On the A Bed For My Heart facebook page we asked our village,
What do you wish the world understood about the reality of being a bereaved parent?
We asked, you bravely shared your truth. Here’s what you had to say:
“The hurt never goes away. It doesn’t get ‘better’. I still want to talk about my little girl. Having another baby makes life better, but it doesn’t make my loss better.” — Maeve’s Mom, Jess
“I wish others knew that after the death of my son I still genuinely feel happy, joyful, hopeful. I still laugh often. I still rejoice when others have a baby they get to keep in their arms. I still care deeply. I still aim to love those around me well. And yet I still grieve profoundly. I still ache when I think about each missed milestone with my son. I still wipe away tears often from my face. I still wish more than words can convey that this was not my story. I still have each of these feelings all mixed within my heart. This is the new me.” — Courtney C.
“That even without a living child, I am still a mother and my husband is still a father. We are learning to parent in a completely different way since our daughter doesn’t live with us, but in Heaven. It’s hard to face a world that doesn’t see any children at my side and call myself a mama because that just looks funny to them.” — Megan C.
“It’s not something one ever “gets over.” Time does not heal. We learn to live life differently because life still goes on but we still ache for that loss deeply, yet some how, some way we figure out how to keep living. It’s been 21 years and nearly 20 years for both of my boys.” — Shannon M.
“That we are not crazy, just broken.” — Tyrone’s Mom
“The pain never ends.” — Audrey’s Mom, Charlotte
“You never “move on,” you never “get over” it. People so often do not associate a pregnancy loss of any gestation as a loss, but as something that happened to you. My child died. I may have never held, smelled, or touched my children, but they are just as much my child as your child is yours.” — Mandy H.
“It is pain they have never known. We do not get over it and we want to hear our child’s name all the time.” — Kelly’s Mom, Anna C.
“I lost my daughter four days ago to stillbirth. I am unsure of how I will ever be the same person again. I can’t imagine being the hopeful optimistic person I was. I feel lost. I have other beautiful children for which I am blessed. They cannot replace the one I’ve lost and wish people would stop saying, “At least you have four beautiful children.” I know they are trying to help and say anything to bring me comfort, but I just want to scream, “No one can replace her in my heart!!” As if my pain should be less because I have other children, as if it doesn’t matter as much.” — Rebecca M.
“I want people to know that child loss is not contagious. Because my son died doesn’t mean your child will also. I think people fall back on “I don’t want to say the wrong thing so I’ll say nothing” too often. Sitting back and saying nothing is a cop out. If you simply say, “I’m thinking about you, I hope you’re ok,” it’s open ended. We simply could say “thank you” or we could answer and talk about how we feel. I think the world should also try and understand that we are still parents– we are still moms and dads even if we have no physical children on earth. And not a day goes by that we aren’t reminded of that.” — Ashlee N.
“That even though they aren’t with me, I see my children in butterflies, and feel their love in the warmth of the sun on my face. I know that even though they’re gone, I’m not alone. I wish others could see my living son cuddle with his sister’s blanket and know that even though they never met, he knows his siblings. I wish too, that others understood that the most important thing in the world is to hear your child’s name. It means that someone else knows they existed and that your child isn’t forgotten.” — Loki C.
“That thinking about, loving and missing the precious children no longer with us is as natural and instinctive to us as breathing, and that if they ever think about or miss them too, to please share that with us– it is lovely to think that their lives mattered to other people too– that they are remembered, cherished and loved by more than just us, their parents.” — Frankie B.
“My wish would be that people understood that I wanted to talk about him. He wasn’t a shameful secret, he was a healthy baby boy whom I gave birth to and love just like any member of the family. I want to talk and celebrate him. Most of the time.” — Kate H.
“That it’s forever– the grief does not go away. We bob and weave at times, but it’s still there.” — Gayle W.
“By extending kindness and compassion to others is how I honor my beautiful angel. So sadly missed!” — Wayne C.
