I had no idea this was a thing, but I guess there is a “holiday” for everything these days. Most people are observing today with tacos and margaritas but I’ve been reflecting on my still-new-to-me-identity as a bereaved mother since I realized the world had set aside a day for those of us in this crap club that no one wants to be in.
I think about Gabriel every day. In one capacity or another. Some days I long to hold him again. Some days I close my eyes and try to remember exactly what he looked like, smelt like, felt like. I try to imagine I’m stroking his tiny perfect nose one more time. But today, I keep thinking about what our life would be like if he was here.
In a lot of ways, it would be way harder. Lauren still isn’t walking, so it’d be getting three kids (two of whom need to be carried) out of the car. It’d be less sleep. Double the diapers.
He’d be almost 6 months old now. He’d likely be rolling around. Maybe close to crawling. Experimenting with the same food that Lauren is now eating. He’d be smiling, laughing, soaking in all the crazy love that Max and Lauren have for each other and that they’d have for him, too.
Some days, my sadness comes not because he died, but because he’s not here. I know that the quality of life with his condition had he survived would not have been like I daydream about. I know he did not experience pain or suffering in his short life, and there is peace that comes with that. But he was still a person. He had ten perfect fingers and ten adorable toes. He had a cute button nose. He had curly blonde hair. He would have grown into his own little boy, with his own thoughts, feelings, dreams, aspirations. With his own personality. Maybe he would have been good at math. Or maybe he wouldn’t have. We don’t know. And that’s what kills me some days. We didn’t get to know him, raise him and watch him grow into his own little person.
I spent the first 17 weeks of my pregnancy planning to add another tiny human into our family and the remaining time planning for his death. Some bereaved parents don’t have any time to “plan”. Sometimes they never get to meet their child while they’re alive. Sometimes they get to raise them for years or decades just to have to say goodbye. There is no one-size-fits-all to bereaved mothers. We all cope and heal differently.
But we all want the same things. We want to talk about our children. We want people to acknowledge that they existed. We want people to realize that for the rest of our lives, there is a void where our child should be. Or was. Or could have been. Some days are better than others. Some days we’re okay, and some days we’re not. Some days it kills us to go on Facebook and see all the new babies. Or the kids graduating college, getting married, having babies of their own. Some days, those things remind us that our child’s story ended too soon.
So next Sunday, on Mother’s Day, don’t forget those who are bereaved. Some of us have other children. But some of us don’t. We are still mothers and the acknowledgement that our children were here, that we created life however short, is important.