Mothers Letters

LETTER 1

I’m the lady with the dead baby.

It’s okay, I’m allowed to be so blunt because it’s my truth. The truth I live with every single day. I am the lady whose baby died. One day my baby was living and the next day he was gone. That is what happened. It doesn’t offend me if you acknowledge this. It’s actually nice someone takes an interest.

It offends me when you don’t.

You see, I know that my baby died. I will not forget this. So, when you whisper about it like it’s a secret that feels shameful. It makes me feel like you’re embarrassed for me. I’m not embarrassed about my baby and I’m not embarrassed that he died. I’m sad and heartbroken that he died. It’s different.

I am allowed to be sad that my baby died. Please stop trying to cheer me up. When you respond by trying to cheer me up, it feels dismissive. Being supportive does not mean making me happy, it means sticking around even when I’m not. When you honor my emotions, you honor my child.

When I say my sons name and you not-so-subtly change the subject, you are not doing so to “protect me.” You are avoiding the subject of my child because you are uncomfortable. If you were talking about your own loved one and I stopped meeting your gaze or frantically switched topics, you would be upset with me. Same.

My baby is not an awkward topic. He is a person. He is my son I am not awkward about that, so why are you?

Please understand, I believe that when you do these things it is with the best intentions, but I need you to know that your intentions have a painful impact. So, while you get to stroll away with your good intentions, I am left with the hurtful impact you left behind.

I’m the lady with the dead baby.

It’s okay, I’m allowed to be so blunt because it’s my truth. The truth I live with every single day. I am the lady whose baby died. One day my baby was living and the next day he was gone. That is what happened. It doesn’t offend me if you acknowledge this. It’s actually nice someone takes an interest.

It offends me when you don’t.

You see, I know that my baby died. I will not forget this. So, when you whisper about it like it’s a secret that feels shameful. It makes me feel like you’re embarrassed for me. I’m not embarrassed about my baby and I’m not embarrassed that he died. I’m sad and heartbroken that he died. It’s different.

I am allowed to be sad that my baby died. Please stop trying to cheer me up. When you respond by trying to cheer me up, it feels dismissive. Being supportive does not mean making me happy, it means sticking around even when I’m not. When you honor my emotions, you honor my child.

When I say my sons name and you not-so-subtly change the subject, you are not doing so to “protect me.” You are avoiding the subject of my child because you are uncomfortable. If you were talking about your own loved one and I stopped meeting your gaze or frantically switched topics, you would be upset with me. Same.

My baby is not an awkward topic. He is a person. He is my son I am not awkward about that, so why are you?

Please understand, I believe that when you do these things it is with the best intentions, but I need you to know that your intentions have a painful impact. So, while you get to stroll away with your good intentions, I am left with the hurtful impact you left behind.

I may be the lady whose baby died but you can still talk to me like you did when I was the lady who was going to have a baby. You can still say his name and let me know that you care about him. You can still ask me how I’m doing and wait around to hear my answer.

Please don’t ignore my truth, especially when I am so strongly committed to sharing it. I have not made my baby’s death a secret, so I don’t need your help in hiding him. That’s where the struggle comes from. I have to keep talking about him and saying his name because he can’t. I can’t stop because then he will disappear.

I know you want to change what happened to me. But, you can’t. I will always be the lady whose baby died. I will always be the woman who is living without her child. I am okay talking about that. Are you?

LETTER 2

Dealing with loss.....going through the motions daily

1. Be Kind to Yourself

If there’s one time in life when we deserve to wrap ourselves up in complete compassion, it’s this. Take the time you need. It’s understandable to function at a slower speed. Deadlines still need to be met, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you need to be the one to meet them. Gather the troops—your boss, your team, your closest co-workers—and ask for others to share a bit of the burden. (By the same token, if you know someone else is struggling with a loss, help by volunteering to take on some of his or her workload.)

At times like these, we often think we’re alone. But the truth is, we’re always alone, and it’s only when we choose to invite others into our lives that we’re not. A former boss of mine once told me that we never get what we deserve; we only have a chance at getting what it is we want if we ask for it. So ask.

2. Remember Action is Always a Good Thing

With the death of a loved one, we may be inclined to shut down or to give up. Grief is a powerful force that can stop us in our tracks. But, as Shawshank Redemption’s AndyDufresne put it, “Get busy living, or get busy dying.” In other words, while taking some time to rest is a good thing, don’t weigh anchor in darkness and despair. Action is key.

In the beginning, all we may have in us is, at most, just going through the motions: Get up, go to work, go home, go to bed, rinse, repeat. It doesn’t matter. Just keep moving. Keep doing. Keep focusing on things outside of you and your grief. And if that something you focus on is an upcoming project at work, infuse all of your energies into knocking it out of the park. It will help you to not dwell on the sadness, and it may give you a feather for your cap that you will appreciate and be proud of down the road.

