Saturday, May 27, 2006
To a mother, her child's death is always senseless. It doesn't matter the cause of death, or how much was or was not accomplished in her child's life. It makes no difference how many candles, if any, adorned their last birthday cake. All that matters is that suddenly, where once there was the brilliance of a child's smile, there is only darkness. There is no justification profound enough to fill that void, no reason that can begin to excuse it.
If she is made of the stuff most mothers are made of, she will lay down there a while, pull the covers of it up around her neck and inhale. It will be where she sleeps at night, and where she will wake in the morning, its arm draped around her waist, the crust of its night-drool on her shoulder. She'll nap there in the afternoons, shower there in the evening. It will become her home.
In time, she will find things with which to fill the emptiness. The first attempts will sound as pebbles dropped into a well, just the echoing of a small splash in the distant darkness. At first, those flashes of redemption will be as effective as a single firefly on a new moon midnight, and yet, she will grasp them as though they were floods and lightning.
There will be poetry and flowers, balloons, butterfly memorials, and secret rendezvous with photo albums where, if she's lucky, she'll find the occasional smile to accompany the melody of her tears. On the exceptional day, she'll turn those pages and find inspiration, and in the white spaces between photographs she will discover the strength to carry her child's name into the future. She may found a charity, or simply donate to one, she may sponsor an event, or just attend one, but whatever her choice may be, she will find a way for her child to live into the future.
Do not misunderstand me; nothing, even decades later, will forgive the senselessness, but she will pull herself from her bed of loss. With a sad smile, she will pull the comforter up to the neck of some favorite teddy bear, and begin to fill her void with purpose. She will have nurtured her grief into the perfect storm, and will find her way through the mourning and into tomorrow with the lightning hope of a mother's love.
Tags: heart defects, congenital heart defects, CHD, birth defects
, Loss of a Child
posted by Erin @ 9:31 PM