Finding a Kindred Souls

A year or two ago, I met a woman who had grown up in the same area in which I'd lived and worked for a year and a half.  We made that connection, and we've chatted occasionally since.  Recently, I talked about my losses.  That's when she mentioned she, too, had lost a child, and recently, too.  I had had no idea.  I gather she figured my losses were so intense that her one second-term miscarriage didn't compare.  She just never brought it up.  We never know who may be a member of the empty arms/mothers of angels club.

I never wanted someone to feel somehow of a lesser rank in that club or that her loss was any less painful.  There really shouldn't be any ranking at all.  Yes, some of us have had more losses than others.  Some of us have had later losses than others or more recently losses.  But we're all members of that club of loss, a membership we wouldn't wish on anyone because the dues are too high.  It's a membership that teaches empathy and understanding that can't be taught or learned in any other way. It makes me feel bad that she somehow feels awkward mentioning her loss with me.  We should all be brothers and sisters in this club.  We all understand what real pain is.

I'm thankful that she did share with me.  Sharing implies trust.  When you're a person in mourning, it's hard to know who we can trust because some people respond in more supporting ways than others to our professions of grieving.  We often walk around like everyone else, saying nothing about our loss for fear of painful words.  When we do say something, we're hoping for the right words or touch or contact of any sort that will make our pain feel that much more bearable.  I would wish that all around me who have suffered loss would feel I was a person with whom they could share their hearts without worry that I'd cause them added pain. I pray the words I say to someone in mourning are the words that will help them feel loved.  Always.

Some Things I've Learned through Mourning

Yesterday, I chatted with a friend of mine who had recently had an early miscarriage right after having a still birth.  A few days ago, I talked with my sister, who is reasonably certain she lost not one baby but twins in a very early miscarriage, when she is so eager to have her third live birth.

One thing I've learned through my experience in the club of those who have lost is we are not alone.  It's one of those topics that most people don't want to discuss.  If they've lost a baby, many times, they don't want to think about it or are very tender about it.  If they haven't lost a baby, they don't want to think about the possibility.  But it's important to know that one is not alone and that all it takes is reaching out in a support group online or in person or even among our friends or family and chances are, we will find someone who feels just as silenced and is just as eager to talk about the love they have for the child they cannot hold.

Another thing I've learned is everyone mourns differently, and it would be helpful if we can be a person who is willing to listen.  We don't always need to be the one to talk about our own pain. I read in a mourning book about how this cultural silencing used to be more extreme.  The writer of the book had a crush on a girl in the fifties or sixties, and the girl died.  He told the mom of the girl how much she impressed him and how much he missed her, and the mom opened the floodgates of tears, seeking him out at every opportunity to talk to this young man because he would listen.  Of course, some of us don't want to think about loss.  If that's the case, sometimes, it's okay to be the person ready with hugs or kind words.  We also need to remember that it's important to help other mourners feel loved instead of judged.  Just because we need to talk about our losses doesn't mean they will.  Just because we feel like we're ready to move onto another pregnancy or stop having kids or do whatever it is we feel will help us cope doesn't mean we should expect the same in someone else.  It's important that everyone be allowed to mourn at their own pace and in their own way.

I believe in forever families.  There was a time I felt that a child had to take a breath to be counted among my babies.  But in recent years, I've come to know that sometimes, simply being pregnant, whether the child comes or not, is enough that we can name that child and count him or her among our family.  And one day, it will be possible to hold them in our arms.

I know I've learned much more, but the last thing I will mention now our angels are still here for us, nearby, watching over us and loving us just as much as they did when they were here.  Angels are real, and I'm thankful for mine.