LET’S TALK ABOUT IT… No Really, Let’s.
Guest post by Gabriela
There are so many things loss moms have to overcome. The list is probably infinite and it changes all the time. But one thing that currently tops that list for me is acknowledgement, or lack there of.
As far as talking about my precious angel baby, I don’t really blame co-workers, friends, or acquaintances for not bringing him up. I understand that. However, it bothers me to my core when “family” just pretends it never happened. That HE never happened.
I carried Kain for 41 weeks. 41 weeks that ended with a cord accident on Christmas Day. He may have never taken a breath outside of me, but he still lived. And yet, they don’t talk about him. It’s as if he never existed.
I am always asking myself this.
How can a fellow mama, especially one within my own family, not acknowledge my son’s life, or my never-ending pain, or the tragedy that was his death. They make me feel as if I’m that puffy gray cloud of sadness that just kills the mood. My sad story looms over their happy, blissful lives. The life that we all lived before we lost our babies. When we thought nothing could ever really go wrong and that the worst thing after pregnancy would be stretch marks.
I listen to you though. I see all your Facebook pictures and statuses about your precious babies. I sit there listening about how your baby has the worst sleeping pattern and hear you complain about how tired you are. (I would love to be tired because of that, my fatigue, instead, comes from insomnia, which comes from depression, which comes from loosing Kain…) Anyways, I still smile politely when you share your birth story. I try to hide my envy when you discuss all the little joys of being a mother, most of which you are griping about. So here I am- listening, nodding, smiling, letting you talk…
But what about me? Don’t you want to hear about my baby? About the best thing that ever happened to me? And why do you never say his name?
Is it easier FOR YOU to pretend he never happened?
I mean, he happened. My son Kain lived.
I have the nursery all ready to go if you’d like to see it.
I have scars all over my tummy that proved he lived there.
I can tell you all about his constant kicks, and hiccups, or how about his little coffin, since you were too “busy” to attend the funeral.
You wanna know what he looked like? Well I have pictures but they won’t do him justice. He was perfect.
Did you know he had curly hair? And his dad’s exact nose and big hands.
Do you wanna hear my birth story?
Do you want to hear anything about him, at all?
It seems not.
And you know what?
It would be nice if you would ask about him or say his name, but you don’t have to.
You can continue to ignore his existence.
As for me, I’ll continue to be polite and be the woman my mother raised me to be.
I’ve come to the realization that I don’t need your acknowledgement. I don’t need anything from you.
I know in my heart who Kain was. I know what he means to me. And I’ll remember him enough for everybody.
And to put it frankly, he’s too special an angel to be shared with just anyone.