A Mother’s Cry

A beautiful woman I know of wrote the other day about a mother’s cry. It was the cry of a mother whose child had died. She described it as a raw sound like nothing she had ever heard before.

My thoughts went to my auntie and how she described her cries and screams when the police arrived at her door and told her that her son had died. She also talked about the disbelief of what was being said. A survival strategy to not believe the most horrific news could be true.

It is most definitely a heinous cry. One that most mothers and fathers do not experience and can’t imagine experiencing. A sound that no one wants to hear but if you have then it is one you never forget. I can’t imagine what my aunties husband must have felt when he heard that cry.

It got me thinking to when Neil and I have been told more than once that our babies heartbeats had stopped. Our babies had died. On these occasions it has been Neil that has sobbed his heart out immediately. I, for some reason have not sobbed immediately or made that cry described above.

Please don’t think by that comment that I have not sobbed uncontrollably over my babies. I have done on many occasions in private and often a few days or weeks later.

I wondered why I have never made that cry or scream. I wondered what that meant in relation to my maternal instincts. I started to doubt myself. I am an emotional and sensitive woman so I wondered why to cry or scream was not my initial response.

In reflection and now whilst still going through a miscarriage I feel that my reactions have been delayed. The trauma of losing our babies have been the worst I have ever faced or experienced. I have suffered loss and grief and consider myself to be young to have lost my mum.

I watched my mum live with cancer for three years. I watched her health decline, her mind remain strong but her body literally give up on her. I watched her fight everyday to live.

Mum and I would talk about her cancer and we would plan her years left and even talk about her funeral. I guess we were both preparing for what we knew was coming – her death.

I guess this was the difference. Mum passed before me. We got years together to build memories that I now treasure. When I feel sad I watch the videos of my mum and have the opportunity to hear her voice or laugh again. Small memories flood back from these precious moments captured for me to watch over and over when I want.

I was prepared for my mums death. It was not easy and it still felt like a shock when she actually passed. There were times when it felt surreal. Yet at the same time we were given notice and the opportunity to fill that time with love and laughter. It may have seemed like mum was a different person due to her illness and medication but those memories are now some of my fondest.

When Neil and I lost our identical twin girls in our second trimester we never really expected their death. We never imagined going to their funeral. I guess as expectant parents you assume you will go through the pregnancy and deliver your baby. You will watch your baby grow and develop. You will most definitely pass away before them.

We have never expected to hear that our babies have no heartbeats. We know the harsh reality that there are no guarantees with any pregnancy but we still have hope every time that this will be the one that we hold in our arms for so much longer.

Nothing can prepare you to hear that sentence or to deliver your babies in a silent ward room with the grief laying heavily around the room. The silent tears falling down both parents cheeks knowing that when the babies arrive they won’t hear their little cries.

Not many people talk about pregnancy loss, death of a child/infant or miscarriage. It is a subject still perceived as taboo. A subject that most people would like to avoid.

For years I have watched my auntie break down and cry, wanting desperately to talk about her son. She plays videos of him over and over again. She holds onto every new photo shared by his brother or a friend. I recognise that she wants him to be remembered. She wants him to live on forever. She never wants anyone to forget her beautiful son.

I have also witnessed and experienced myself the awkwardness of others when the tears flow. Or even worse the roll of the eyes because ten years later she is still crying at the loss of her son.

I know this pain! I know how it feels to go to your children’s funeral. I know the emptiness of this grief. I know the loneliness. I know the need to talk and remember your child/children. There is no time limit on grief or loss. No amount of years passed will make losing your child any easier.

No one knows how they will react when they are told their child or baby has died. What I know, is that there is definitely no wrong or right way to react to the most horrific news you can be told. It’s ok to not be ok and it’s ok however that shows or looks.

I will be kind to myself and allow my grief to show how it wants and when it wants. I too like my auntie will talk and cry to anyone that is willing to listen and also to all those who uncomfortably shift in their chair. I will continue to raise awareness and hope to change the way we react to what is seen as a taboo subject.

I will be the change I wish to see in the world. I hope that the small changes I am trying to do will one day add up to the huge results I wish to see. I hope that sharing my most intimate feelings and experiences of the loss of my babies I will help others.

I hope that one day the loss of a child or babies won’t be a grief done alone. I hope that one day people will listen to those parents that have lost their child no matter how hard it is to imagine.