The lose of child has to be one of the most excruciating and soul numbing experience. How do the parents go on? I suspect it is because they have no choice.
I had a disturbing night wracked with horrible dreams. I would wake up, feeling emotionally bruised and shaken, only to fall asleep and enter the dream once again.
The main dream theme was that my 2 1/2 had died. I can remember being in shock that for some reason she wouldn't wake up. She was just gone. Her body felt limp in my arms as I cried that she had to wake up, that my life couldn't go on without her. Stroking her soft blonde hair, begging those big blue eyes to open and hear her say "what's wrong mommy?" with such concern when she saw the tears running down my face. Just wishful thinking it was too late, she was gone. I could see myself wailing, cursing God while rocking this unnaturally limp little body, with it's perfect fingers and toes.
How could this beautiful baby be taken from me? It felt like a piece of my soul died with her. Such a cruel joke, this baby that was so badly wanted, conceived with polycystic ovaries and carried close to term with 2 rods, brackets and 5 screws in my lower back. For her to be ripped from my arms now, seemed cruel beyond measure.
The next part of the dream, was a slight fast forward. Her funeral must have already taken place and she was already buried. I was scratching at the already compacted earth. The dirt was cold beneath my hands. The sky was gray, forlorn, and the trees were bare. It seemed as if all color had left the earth. I was digging, scratching at the earth, ignoring the pain in my hands. My older girls were standing around the grave, tears streaming down their faces, hugging themselves tightly, both too stubborn to comfort each other. My husband had his hands on my shoulders, desperately trying to pull me off my knees. His face aged by grief and fear, fear that I would not make it through this. I was fighting him, clawing at the earth, sobbing that I only wanted to hold her again, just one more, To wrap my arms around that little body. The despair and grief I felt was so overwhelming. How could I possibly go on? How could color, laughter, and joy ever return to me when my heart had been so viciously ripped out?
Thankfully for me it was just a horrible night and as I sit here typing with tears down my face, my little angel comes to me and says "mommy, what's wrong? you crying?". I smile, wrap her in my arms and thank God for one more day.
I can't help but think of the parents who desperately tried to wake from the nightmare only to find it is real. Somehow they have to find the courage to go on, to find color in the world again. Such bravery, to face each day with such despair and empty arms.
I offer a prayer, for I am not that brave.
I had a disturbing night wracked with horrible dreams. I would wake up, feeling emotionally bruised and shaken, only to fall asleep and enter the dream once again.
The main dream theme was that my 2 1/2 had died. I can remember being in shock that for some reason she wouldn't wake up. She was just gone. Her body felt limp in my arms as I cried that she had to wake up, that my life couldn't go on without her. Stroking her soft blonde hair, begging those big blue eyes to open and hear her say "what's wrong mommy?" with such concern when she saw the tears running down my face. Just wishful thinking it was too late, she was gone. I could see myself wailing, cursing God while rocking this unnaturally limp little body, with it's perfect fingers and toes.
How could this beautiful baby be taken from me? It felt like a piece of my soul died with her. Such a cruel joke, this baby that was so badly wanted, conceived with polycystic ovaries and carried close to term with 2 rods, brackets and 5 screws in my lower back. For her to be ripped from my arms now, seemed cruel beyond measure.
The next part of the dream, was a slight fast forward. Her funeral must have already taken place and she was already buried. I was scratching at the already compacted earth. The dirt was cold beneath my hands. The sky was gray, forlorn, and the trees were bare. It seemed as if all color had left the earth. I was digging, scratching at the earth, ignoring the pain in my hands. My older girls were standing around the grave, tears streaming down their faces, hugging themselves tightly, both too stubborn to comfort each other. My husband had his hands on my shoulders, desperately trying to pull me off my knees. His face aged by grief and fear, fear that I would not make it through this. I was fighting him, clawing at the earth, sobbing that I only wanted to hold her again, just one more, To wrap my arms around that little body. The despair and grief I felt was so overwhelming. How could I possibly go on? How could color, laughter, and joy ever return to me when my heart had been so viciously ripped out?
Thankfully for me it was just a horrible night and as I sit here typing with tears down my face, my little angel comes to me and says "mommy, what's wrong? you crying?". I smile, wrap her in my arms and thank God for one more day.
I can't help but think of the parents who desperately tried to wake from the nightmare only to find it is real. Somehow they have to find the courage to go on, to find color in the world again. Such bravery, to face each day with such despair and empty arms.
I offer a prayer, for I am not that brave.
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