I think in some respects I
thought hoped bringing Margs into the world would heal me. I mean, why wouldn’t it? We tried to bring a living child into this world for years before we were blessed to finally meet her. Her birth should have repaired those millions of broken pieces of my heart. But, it simply didn’t.
I often tell people who are facing a fresh loss that they’ll adapt somehow and find a “new normal”. That “new normal” is different for everyone but once you get to that place, it’s essentially existing in a space of acceptance and continued living by simply putting one tiny foot in front of the other. My new normal does not mean I’m always okay ( I doubt I ever will be) nor does it mean I’ll ever understand what has happened. But, I have accepted that I’m powerless to change my past and that however tragic- this is what the universe decided to hand me.
Parenting after loss is hard. I’m so incredibly grateful to have been blessed with the opportunity to even be facing these issues and I know all too well that there are loss-mommas out there who are still fighting to meet their rainbow and get the opportunity to step foot into my reality. But nonetheless, parenting a rainbow is far more difficult than I ever imagined because some days it tests me in ways I never thought possible.
“Is this your first?” asked a fellow play group mom.
“What an incredibly loaded question” I thought to myself “what do I tell her – do I tell her the truth?” and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. That all too familiar feeling – flushed face, heart pounding out of my chest, forehead beading with sweat despite feeling freezing cold. I was having a panic attack.
You see, being put in a situation where I either have to tell the story or have to lie makes me uncomfortable. There’s no grey area here folks; my options are limited to truth or lie. No in-between exists when faced with these types of questions.
I could have told her that Margs was my first. I could have saved that woman the burden of being forced to face the enormity of my grief. I could have kept it all to myself and pretended it never happened sparing myself the emotional energy required to broach the topic again. But, I decided to be honest regardless of how difficult it was to do so.
“No, Margs is my only living child” I replied.
Such a simple response made me realize that all those times I’ve lied (and yes, I’ve lied far more times than I’d like to admit) were fueled by the fear that my story would inconvenience and burden others. I’d lie and then agonize over denying the existence of my 5 other babies which forced me into a guilt cycle that was difficult to shake.
The truth might be uncomfortable to hear. It might very well be scary to some. It might not be the response a curious individual was expecting but, it’s my reality and the reality of an astounding number of women who for a plenitude of reasons lie just like I did.
It took guts to face my fear of telling the story to a stranger. In that moment something finally clicked – my journey to motherhood albeit atypical and stained by heartache is a story worth telling. This precious baby girl that I get the honor and privilege to tuck into bed each night is my miracle – she is my rainbow after a very long and dark storm. Her earthly presence is cherished in ways that words will never adequately express but regardless, her presence does not heal the heartache and void created by her heavenly siblings.
I opted to make a vow that day – a vow to tell the story honestly anytime I’m faced with those types of questions. For the first time, I faced my fear head on and proudly came out on the other side.
I’m a proud loss mum and this is my story to tell.
Loss mommas, have you lied? Why or why not?
Friends, would you want to know the truth?