Often, especially in the Baby Loss community, someone will mention a living child and say the phrase “my reason for going on”. Now, logically – key word is logically – I’m aware there is no hurt or slight intended to me, as a Still Mother: A woman who does not and will not have a living child. Despite the logical side of me, it hurts. Each and every time, I bristle. I sit up a bit straighter and quite frankly, I worry. I worry for the newly bereaved Still Mother or Father; the one who is so fresh in their grief and is reading that living children are “the reason” to continue in life, to go on. The one who might say, “I don’t have living children, so I guess I don’t have a reason to keep going”.
Instead of stifling my protests, I’d like to share with you some of my reasons for going on.
Now, I could list some of the special people in my life – but not all of us have that support of family, friends or a partner. So I’ll say this instead:
Every morning, I wake up, I open my eyes and I get out of bed – and I choose to go forward. I choose to go forward for one very simple and stark reason. Ready?
I’m not finished.
That’s why I move forward or “go on”. I’m not done. There is so much to contribute to this world; and my ability to contribute has nothing to do with my ability to continue my family tree. I matter, all by myself.
Six months after Thomas died I started to look for ways to give back. Medically, I have some issues, but I still found ways to volunteer through writing grants, and assisting with sensitivity training surround pregnancy and infant loss. I found ways to give back and to contribute to the world, to make Thomas’ life count. To take the experience of my baby and help improve things, in his name.
Three years later, I have mourned longer then Thomas lived. I will mourn for the rest of my days; but I can mourn and accomplish tasks. Some days, when grief is heavy and hard to bare – I accomplish showering myself. Other times, I have roles in a volunteer setting.
I make small donations in his name. My role at the agency where I volunteer is not glamorous; I do not wield power. But I help people and I try to make things easier for them. That’s my contribution. I am not involved in the loss community, any longer. I found it polarizing and my position as a Still Mother was not understood. I was a square peg in a community or round holes.
We are enough, just as we are. We are valid, we count. Even without a living child, we have a place in the world, in our communities. It took me a long time to feel this way.
I talk about Thomas, I remember my pregnancy and I remember the love shown to me, during the subsequent medical crisis that came very, very close to claiming me. I speak his name and break the silence. I laugh and I weep – sometimes at the same time. I go forward to protect his memory and my heart.
But I DO go forward, I DO go on. And maybe one day, you will be able to feel that, too. When the vortex slows down and you get used to the spinning.
There are a lot of round pegs amongst the square holes. Come and sit with us, we see you. We see into your shattered heart and we see that you are enough, just as you are. Still Mothers. Still Here.
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Thank you, Andrea. I’m one of the square pegs. I lost my son, Hansel, at 26 weeks two years ago and he could very well be my only one. Thank you for making me feel less alone.
That’s beautifully written and I, like you go on to help others and keep my babies memories alive. I lost Elizabeth at 24 weeks and William at 16 weeks and I’m still in the numb phase (only 3 weeks since losing William) but I will
continue to raise money in their name and donate knitted items to the labour ward with their memory tags in them. Love to all the still mothers xx
I wanted to share the post I just made inspired by Andrea’s writing. I hope it will encourage some one.
I am not finished. Those words may sound easy coming from someone who owns two successful businesses and is almost ready to launch a third. Keep in mind, cats and grooming (the focus of my 3 businesses) was never even a consideration at the time my dream of motherhood died. At that point in time, I Thought I would be a single mother, teaching for another 20 years at the same school. Life as I knew it. Ended. The. Moment. The. Words. Were. Spoken. “I am sorry Ms Hansen, there is no heartbeat. The embryo has stopped growing. We….” Those words will be forever burnt into my memory. I can still see, hear, smell, feel and even taste the events of that split second in time.
So, while I may agree I am still alive because I was not finished, at the time, I lived second to second in a numb world and not knowing why.
Today, when I am tired, overwhelmed, hungry, scared, anxious those feelings do come back. Maybe, not as intense, certainly for not as long. But they do come back.
Would I want a different life? No. I love my children. Although they live in heaven, on most days the thought that they never knew pain or sadness or the cruelties of this earth helps. On most days, knowing the first face the ever saw was Jesus, helps. Then on other days, it still brings me into a rage.
This thing called grief is crazy, irrational, illogical and annoying. However, it is the path we walk as still mothers.
Thank you Andrea for this beautifully written affirmation that we, as still mothers without living children, are enough, and should keep going for that reason. Thomas is a lucky little boy to have you as a mother. ?
??? yes, I hank you!