There was an interesting question posed recently in the Still Mothers Embracing Life Facebook group. (The private group for Still Mothers who are learning to live without subsequent children after loss). We were discussing how being a Still Mother has changed us and then we were asked “Who are you?” I was sort of stumped. I can come up with a lot of answers about “what” I am, but not “who” I am.
I freely admit that this journey of infertility and repeated pregnancy loss has changed me a lot. I am much more bitter than I used to be; I am also grieving, angry, impatient, distracted, faithless, numb and cynical. But those aren’t really “who” I am, just what I am feeling at that moment.
I am a Mother but will never be a Mom. What does that even mean? To be honest, I don’t always feel like a mother. Maybe it’s because my pregnancy losses were early (four in the first trimester and one in the second) but in some ways, even the term Still Mother feels hollow to me at times. I conceived children but I never got the chance to see their smiles, to kiss their boo-boos and encourage those first steps. How can I be a mother to children that I don’t, and will never, know?
I can almost hear the loss mother community gasping at my heresy. And I hope my intent is not misunderstood. I love that there is a great movement to raise awareness about bereaved parents, and spread awareness that we ARE parents. But for me personally, as one who has only known motherhood through loss, I don’t know how to feel like a mother or how to be a mother to children who are no longer here. And yet, I did love those babies, my babies, every moment of their lives and will continue to love them every moment of my life. It’s a contradiction that I haven’t fully figured out yet.
Unfortunately, much of what we learn about mothering is by example and we don’t see many examples of what it is to mother a child you can no longer hold (or may have never held). Simple things like decorating a child’s grave site, making memorial jewelry, planting special flowers, lighting candles or having a special spot of tribute in our home are the only ways we can connect to our departed children but, because it is not traditional mothering, it gets misunderstood or disparaged. Women of previous generations held their grief privately in their hearts; they simply were not encouraged or even allowed usually to talk about their children who died. And still today, too often friends and family misunderstand our attempts to honor and mother our children and instead declare that we must be “stuck” in our grief and simply need to move on.
But we do not simply move on from grief. So I remain in this state of emotional limbo; I am unable to fully identify as either a mother or not a mother.
I am also a wife but that feels like half a person to me. Growing up the description of any woman in an obituary was that so-and-so was a “devoted wife and mother;” the wife and mother were always paired together. But I am incomplete. Is it even possible to be a good wife when I am half a person? I hope my husband would say that I am but, again, this “who” I am feels hollow to me.
Years ago I would have defined myself as a person of deep faith. But my losses have robbed me of that part of my identity. I simply cannot reconcile the notions of a loving god and platitudes about everything happening for a reason, while living with the pain of my very much prayed-for babies all being taken from me. For others, their faith may comfort them in their loss and I am glad for them; I am not trying to comment on anyone else’s faith. But my faith is gone and I can’t picture it ever returning.
OK, so let’s get even more basic on the “who” am I question. I am a woman. But the cynical side of me immediately adds the descriptor of “defective” to it; I am a defective woman. I struggle to get pregnant and then my body betrays me by letting my beloved babies die. After five losses, my uterus should be certified as a serial killer. Instead of nurturing and life-giving, my body continues to take life from me.
So who am I? I wish I knew.
Right now, I am broken. I am incomplete. I am a Mother and yet not a Mom. I am bereaved. I am adrift without faith in a higher purpose.
I am starting over.
So let’s change the question. Who will I be? Or, who can I be?
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This is sad I wish I could take your pain away Jennifer Shanna just know this You can still be a mom and there is nothing wrong with u u are a loving and caring women and I love u to the moon and back Love always and forever your mom