Mothering and Life in General
October 15th: Pregancy and Infant Loss
I am 30, and have been blessed with two beautiful daughters. One is from my DH’s previous relationship and the other is our own. It’s been one rough road to be on sometimes, with mothering, but there was a time I did not think I would be able to have even one child in my arms.
I have had two miscarriages, all in my 20’s. I can’t really tell you what was worse, the miscarriages or the validation of my Doctor’s “You may not be able to carry” speech at 14-years-old. Still to this day, my motherhood has been surreal. It’s like I am looking in, still not believing this has happened to me.
I think about my babies, who were not meant to be. Some believe the same soul comes back until it finally sticks. Others believe they are in heaven being looked after from those who left here first. In any rate, either place is not as comforting as the thought of them being in their mother’s arms. Being cradled, touched, coddled and loved.
It’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness, and I think about my bothers and sister who have not seen me walk, hear me talk or my voice as I sang them to sleep. I think about a friend’s son who has left his crib empty at 6 months old. I think about my sister’s choice to not carry on, but I also think about how damn scared I was carrying K2. And how my fears of loosing her took away from my experience.
It’s a loss that haunts you no matter what day it is, but each October 15th I feel a little freer, a bit lighter and a lot more at peace. I can now visually say I am a mother to more than one, even if I only have one that holds my hand. Just burning a candle for one hour, joining in other families, and adding to the wave of light, is a silent way of saying I still hurt, I still love you and there are two others who also hold my heart.
This small light means a lot to me tonight, because not a lot of people know about my loss, nor knows about the pain I feel when I see a child who is around the same age they would have been. How selfish I feel when I can’t connect to the mothers and babies who were growing when we stopped.
It’s this tiny light burning from a tea light, silently flickering, on my balcony railing, moving enchantingly, that keeps me stronger than the years before. It’s the conformation of two missing from the dinner table as I join in to the 24 hour wave of light, the 24 hour wave of love. It’s the knowledge that this tiny flame will send a hug to another family who has suffered too.
Will you join me?