Living with Loss

The death of an only child leaves an indelible mark on the soul. There is a vacant place in living that is never filled, never eased. I know that now; if I live to be 110, it will be true then. When your only child dies it's one thing, when your only child dies before he had children of his own, it's another thing.  I'm not saying any loss of a child is greater than another; on the contrary, they all come with unique challenges. It's just that that when life prances around shouting "look at me, look at me" with the young boy walking around the lake holding his mom's hand, grandma tucking her granddaughter in at night, graduation ceremonies and proms, tournaments, plays and recitals, weddings, new jobs, and babies, they all make it so painfully clear how my time with all of that is over. Stolen. With most things in this life we have a choice, but not this. This is not my choice. This is so different from something we choose, it's not what job to take or...

T ime turns differently for the mother of a dead child.  Time is slower, much slower, more methodical in it's forward motion. I can sit for an hour and have hundreds of amazing thoughts rush across my mind, and then, just as quickly forget all the fantastic beauty of each of them. Recalling maybe one very simple and mundane task, something like I should boil an egg for breakfast.  Everything takes more out of you when you're the mother of a dead child. This world alive with children, children's activities, children's toys, and children's accomplishments is a playground rife with danger for the mother of a dead child. Breathing in the life of the rest of the world's child-filled lives somehow makes each breath a little heavier and laced with the acerbic taste of emptiness. There is not one thing in life I can do and not be confronted with children and shown the magnificent abundance of having a child in your life and yet simultaneou...

I miss being a mom. I miss hearing a child say to me, "I love you." I miss having that purpose in my life. I miss all the good and all the bad that comes with being "mom." Being mom is the most difficult and challenging job in the world, and I long for it with all of my soul. When I see little children with the glint of light in their eyes, I ache with pain. Their laughter affirms how my life has been robbed of that joy. I see them grab the hand of their mom or dad and I yearn to hold my son's hand and hug his neck, to feel the warmth of him living. I miss being a mom.