Do Not Judge

                                                                        “Do not judge the bereaved mother.
                                                                                She comes in many forms.
                                                                          She is breathing, but she is dying.
                                                     She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
                                                                           She smiles, but her heart sobs.

                                                 She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
                                                                              but she IS NOT, all at once.
                                                        She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”

 

This was posted, but uncredited, on a child loss board that I frequent.  I was very touched by the wording as it seems to get at the essence of loosing a child perfectly.  As I go about my day, take care of the kids, go to work, move forward with my life, there will forever be a part of me that is stuck in that moment on May 17th when we said goodbye to our beautiful Adeline.  At that moment, I feel as though a piece of my soul broke off and went with her, while the rest of me had to stay here.  When I think about the moment we let her go, I am there, like it was just yesterday.  All of the emotion, the pain, the hope for a miracle, is just as real as it was that day, almost 6 months ago.  No matter what I am doing, where I am, who I am with, there is always a part of me that is with her.  

 

I often try to view myself through the eyes of someone else.  Not that I particularly care how everyone else views my grieving process, it is what it is regardless of what others think, but I do think about it.  There are times when I know, that a person who has never experienced the loss of a child, would think that I have healed, moved on, forgotten, or whatever cliche sentiment fits best.  Anyone who has experienced the loss of a child knows that this is as far from the truth as you could possibly get.  There has been no lessening of the pain, just an increase in my ability to deal with it.  I was talking with a friend the other day who also, recently lost a child.  She mentioned that she did not like to say that she was having a good day, for fear that people would think that she had moved on, that she was done grieving.  I was struck by how much this made sense to me.  To think that someone else feels that I have moved on, makes me feel that they think it is ok to move on too, to forget her.  I will never "move on", never forget, never heal from the loss of Adeline.  A piece of me will forever be with her, in much the same way that a piece of me will always be with Sawyer and Liam.  My love for her, need to have her near me, to love her, to protect her,  is no less than it is for my other children.  

 

I read somewhere, "The pain does not get better, we just get stronger."  This is true, at least for my grieving process so far.  My pain in no less today than it was the moment I realized Adeline was dying, the moment we removed her from life support, or the moment her heart stopped beating.  I have had time to process the pain, process the loss, the stress level has changed and we have moved forward with our "new normal", but the pain is still the same.  When I go back to that moment in my mind, it is like watching the end of a sad movie, when you desperately hope for a happy ending but know that it wont happen.  The hope that I had that day is still there, the prayer for a miracle, for the diagnosis to be a mistake.  The emotions are the same, but with the knowledge that it is an impossible hope, an unanswered prayer, a happy ending that will never come. 

I have met many mothers who also lost children, some recently, some many years ago, but the look in their eyes is always the same.  I am always struck by that look, that far away longing, the sadness that takes the light from their eyes, when they tell me about their child.  I know that look, I know where they are, they are not here with me, they are with their angel.  I can often pick out women who have lost a child.  I am fairly open about the loss of Addy, and there have been many times when mentioning her in passing to another woman, that I have seen that look.  It is the look of someone who knows the pain and  heartache of missing a part of your self, missing a future that never happened, the pain of loosing a child.