“My life now is destroyed. Since my son was murdered everything fell apart for me. My children either deserted me, blamed me or criticized me for my inability to “get over” my son’s death. After Nick’s death my boyfriend died suddenly, I went bankrupt, and my health deteriorated. I wish the world understood my pain was not my choice. I used to be a happy person and my children and I were very close. I did not choose any of these struggles. And I’m tired of having to justify my feelings. Life has moved on for everyone but me. Even though I’ve been rejected, I love my whole family, and I still love and miss and mourn the loss of my treasured son.” — Gail B.
“That babies aren’t replaceable. The phrases “better luck next time” and “well, you can always have another,” that are meant to comfort, are downright infuriating. I don’t want “a” baby, I want my daughter back. And how do you know if there will be a next time?“ — Sarah F.
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photo credit: Erin West
I wish people understood that I am so very grateful for Tessies healthy twin, but he does not replace her. And how much it truly sucks to be so happy when your son learns something new only to have a sudden wave of grief for the twin who should be here learning it too.
Kim, my son is 23 years old and I STILL watch his life unfold and wonder “what would Matthew be doing right now?” I know that may not be comforting but I think we are very normal. It’s like a bipolar version of grief losing one of a pair; because we get the experience of bouncing back and forth every moment from despair and delight. I can’t count how many times I would lay Jacob down as a baby only to pick him back up again because I couldn’t bear the burden that night…and the nights I couldn’t wait for him to go to sleep so that I could let it all out. The only thing I learned from it all was to feel it and deal with it as it comes regardless of what others needed me to feel, say, do…you know. You can only navigate this experience one moment at a time anyway and it’s much healthier for everyone if we do it honestly.
The reality is that you live in a new reality, where a piece of your heart and a part of your family is missing. There is still life and joy, and love and laughter, but there is also an insurmountable ocean of grief that you will be navigating for the rest of your life.
Sometimes it is ok for a parent to talk about your lost child. People are at a loss as what to say. You don’t have to say anything, as there are no words in our language to say. Just listen, and feel. That is all a grieving parent ask for. Be it last week, last year or 20 years ago, the pain is the same. It never changes or goes away.
No one met my son, I am the only one who knew him for the time I carried him. I feel privileged for this time but robbed of the future that could have been. I morn for my family that are here and never got to meet him, or enjoy him. Dont get me wrong, I am grateful for what I do have and enjoy all the other bits of my life but I wish with all my heart he could be part of it all. It’s a big new mix of emotions that I have to live with from now on …day by day. The worst things people can say is ‘you have one healthy child’, ‘maybe it was a blessing this way’…but how can anyone understand. Xx
I was just told by a neighbor that her husband’s son died in 1990 and he told her he does not know why me and my husband still grieve about our children. He apparently ‘washed his hands of the dates and has just gone on, and we should too’. My only child died in 1981 at the age of 3, from a brain tumor. My husband lost his son at the age of 33 in 2005 and his daughter who was 48 died in 2012. I am still in shock at this remark, I am still grieving and celebrating, They apparently do not understand why we were sad on his daughter’s birthday which just passed. I will always celebrate their birthdays and their death dates. I am still in shock over this remark, and disappointed in myself with my response to her. I had replied: “Well I am the one who tries to help my husband by bringing up the birthdays and death days to him, so we can celebrate”. I should have just smiled and kept on walking.
We have 5 Sons, 15 months ago we lost a Son, he was 29. We are thankful everyday for our Children, I want people to know, even though we have other Children, it does not make it easier, no child can ever replace another.
A Grieving Mom????
I wish people would stop waiting for me to return to normal. There is no normal. There will never be normal again. I may have periods of happiness and normalcy, but there will always be a cloak of sadness too. That’s the new normal
What I wish the world could understand about being a bereaved mother is that I miss the old me too. That along side of longing for and missing my son, I long for and miss the mother and the person I was “before”. I want them to know and understand that no matter how many grief groups I attend, or websites I sign on to, or other grieving mothers I meet they must accept that I can not go back to who I once was. I want to tell them, please stop expecting me to do so, so that I can stop expecting it of myself.