Still a Mother...

   I often feel like a deer caught in headlights when someone randomly asks me if I have any kids. I also watch my best friends little girl a lot and people (who think she is mine) will ask, "is she your first"?. It makes me wander what I will say one day when I do have another child of my own. What do you say to a question like that when you have a child that is no longer living. I go back and forth on not wanting to bring him up on the chance that they might feel bad, yet I long to give Evin the recognition he deserves. He was here and he is my child. For those of you who may struggle with the same thing, one of my friends (who also has suffered loss) said something that helped me a lot. "Someone mentioned to me the old adage about "throwing pearls before swine".  I really thought on it for a long time, and decided that my two boys are my pearls, and that it's ok NOT to share their story (and my journey) with everyone." Some people don't deserve to know about one of your most precious treasurers. This helped me feel more that I was protecting him then betraying him when I chose not to mention his name.
   I came a cross something a mother had written after losing a baby, and her longing to still be seen as a mother. I thought it was good, so I'll share. (sorry its a little spacey I could not get it to format right.)

On Mother’s Day, Let Me Be a Mother

By Becky Wilder

I read something the other day that struck me….

“If a woman loses her husband she is a widow. If a man loses his wife he is a widower. If a child loses its parents he or she is an orphan. There is no name for a parent who loses their child.” If I were to put a name to this loss based on what it makes me feel like, I, as a mother who lost her child, would be a "misfit mom.” That mother who doesn’t quite fit in with the rest on Mother’s Day.

With another Mother’s Day now looming on the horizon, I can’t help but reflect on the past six

Mother’s Days since finding out I was pregnant. Mother’s Day was pure joy the year I was

pregnant with my son Ian. I got my first Mother’s Day cards, and Ian’s father bought me a crib for

our son. So many wonderful things happened that year. I felt complete. For that brief period of

time, these things heightened my joy as an expectant mother. Then it all came crashing down, and I

became that indescribable something in the middle of the room that we all knew was there, yet

everyone was afraid to acknowledge.

I am no longer a fan of Mother’s Day. It’s not because I remember on that day what I lost. Trust

me, whether it’s Mother’s Day, Groundhog Day, or any given Tuesday, I always remember what I

lost. No, I don’t dislike Mother’s Day because I remember what I lost, I dislike Mother’s Day because

everyone else tries so hard to forget. I don’t fault them. How could I? How could they possibly know what to do? From society’s perspective, there is nothing worse than losing a child. It’s the unthinkable; certainly the

unspeakable. But there are realities attached to the loss that I wish I could help others understand.

For me, as a mother who lost my son, there is only one gift I want: Let me be a mother.

I don’t ever get the opportunity to feel like a normal mother. Ever. I can’t sit and talk with other

moms and laugh about the body changes and pains of pregnancy – I’ve tried. Every mother around

me looks down or looks away like I shouldn’t have brought it up. But I am a mother.

I don’t want to forget the birth of my child. Ever. I want to remember the few kicks I felt, the sound

of his heartbeat, and the sight of him sucking his thumb on the ultrasound. Being pregnant and

giving birth is the single greatest moment any woman ever gets in her life. I won’t be denied that. I

want to share my memories of pregnancy and childbirth with others. These are the precious few

moments of motherhood I was given. I don’t want anyone to rob me of them by pretending they

didn’t exist. On Mother’s Day, let me be a mother.

I don’t ever stop thinking about my child. Others think that if they bring him up, they are stirring up

feelings that I am not already having. On the contrary; it would mean everything to know that

others remember. I don’t want to forget Ian. He is a part of me – he is my very heart and soul, and while his loss was my greatest sorrow, that’s only because his life was my greatest joy; a joy I don’t ever want to lose.

I carried that little life. I loved him. I felt him move. I gave birth to him. He is my miracle. Yet

because he’s not here, I don’t get to be treated like other moms. People avoid wishing me a Happy

Mother’s Day, yet it’s something I need terribly. Every day of the year I feel like I don’t fit in as a

mom. Nothing would mean more to me than for Mother’s Day to be the one day of the year I can

celebrate motherhood too. I need that, yet I don’t know how to tell others. I don’t want them to feel

bad. I get why they don’t say anything, truly I do. But how I pray somehow they will find out what

I need, because my soul aches to share the day with other moms… to be celebrated as a mom…. to

share the joy and cheer of the day that I earned. My son isn’t here to make me Mother’s Day cards

in school. I’ll never hear the sound of his voice as he says “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

Just this one day, celebrate with me. I need that more than I can say. If only people knew. Every

time they pretend that it didn’t happen, it takes away the only few moments of celebration I have.

The poem below was written by a mother who lost her child. It is the sentiment of every mom I

know who lost a child. This is what we need.

My Child’s Name

Author Unknown

Go ahead and mention my child,
The one that died, you know.
Don’t worry about hurting me further.
The depth of my pain doesn’t show.
Don’t worry about making me cry.
I’m already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing the tears that I try to hide.
I’m hurt when you just keep silent, pretending he didn’t exist.
I’d rather you mention my child,
Knowing that he has been missed.
You asked me how I was doing,
I say “pretty good” or “fine.”
But healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.