looking at colleges and our daughter would be entering high school. Oh....it makes you wonder. WHAT would they be like? What things would they be involved in at school? What, if any career indicators would be evident? {Everyone knew early on that I would probably be a writer in some capacity.}
Then, Tom made mention the other night, after he came home from a local baseball game with some friends, that he glanced around at one point and saw a lot of fathers there with their sons. It made him acutely aware, in that moment, of a longing that crept out and made him sad, because he never got to take our children to a ball game – no ball park dogs, Cracker Jacks and ice-cream cone pig-outs to share with excited children. There was a sharp pain that came in that realization, then all the other short-changes, resulting from those losses, somehow began to fall out and tumble down like a set of dominos, after the first one begins that descent: graduation, college, mating rituals, et al.
I listened to him, with tears in my eyes, because of what my body stole from him. I will forever carry a guilt that I, as the one of us who could not deliver these babies to term, bear. I, inadvertently, took a legacy from him in addition to me, because my body was not able to hold our children for nine months, before it delivered them to us.
People, outside of this circle that we are in, never understand that burden that I, as the mother carry. No one blames me for this, but me. Of course it was nothing that I did on purpose. On the contrary, I was told that my body fought to keep my first pregnancy viable longer than it should have been able to sustain it {story for another day}. It was nothing that I WILLFULLY did, but my body was the betraying culprit, nonetheless. If one didn’t feel some guilt over that fact, I don’t believe they’d be human.
Every year, as Mother’s Day rolls around, I start to feel the pall of FAILURE begin to move through me like a wildfire and depress my senses, like a coffin’s cloak, wrapped around this day. It is a day of personal sadness for me. I try to make the most of it – to find some joy in it. However, the tinge of sorrow will always be a part of it. Always....There is simply no way around it.
I think the most difficult part of this day, is when people ask if we have children? I do not deny them. I respond as graciously as I know how, thanking them for the happy greetings and telling them that we have two angels in heaven. That response does not lend itself to further conversation, except for apologies, and “the look”, which can only be defined as one of pity. I don’t like pity. I welcome compassion, but not pity. It is my responsibility, thereafter, to say something pleasant or upbeat, for example, to whoever is tending to us at a restaurant for lunch, so that their experience with us in the aftermath of that Q & A, will not to be an awkward one.
The good of this day is that I am still blessed to have my mother with me. I celebrate her everyday, however, so I don’t need a special day set aside to do that.
And, as this day begins to wind down, I feel the gritting of my teeth lessening, and my endurance, the one I have mastered lo these many years, in my attempt to make it to the end of this day with my heart not completely battered and bruised, now almost at hand. Tomorrow will be a new day in which to begin again, and I won’t have to think about this annual display for another 3~65. For me, therein lies the blessing...
“Ann: How my heart has ached. How empty I have felt. How I’ve ached to hold my two babies.”
― K. Howard Joslin, Honest Wrestling: Questions of Faith When Attacked by Life
