The Bereaved Mother

"Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms. She is breathing, but she is dying. She may look young, but inside she has become ancient. She smiles, but her heart sobs. She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she I, but she is not, all at once. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity."

It is a hard journey to put into words what we have done for the last few months. But all of it comes to head, it feels, this week. As sleepless nights become moreso, as fears become irrational, as the torment of the lost slip through our figures into a grief that cannot be tied down.

It is, as always, an unpredictable thing. My grief in relation to my loss of Dominic is never easy to put into words. While I have been fine all other holidays, Easter hit me hard. Perhaps it is because the holiday is about renewal, but in truth there was more to this.

Last year, Easter was the first one with shared custody with my Husband. Being separated with kids is hard, and we had agreed to share holidays. I had Dominic... that was it. I remember being curled around him and promising him, between the two of us I would never let go, that Mommy loved him, that it was our fresh start. Who needed someone who didn't want to be there in the first place?

A few days later... I went into labor. He was my new start. My world seemed brighter, more focused and positive than it had ever been. Though, yes, I still suffered from PPD, it was different than before. I remember pacing non-stop when his father took him for even an hour, impatient and worried. I became the cat who had lost her kitten. 

I have to tell those people who are probably rolling their eyes and waiting for me to "get on with my life.": You don't get over something like this. It doesn't get better. It just puts on a new pair of clothes every day just like I do. Today it is the blazer I wore to work, tomorrow it is the heels I use to make me feel stronger, tomorrow it's the brightly colored fill in the blank.

Here's the truth: it's a process. I wake up fine, and by noon I'm not. I wake up not okay, but by the evening I wonder why it was so hard. But it's silly what's so hard -- cooking dinner, cleaning the house, putting away the laundry. On the outside, I'm so strong and ready for everything, on the inside I'm just tired. So very tired...

How do you explain soul tired to someone? It's not the same as being physically tired. It's like an emptiness that weighs. It gets harder sometimes to carry than anything else in my life. It is a force of nature in and of itself. My life cannot become about the child I lost, I work hard to make sure I focus my attention on the boys who are here instead. On trying to communicate better with my husband. On trying to do good at work and find small achievements every day. On the projects outside.

I'm trying to stay motivated... trying to move forward... but moving forward is also remembering. I miss my son... my arms ache for him. I miss his laughter and his light. But as I said the day of his memorial: It is often the brightest lights that go out first.

April 9, 2015 my son was brought into this world screaming... then growling softly as I nursed him. April 4, 2016... I wish for just one more moment of that scream and cry... if only I could have it.

Until next time...