“At least you can get pregnant.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “God has a plan for you.”
I have heard these phrases more times than I can count. The words are uttered by well-intentioned people, but pierce my scarred heart as sharp as a knife’s blade every time they are spoken. When I hear the phrases, I want to shout. I want the person who used the saying to experience just a few minutes of the deep emotional pain that I have been in for the past year and a half. Because I know they would feel differently and would immediately regret sharing their “words of wisdom”. Instead, I often bite my tongue and spew out my frustration to my husband upon my return home.
At first, it was hard for me to comprehend why I was so upset by the phrases when I heard them time and time again following William’s birth. But over the past few months, I have begun to understand why they cause me to cringe every time I hear them.
I wish people who say, “At least you can get pregnant” understood that it’s like telling a mother whose living child has just died, “Well, at least you can have another.” My child is not replaceable. He was his own person who I love. I did not get to watch him grow, I did not get to hear him talk, I did not get to watch him walk, but he was still my son. My inability to experience the usual joys of motherhood does not diminish my love for him. No one will ever be able to fill the permanent hole in my heart left upon my son’s death.
I wish people understand that the phrase makes me feel like my loss is not important. Loss is loss is loss. Again, my son is still my son. Whether I was fortunate enough to spend four months with him or four hours with him does not matter. I do not love him any less than I would if I was able to spend a lifetime with him. Comparing pain does not do anyone any good. Please just accept that I have suffered an enormous loss. Please allow me to cry. Please listen to me without judging me. Please don’t try to fix me; just let me grieve and let me hurt.
I wish more people understood that shit happens. When you try to justify my loss by telling me that everything happens for a reason or that God has a plan for me, it makes me feel like I am being punished by an angry, merciless God who hates me. After all, why else would a loving God inflict so much pain on anyone? I choose to think of God as a caring father figure who does not want to see me hurt or suffering. So, I don’t think my son’s death was part of God’s plan. I choose to think that God is as pained by William’s loss as I am and would never have intended this to happen.
I wish I could help others around me understand loss. The unbearable pain is not something I would wish on anyone. But I do wish more people understood the impact of their statements and their actions. I wish more people knew that the pain does not end, the longing for a growing child never leaves.
I wish more people were comfortable with loss. That they didn’t shy away from it. That they weren’t afraid to make the phone call or to visit the bereaved. That they listened to the stories that the bereaved so long to share. That in the months and years following a child’s death, they kept the child’s name alive. That they didn’t pretend like my son never existed. That people didn’t start to grow uncomfortable when I speak of William.
I wish more people knew that I love to hear William is loved and remembered. Because he is my son and is the most important person in my life. If I cannot share my life with him, I will live my life for him and his memory.
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Unless you have walked in someone’s shoes you do not understand how these careless comments hurt so much. I have had the same although it’s a long time ago for me I can still feel the pain those comments had on me even now- family found it difficult too and made very crass comments at the time. It leaves a hole that never gets filled sad but the truth. Our daughter was full term and only lived a short time due to a very complicated and badly managed delivery. C.
I’m so very sorry for the loss of your daughter. And I’m so sorry that you’ve had to endure the hurtful comments, also. I know people don’t know what to say and mean well, but I just wish they knew that these comments are more painful than helpful. And they stick with you for a long time. Sending love and hugs your way.
I share your pain Kelly, I to have lost my firstborn child. He was a 8 months and 2 week baby. Due to my developing Eclampsia it caused him tk go jnto distress and I had excessive extreme hypertension my blood pressure was 192/182 I got told I should be dead or in a coma.
They took mh son from me to try and save my life and my babies. My husband was continuously by my side and was there to welcome our son. We named him Jean-Marc Nicholas John Plato, he was born on 15th January 2016. He got taken from me at the age of 2days old to go to Cape Town for extensive medical care but upon thw journey he passed away, he was only 5 days old. He passed on 20th January 2016.
I never got the chance to hold him until they brought him back to our island already dead. I hhadto hold my son cold and lifeless.
Every day I look upon his photos wondering what we would be doing today, what outfit would he wear, who would be a daddy’s boy or mummy’s boy. But I will never know.
However I am one of Jehovah’s Witnesses and I have a hope of seeing my wonderful baby come back to me.
The questions how, when and where I can’t say but it is guaranteed in John 5:28,29 A ressurection of both the righteous and the unrighteous.
Kelly bpth out boys will be brought back to us but it up to us to work now to be able to see them and allow them to know who their mother was.
I do the same. What would he be doing right now? I feel your pain.
I’m so very sorry for your loss. Jean-Marc Nicholas John sounds precious. I think we will spend our lifetimes wondering and imagining who our children would be, who they would look like, who they would become. And, you are right, one day we will get to see them again. In that way, I feel blessed. I am no longer scared of death but look forward to it because I will be reunited with my children. And what a reunion it will be! Until then, like you said, we’ve got to make our children proud of us while we are here on Earth. Sending much love and hugs to you.