“In bitterness of soul Hannah wept much and prayed to the Lord.” I Samuel 1:10
The holiday season is in high gear. It’s the most wonderful time of the year for some people, but for me it is the most conflicting time of the year. I want to be joyful for my kids. I want to have fun and make the most of every moment with them, but I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to last year when my baby boy was in my arms. I am sad.
I wish that the people outside of my box understood:
1. He matters.
Please don’t ignore him. I had a son. I carried him in my womb. I dreamed dreams for him. I nursed him. I rocked him. I loved him. And I love him still. I am his mother. Pretending he didn’t exist is cruel. Mentioning his name feels good. It reminds me he still matters.
2. Time doesn’t heal all wounds.
Almost a year has passed and rarely I wake in the morning without him on my mind. Time doesn’t heal anything. My grief changes shape. It may look different. But it is still here.
3. I am afraid you can’t handle it or me.
Please don’t ask how I am or how I am doing unless you have the intention of really listening and bearing a burden of darkness. I carry the face of death with me every minute of the day. The pictures flash in my head a thousand times a day. I’m not sure you can handle that truth. I’m not sure you can handle the thoughts in my head. And I’m not really sure you can handle me.
4. A new baby doesn’t heal the wound.
I was given an amazing blessing in a new baby. She is amazing. But she is not my healer. She doesn’t need to carry a responsibility that is not her’s so please don’t expect her to.
5. I am different.
Please don’t have the same expectations of me. I am trying to live. But these first steps are like learning to walk again. I am nervous and shaky. I am unsure of my steps. I’m not the old me. I’m not even sure who I am. But I know I am different.
6. My grief affects me physically.
In addition to the tears, I get tired easily. Sometimes I don’t feel like eating. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed. Sometimes my bones ache. Sometimes I am on edge. My grief is powerful and I bear it in my body.
7. Looks are deceiving.
Sometimes I may say I am fine. I am not. Sometimes I may look like a nuclear meltdown is impending. But don’t worry. I have survived this far, I will survive the next wave and the next.
8. I will be OK.
I will be OK. Even when it hurts, I will be OK. I have every intention of surviving this life and getting to see my son on the other side one of these days.
“We Remember Them”
In the rising of the sun, and in it going down,
We remember them.
In the blowing wind and in the chill of winter,
We remember them.
In the opening of buds and in the warmth of summer,
We remember them.
In the rustling of leaves and the beauty of autumn,
We remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends,
We remember them.
When we are weary and in the need of strength,
We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart,
We remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share,
We remember them.
So long as we live, They too shall live, For now they are part of us.
We remember them.
from “Gates of Prayer,” the Reform Judaism Prayerbook
