There is hope in the darkness.
Words that felt laughable in the moments, days, weeks after losing my son.
There is hope though, it’s lying in wait for you in the smallest of things.
In the whisper of the wind on a cool summer evening, in the twinkle of chimes or the simple act of a friendly arm around your shoulders.
There is hope in loss. Hope will live in you again. In time, even if you cannot believe in the possibility of it.
There is life after the death of your child. Life that will be there for you to join in.
When you’re ready to leave the heavy blankets of gloom and despair that you have enshrouded yourself in when the world you once knew ended.
There is life, although it will never be what you envisioned it would be when you were a child playing house with the neighborhood kids.
You may feel like life is just a series of sick jokes that have been made at your expense. That the so-called lemons being handed to you were far too rotten to make anything with, screw lemonade.
There is love after loss. Love that will move you will change you – will drive you.
It won’t be the love you had for your sweet little one. No, that love can never be replicated; that love created embers that will burn in you until the end of time.
Love will live in you though, it will live in tandem with the ache in your chest that was born to life the moment you heard those fateful words, “Sorry, there is no heartbeat.”
There are joy, laughter, and fun in grief. You may not feel those things now. You may feel as if you aren’t capable of these emotions again, but still, they will come.
There will be moments when guilt muddies the waters of joy when the smile on your face feels like a betrayal. You may feel the wisps of happy start to trickle into your day and wonder if you should be “allowed” to feel it.
You may have a belly laugh and then full stop to try and remember the exact moment you last laughed before your child died.
Or, maybe, you will go for an hour or two without having your child at the forefront of your mind. Perhaps, you were too preoccupied with a day that was fun-filled and new, only to feel the rush of guilt sweep through you.
Soon though, balancing grief with these feelings will come without effort. You will smile again; you will laugh, you will do all these things while mourning simultaneously.
There is purpose after loss. Slowly, even if it feels impossible, you will find your footing. It will feel uneasy at first – you will feel unsure of yourself and of what you are capable of.
Grief is also unpredictable, and it will knock you down, over and over, even decades later.
But there is one thing that you can count on – your strength.
You have lived through hell.
You have survived the unimaginable.
One day, you will no longer feel as if you’re floating through your life but that you belong to it.
You will grow to know your new purpose, your new desires, your new path. The passing of your little one may have changed you completely, loss may have altered you entirely, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be capable of more than grieving.
All these words may feel like billowy smoke that eludes you just as you come upon it.
There is calm that comes in knowing though, so know this: you can, and you will survive this.
There is hope in the darkness.
Morgan McLaverty, a world traveler that has taken roots in southern New Jersey where her husband Sean was born and raised. Now, a stay at home mother, she cares for her three living boys; Gavin Cole(5), Rowan Grey(3) and Holden Nash (1). She also is a mother to Lennon Rhys. Lennon was born still at thirty one weeks and five days. His loss spurred on a need in Morgan to write her feelings, share her grief and help others in the process. She hopes her words will help shed the silence and taboo nature of discussing pregnancy and child loss.