I often think about a time one night nearing the end of our pregnancy, while lying next to my husband.
I can not recall a happier time in our lives.
Finally, after years and years and years of struggling with infertility, we had overcome the barriers and conceived our perfect baby boy. I remember saying to him, “What else is there left for us to want? Everything is perfect now.” Little did I know, we were about to be ripped from the fairy tale and pulled straight into a chasm of shock, pain, and well… hell, really.
That’s the part of the story everyone knows, though. The aftermath is often forgotten about by outsiders. The missing child is often “politely” ignored in an effort to not remind us as if we could ever forget. The parents are often left behind due to the discomfort their grief might bring to others due to the hole in their heart. That pesky cloud above their heads that, especially early on, becomes an unwelcome but comfortable accessory to the bereaved parents’ existence.
Little did we know, the death of our perfect baby and the relentless secondary infertility battle that followed left so much for us to want. We wanted our baby back. We wanted another baby. We wanted our family and friends to not feel uncomfortable around us. We wanted to disappear. We kind of did do that. We moved literally across the country as far away and disappeared as we realistically could. Just the two of us, and the urn we now carry our son in.
There are very few people I am able to speak candidly with about this despite my efforts to express that bringing him up does not remind me of anything I’ve forgotten. Sometimes I wish I could turn towards some people from before and share with them, not just the bad experiences, but the good that I am able to make of my bereavement as well.
It would be nice to have someone to cry with as I describe my trip to the store, successfully avoiding the baby isle. Oh, and the little boy section. Oh, and that extra diaper display smack dab in the middle of the store, mocking me as I take a deep breath and push forward. And then…. there’s a little boy sitting in the front of the nearby basket, staring adoringly at his mother. She does not look back at him. Rather, she all but ignores him as she reaches for her listed items and checks them off of her list. All the while, this little boy is singing to his mother. “Happy Birthday, Mommy.. Happy Birthday, Mommy..” I would like to tell someone how the knot in my throat was overtaking me and the wells of my eyes were about to unleash. I would like to tell them that the merciless waves of grief got the better of me that day as I ducked quickly into the chip isle and sobbed.
It would also be nice to let them know that I am learning to navigate this type of motherhood. I’ve harnessed the empathy it has brought me – that my son brought me – and I am so excited to help other parents like us. I would like to tell them the comfort it brings to know that I would not be working on a degree to practice marriage and family (bereavement) therapy if it were not for my son. I would love to tell them about my plans to facilitate support groups and raise awareness so that the parents that come after me might feel less alienated than we have on top of dealing with the grief.
Yes, our son left us with so much to want for. One thing that we never wish is that our pregnancy never happened. While we would most certainly wish for a happier ending, the pregnancy journey was everything we could have hoped for. His legacy deserves to be the understanding and guidance we can give to other bereaved parents who follow us. He made us better people. He made us parents.
They knew they wanted more children and have since suffered many early miscarriages during the process of multiple IVF and IUI cycles which have left them with broken hearts.Feeling defeated and alone, the bereaved parents moved to Connecticut in search of a much needed new start.
Amber was inspired to work towards becoming a therapist during her process of trying to find support after her loss. She is currently a freelance graphic designer, artist and marriage and family therapy graduate student. She takes comfort in the idea that their son was a driving force for her to help other people through a time that she and her husband felt so alone.
- On Being Too Sad To Support Me In Celebrating My Son. - April 9, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter - January 26, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors Part II - January 24, 2018
? very well written. And it gives a lot of insight.