I read about Matilda Mae two years ago. Ever since, when people talk about babies, her face pops into my head. She is everything you'd imagine a baby to be. Gurgling, chubby, smiling. Full of life. Plump arms outstretched to embrace the world.
Not. Dead.
Baby Loss Awareness Week breaks my heart.
I read about the infants who should be here. Each one is etched into the hearts of those who knew them, but so few people get the chance to. It's unfair. It's cruel. I can't understand it.
I first encountered child mortality in a poem. And I thought - it isn't just the baby that dies. Hope does, too.
Over time, this cloud has circled closer to me, bearing down on people I care about. Friends have mourned, and fought to keep their marriages intact. They have battled depression, and moved on as best as they could. And through it all, despite the pain, no one talks about it.
Common wisdom says, "It will only make it worse."
Will it? Will it really make it worse to let it all out? Or does it just make it worse for those around the bereaved who don't know how they can help?
I don't know what to say. I can't begin to imagine the pain. But I do know this: a baby comes alive to its parents the minute they see two lines on a stick. Two months, six months, nine months after conception; one week, three weeks, three months after it's born. Some babies may not live among us for long. But we weave dreams of an entire lifetime for them the minute we know they exist. They can never be forgotten. Each was a person, full to the brim with possibilities and potential.
Light a candle for the Wave of Light this Wednesday. And remember the babies who should be among us, in more than just our memories.
Not. Dead.
Baby Loss Awareness Week breaks my heart.
I read about the infants who should be here. Each one is etched into the hearts of those who knew them, but so few people get the chance to. It's unfair. It's cruel. I can't understand it.
I first encountered child mortality in a poem. And I thought - it isn't just the baby that dies. Hope does, too.
Over time, this cloud has circled closer to me, bearing down on people I care about. Friends have mourned, and fought to keep their marriages intact. They have battled depression, and moved on as best as they could. And through it all, despite the pain, no one talks about it.
Common wisdom says, "It will only make it worse."
Will it? Will it really make it worse to let it all out? Or does it just make it worse for those around the bereaved who don't know how they can help?
I don't know what to say. I can't begin to imagine the pain. But I do know this: a baby comes alive to its parents the minute they see two lines on a stick. Two months, six months, nine months after conception; one week, three weeks, three months after it's born. Some babies may not live among us for long. But we weave dreams of an entire lifetime for them the minute we know they exist. They can never be forgotten. Each was a person, full to the brim with possibilities and potential.
Light a candle for the Wave of Light this Wednesday. And remember the babies who should be among us, in more than just our memories.
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