Grief waves strike without warning. A beautiful day full of celebration can turn on a dime and the sadness and tears can overwhelm all other emotions. It is a reality one lives with as we walk through the loss of a baby and all of the accompanying hopes and dreams. Yet for those with a partner, whether they grieve the same or not, there can be a knowing nod, or a “you know what’s happening” look, that can signal one is in need of some form of saving or comfort. As a single parent who walks the journey of grief without a partner, there is no one ever coming to help or save. It is a harsh truth, that in some ways has made me stronger but in many ways has caused, what I fear is, un-healable pain.

For those who have read my posts before, you know how alone I mean when I say grieving alone. For those who are unfamiliar, the shortest version is after 4 days of losing my baby, his father left me a voicemail saying he hoped I was okay and changed his number to an unpublished one. So, when I say alone I mean completely minus any partner.

Fast forward 20 years later (and oh my goodness the A-Ha moment I just had is making me weep, but save that for another time) I have a loving partner who may not understand exactly how I feel, but he honors the space in which I feel it. Yet, he cannot recognize the “I am drowning” look when it washes over me, because there is not that unspoken language, and I have yet to find the courage to fully speak it to him in ways that would clarify it. He is worthy of so much more than I can share with him, and I know this in my head, but in that deepest place, that no one knows, I cannot open it enough to shed true light in or find words for.

Losing a baby is often misunderstood by many, sometimes even partners, husbands, wives. So, feeling alone and isolated is simply part of the journey. I am blessed with people who honor Kendall and the space and wound his too brief life left within me. I had a dear friend who walked the walk with me for years, so I did not have to always walk alone. I have a Mom and Dad who honor my motherhood each and every year. And do so with no true understanding of the gift that is, because they are simply being who they are. But I have no one to glance over at in a room full of people, when the wave has crashed on top of me and I am pinned at the bottom, but look completely fine on the outside. I have no partner who can, or does, hold me a little tighter when anniversaries arise and spirits fall.

I am a grieving Mom, twenty years in, who still cannot be loved in the space that Kendall’s Dad created when he walked away and refused to acknowledge my pain. It is lonely, and hard. Yet as I write this, I find I do not like the sound of my words. I am hearing that I have surrendered a power that I did not willingly let go of. So, the gift of this post, for me, is I am going to find my power and reclaim it. For Kendall, for me, and for the highest version of myself that is currently battling to come forward. My hope is that someone out there needed the reminder too, and might have found a whisper of hope here in these words.

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Beth Ann Morhardt

Beth Ann Morhardt is an Empowerment Specialist, specializing in domestic violence and its impact on children and parenting. She is Mom to an angel baby named Kendall who she lost via miscarriage in 1998. After much grief and healing work, soul searching and deep reflection she chose not to have other children. While this was often misunderstood by others as a reaction to losing Kendall, for her it was an empowered decision based in love. Being a Mom with no living children allows her to be available and open to being the proud aunt to two of the coolest kids on the planet (and that is not in any way bias, it is simply true). As she navigated the grief and healing journey of Kendall’s loss she was inspired to dig deeper under the pain and begin to look at all areas of her life in which she could live more truthfully. Through this Beth Ann chose to speak of childhood sexual abuse she survived and kept silent about for over thirty years. This choice has allowed her to walk in authenticity and healing in ways she never imagined, never mind hoped for. Walking in authenticity and truth is not always easy. Often the path looks more like an obstacle course than a paved walkway but there is no greater feeling at the end of the day than knowing you lived each moment present and authentically. Read more on her blog, Indeeditistime.

Latest posts by Beth Ann Morhardt (see all)

• Sharing My Truth - August 27, 2019
• Giving Back - April 1, 2019
• One Day, It Will Feel Safe To Begin To Peek Out & Explore - February 18, 2019