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When the silence falls, I can hear the echo of the groaning heartache of a mother that is grieving her child… There is no other sound like it. Have you ever heard it? Are you a mother or father who knows exactly what I am talking about? All too well, I know this sound.
I know this sound comes out of a place so deep within our hearts that there is nothing else that can take us there except for a mother’s cry, a mother’s plead with God, a mother’s brokenness. It’s all captured within the groaning of her heart.
When the silence comes, a mother’s heart holds within it the cry and agony for her child. And in these moments, there is nothing that can stop it. The freight train has left the building headed for complete derailment. One moment can catapult you into this. One memory. One.
It doesn’t matter the time, the place, or how many days or years have passed… it lies deep within your heart and in the silence is unleashed.
As the tears hit the floor, there is an unstoppable grief that can no longer be held in. I might best describe it, visually, like watching a car crash. You know the feeling something is fixing to happen, you hear the panic within, you scream and hear the brakes trying to stop the centrifugal forces that collide with the merging traffic. The tires locking up send you into a place you never wanted to go and then it happens. Silence. Dead Silence.
I have often tried to fight the silence from falling, BUT I have learned that responding to the silence and releasing this emotion is necessary to grieve for my baby boy. Why would I think it should be any other way? Why would I not want to allow my tears to flow at the onset of thinking of Matthew?
Sometimes, the answer is because I want to be strong for my family and for others, or because I don’t want them to see me hurting. But the reality is I do hurt, I do grieve, and when I am ‘quiet’ long enough in the silence, I can feel it. I feel my heart bubbling over with my mama groan, my plea, my heartache, that in the busyness of life may get tossed to the side while I do the laundry, wash dishes or drive from one ball game to another event. But eventually, the silence falls. We cannot out-run it for long.
I cry out to God, and sometimes my fist will even make contact with the granite counter top… why? Because it hurts. Because I will always long for Matthew to be with me.
In the very unnatural circumstances of burying your child, these gut wrenching groans from a mama’s heart are natural. Grieving (missing) your child is not a sign of weakness, but rather a sign of love.
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About Lori Weatherly
Lori, I am so sorry for the loss you suffered when Matthew passed. Your words speak to me in a special way. I did not lose my baby; I lost my grandchild. I hear the screeches that came from my son when his daughter was born too early to survive but with a strong heartbeat. The sound was not human and replays constantly in my mind. I can hear the cries of my “daughter” , a little softer but coming from somewhere deep in her soul. I remember my daughters falling to the floor with shock and grief. Then there is my own pain. I was strong for them during the birth knowing the outcome in advance. Seven months have passed and I still have trouble looking at the people I love without breaking down in tears. The little one that brought us together was taken from us. I am mad at God. I am mad at medicine. I am mad at myself because I irrationally think there must have been something I could have done differently. It’s my job to fix things and protect my children but I failed. The image of the cross is beautiful. I too wait to be reunited with my precious little Grandbaby. God bless you. Keep the faith and mourn in any way you choose.
HI Colleen… thank you for sharing your heart with me. I am so sorry about the loss of your grandchild. I understand your strength for them during this time, yet I can also feel your pain as you have watched and felt your daughter suffer immensely. My parents have buried two grandsons and I know the pain they feel is overwhelming as they cannot stand to see their children hurt. I also understand you wanting to fix and protect… the sting of that alone is awful. You have not failed as a mother or a grandmother… Please know that. And when you are reunited with your precious grandbaby, there will be no more tears. Much love and hope to you all!
Oh I can’t wait for that day, pure joy!
me either Stephanie! JOY!!!
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Those first two lines say everything. There is no sound like the gut wrenching sobs that come from a place so deep, you are not even aware it exists, until you lose your babies. Thank you for putting it into words.
HI Susie… Many years ago, I was sitting in church and a man in our congregation was called out of church during the sermon to the lobby… ( that was the first time I ever heard that sound) his daughter had been killed in an accident and the gut-wrenching scream of terror was one I will never, ever forget. I never knew one day I would hear that come from my “place…” All too well, we know that sound. Sending you hugs today! xoxo!
Lori, thank you for this article. I have come back to read it again. Thank you for your honesty. I can so relate to your words.
Thank you for coming back to visit Morgan! I am so sorry you are able to relate to my words… But I am so glad you have this magazine as a resource to help you! Wishing you much love and hope today!!!
I know that silence all too well. I try my hardest to fill it with noise of any kind – music, TV, housework, but it always comes. You’re right when you said we cannot outrun it. It usually happens when I lay in bed at night, my husband sleeping soundly next to me – the silence surrounds me and I just want to hear a baby cry from the next room, but I know I won’t. We lost our son Owen on November 27, 2011. I was 39 weeks pregnant. Thank you for sharing and I am so sorry for the loss of your son Matthew.
Yes, Melissa…. it always comes! I am so sorry for your loss of sweet Owen. Thank you for writing in and sharing with me your heart. I hope that you will continue to come here and find some peace, hope and encouragement… Sending you some virtual hugs and thoughts today!
I couldn’t have written this any better. My son would have been through just a few weeks ago. This Saturday we celebrate his twin brother’s birthday party. My heart is not in it, but for my survivor, I must. The crashing has ensued and the silence of the wave of grief has hit me. Thank you for putting my grief in words.
Hi Lori!!
I am so sorry for the loss of sweet Matthew. I am a babyloss grandmother. <3 I put the link to my precious daughters blog instead of my own, hers tells the story of her sweet baby Jacob who was born still on February 10th of this year. She spent 19 days in the hospital just trying to save his life and trying desperately not to have him, or to be at that "magical mark" where they would try and save him, and his little hear stopped beating a day before that mark. The loss of Jacob has hit our whole family with that same "grief in the silence", I just had to write and tell you how much I appreciate you sharing your story. It's so hard when I look at the photos of his precious little face and want to reach right through the photos and kiss his little cheeks, and how hard it is to see the babies who are his age now. It is in the silence, in a drive home alone, when we go to bed at night, when everything slows to a slow spin and we can't help but be flooded with the memory of him. We have had the same conversation with so many, we are so thankful to believe in a God, to have faith that our Jacob is safe in the arms of Jesus and dancing around in Heaven, and if were not so strong in our faith I do not know how we would have ever made it through.