by Sarah Townend
“Are you a mummy?” An elderly patient at work the other day. Somehow the question cut deeper than “do you have children?”
Yes, I am a mummy, I thought, but how can I tell you?
How can I possibly say to you that yes, I am a mummy and my son would be turning four next month, but unfortunately he lives in Heaven.
How can I say that they way I am a mummy to him is to visit and tend his grave? In fact, right now I am deciding what I am going to make for his birthday this year! A cake? No, a grave decoration.
How can I say that and remain professional. How can I say that without ruining your day, and your carers? But how can I not say it and not deny my son?
I took too long to answer. She thought I hadn’t heard. “are you a mummy?” again. I reached for my new stock answer. “We’re working on it!” And we all laughed as if I’m a newlywed in the honeymoon period.
And I sucked in my tummy, swollen and bloated from the latest round of fertility drugs and silently prayed that she wouldn’t ask anything further. Saved by the carer wheeling her out of the room, they didn’t see my tears begin to fall as they left.
Yes I’m a mummy. And I miss my son. And I’ve been on this rollercoaster too long. And I don’t know if I’ll ever hold a living child again. And it hurts.
Sarah Townend lives in the UK with her husband Mark, and are both 33. Their son Robert was born in September 2011 at 26+3 weeks. He lived for two days before passing away in her arms at 51 hours old. They have been trying again since then and have been through three years of fertility treatments, currently IVF. Sarah writes a blog about life after baby loss, secondary infertility, and her faith at AngelBertie.
- Infertility vs Cancer - April 19, 2021
- Loss is Not a Dirty Word - December 7, 2020
- What I Wish I Could Tell the Non-Loss Community - November 17, 2020
Hi Sarah,
I share your sadness. My son was stillborn at 26 weeks 1.5 years ago. Questions like that always tear me up inside. I also don’t know if I’ll ever hold a living child again. I’m sorry for our losses.