How often do you allow yourself to remember? How often do you recall those days, hours when you lost your beloved child or children? What effect does it have on you if you do so?

I’m asking all these questions because sometimes I do. Something switches in me and I relive the events of that day, all over again. I may not remember every single detail, but I have certain pictures, images in my mind that I can see and recall anytime. These occasions happen without any notice, all of a sudden I just find myself there and then.

Then there are the occasions when I recall these memories deliberately. Anniversaries, special days, or those times when I past in front of those different buildings where all those last memorable events happened. And I allow myself to remember. The last ultrasound, the colour of the wall, the clock opposite my bed, the pain, both physically and emotionally, that sleepless night alone, empty and broken – all these belong to that tragic and long day when my baby boy was born and died.

You may ask why I am torturing myself with these images, why it is not better to keep them buried way back in my brain, somewhere in the right hemisphere, or somewhere around that.

I don’t feel bad about these images, you see. Quite the contrary. These memories, these events and buildings are the earthly proof that my sweet child has come into my life. Even though I become sad and broken all over again, I may even cry (it’s not been a big challenge for me to break into tears ever since…), it’s some sort of a good sadness. These images are also my connections to him, tokens of our special relationship.

I allow myself some time at these places. Some time on my own. Very private, very personal time it is.

You know, I have never talked about this to anyone before. However, now it comes naturally.

And when eventually I leave sad and broken-hearted I still feel much better. It may sound somewhat silly, I can see that, but you should believe me that it is so. These are moments when time stands still. These are precious minutes that I can spend with my dear, beloved little son of mine. Nothing else matters. I don’t see anyone or anything else around me, I don’t care about the weather, people passing by, it’s just us, my angel baby and his loving mom.

How is it for you? Do you ever do anything like this? I would be honoured to hear about you.

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Éva Zsák

Éva Zsák is 39. She lives in Hungary and Italy. She is a teacher and an interpreter, but now also a medical school student. Her little angel, Peter is her only child. He died five years ago due to a premature rupture of membranes. This experience changed her life completely. She started to learn about grief and child-loss and the importance of the human factor in doctor-patient relationships. She likes reading, poetry, and literature in general.

Latest posts by Éva Zsák (see all)

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