Sometimes, three years after losing Thomas, I feel like I’m a walking, talking grief expert. There are so many things that I don’t understand or know about – math, astronomy, chemistry, physics – all of those subjects I draw a blank. Grief, though…grief is sadly, very much in my wheelhouse. I know about choosing burial options for a baby, I know the right poems, readings for saying good bye to your future dreams. I can tell you how much the ashes of a beautiful 22 week baby weigh. I can voice the agony of realization that you are alive and your child is not.
I know about the dreaded “first year” and all of it’s ups and downs; but what I don’t know, what I never experienced was actually saying good bye. When I gave birth, I was in a coma. I woke up to find out our baby was gone and I was not. I didn’t get to say hello. I got ashes. And pictures that are so precious to me I don’t even have words to explain it. Those pictures kept me sane.
Recently, my parrot died – I wasn’t there. Once again, I am grappling with the feelings of not being able to say good bye. All of my trigger buttons are pressed and my husband wisely came home with arms laden with chocolate. Once again, with sad eyes we grieved together and tried to give each other comfort. This time, we are experienced, we are wiser. I recognize we grieve in almost completely opposite ways. His need for logic and reason is just as legitimate as the waves and waves of sadness that wash over me.
For a long, long time I took my inability to say good bye to Thomas as a personal failure; as an abdication of my role of his mother. I felt a failure. I couldn’t show myself the kindness of logic, despite that fact that, clearly, I did not choose to be in a coma. Now, today, as I deal with this new loss, with yet another hole in my heart – I choose kindness. These complicated good byes, these painful, complicated losses, they will not be without personal growth.
This is the gift of my son. Today, because of him, I choose kindness. I will not beat myself up, I will use the skills that being Thomas’ mother, a Still Mother, have taught me about loss, about love.
- The Importance Of Pictures - October 12, 2020
- Self-Isolation And Still Mothers - April 3, 2020
- And Here We Are - June 24, 2019
Beautiful just beautiful – Andreahiw far you have come. Thomas would be so proud of his very brave very strong momma. Such an inspiration, and your writing.., nailed it:)