Everyone has an expiration date. Taking action, no matter how small the steps may be right now, helps us use our time here on Earth actually living, rather than just biding our time waiting to die. And taking that action—moving your body—is proven to bring with it physiological benefits that help elevate mood and thoughts and spirits.

3. Honor Your Loved One by Choosing to Live

Death—especially when unexpected—has a way of wiping away the filters we’ve put on our lives and giving us a fresh perspective about where we are and where we may be headed. Meetings at work discussing minutiae that used to matter to you will no longer be important. Working with colleagues on a task force toward a once-common goal will no longer seem a priority. Getting trapped in the mundane day-to-day tasks of life will become magnified, making you feel as if you’ve lost sight of what your life was meant to be. Suddenly, you’re seeing yourself in your own movie, similar to that character played by Jack Nicholson asking everyone in the room, “Is this as good as it gets?”

The urge to change may hit hard. You always wanted to study gorillas in Rwanda—should you quit your job and go? You never imagined you’d be working 24/7 as cook, maid, babysitter, home improvement maven, and financial manager, without even a dime to show for it—should you divorce your spouse and abandon your kids? Is it too late to run away and join the circus?

Know that all of these thoughts are normal. Know, too, that experts strongly suggest not making any major life changes during periods of grief. And know that you have been given a great gift. With the passing of your loved one, you’ve been given perspective. Thank him or her for helping you to recognize where you’re at, what matters to you, and what you’re spending your precious time and resources on. Later, you can start re-evaluating your life’s goals and purpose and figuring out—before it’s too late—what you might need to do to get to where you were meant to be.

Six months is not enough to manage the grief of losing a loved one and at the same time to return to the workplace as a productive and fully present employee. Taking the time you need, being kind to yourself, staying active and outside of your own head, and choosing to use your loved one’s passing as a chance to refocus on your own life and living it to the fullest are ways in which this grief-stricken writer is learning to work through death to experience a better life, especially while at work.

LETTER 3

"I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother. My child died, and this is my reluctant path. It is not a path of my choice, but it is a path I must walk mindfully and with intention. It is a journey through the darkest night of my soul and it will take time to wind through the places that scare me.

Every cell in my body aches and longs to be with my beloved child. On days when grief is loud, I may be impatient, distracted, frustrated, and unfocused. I may get angry more easily, or I may seem hopeless. I will shed many, many, many tears. I won’t smile as often as my old self. Smiling hurts now. Most everything hurts some days, even breathing.

But please, just sit beside me.

Say nothing.

Do not offer a cure.

Or a pill, or a word, or a potion.

Witness my suffering and don't turn away from me.

Please be gentle with me.

And I will try to be gentle with me too.

I will not ever "get over" my child's death so please don’t urge me down that path.

Even on days when grief is quiescent, when it isn't standing loudly in the foreground, even on days when I am even able to smile again, the pain is just beneath the surface.

There are days when I still feel paralyzed. My chest feels the sinking weight of my child's absence and, sometimes, I feel as if I will explode from the grief.

Losing my child affects me in so many ways: as a woman, a mother, a human being. It affects every aspect of me: spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally. There are days when I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

Grief is as personal to me as my fingerprint. Don't tell me how I should or shouldn’t be grieving or that I should or shouldn’t “feel better by now.” Don't tell me what's right or wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time. If I am to survive this, I must do what is best for me.

My understanding of life will change and a different meaning of life will slowly evolve. What I knew to be true or absolute or real or fair about the world has been challenged so I'm finding my way, moment-to-moment in this new place. Things that once seemed important to me are barely thoughts any longer. I notice life's suffering more- hungry children, the homeless and the destitute, a mother’s harsh voice toward her young child- or an elderly person struggling with the door. There are so many things about the world which I now struggle to understand: Why do children die? There are some questions, I've learned, which are simply unanswerable.

So please don’t tell me that “ God has a plan ” for me. This, my friend, is between me and my God. Those platitudes slip far too easily from the mouths of those who tuck their own child into a safe, warm bed at night: Can you begin to imagine your own child, flesh of your flesh, lying lifeless in a casket, when “goodbye” means you’ll never see them on this Earth again? Grieving mothers- and fathers- and grandparents- and siblings won’t wake up one day with everything ’okay’ and life back to normal. I have a new normal now.

As time passes, I may gain gifts, and treasures, and insights but anything gained was too high a cost when compared to what was lost. Perhaps, one day, when I am very, very old, I will say that time has truly helped to heal my broken heart. But always remember that not a second of any minute of any hour of any day passes when I am not aware of the presence of my child's absence, no matter how many years lurk over my shoulder, don’t forget that I have another one, another child, whose absence, like the sky, is spread over everything as C.S. Lewis said.

My child may have died; but my love - and my motherhood - never will. "

I Am A Mother To An Angel

Hugs and love to all ❤