As my first Mother’s Day approaches, I wanted to write something that would express the permanence of my motherhood. Though we hope to one day have more children, Rylan will always be the one who first made me a mother. I am his only mother and I will always be his mother. Death cannot take that away from me.
Just me, only me, always me
No one else in the world can claim to be Rylan's mother.
I am the proud, proud owner of that title.
Just me, only me, always me.
I carried you with me for 9 too-brief months.
I felt your every movement, every hiccup, every jab to my ribs.
Just me, only me, always me.
Though I was saddened it would be the end of our unbroken togetherness,
I gave every last ounce of myself to labor with you and get you out.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I first heard your sweet, tiny, heavenly cry I knew I was a mother.
Your mother Rylan.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I saw you clearly for the first time I thought, "I must be in a dream."
Never had I seen such a beautiful and perfect creature in all my life!
I loved you with a new found and indescribable motherly love.
Just me, only me, always me.
Later you opened your eyes and looked at me. It felt as though our souls connected in that moment and that we’d known each other forever.
That brief, tender moment of newborn mother and newborn child will forever be the sweetest memory to me.
Just me, only me, always me.
You were mine and I could not have imagined you would soon be gone.
I held you when at last, without a struggle, you breathed your soul away.
I too breathed something of myself away in that moment. My precious boy was gone. Though your dad and many others who loved you were gathered around, I was the mother and no one else experienced losing you quite like I had to.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your birth made me a mother and I will never be the same.
Your death has only magnified my longing and affection for you my sweet, sweet baby boy. I will never stop loving you and my life will forever be enriched because I am your mother.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your loving and forever devoted mother.
Nicole
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Getting Through Grief by Deborah R. Gemmill
Getting Through Grief
Deborah R. Gemmill, from Getting Through Grief, 1996, Beachcomber Press
My baby has died.
Please don't tell me you know how I feel. You don't. You can't. I hope you never do.
Don't tell me he's with God and I should be happy. How can I be happy when every time I go into his nursery all I see is an empty crib and toys that will never be played with? How can I be happy when my arms ache to hold him?
Please don't tell me God needed another angel. It's hard for me to understand why God would take away this little one who was so loved. Maybe I'll understand later. But for right now, let God find another angel.
Please, please, please don't tell me I'll have other children. Maybe I will, but my son was not a puppy that ran away. He cannot be replaced.
Maybe you could just listen when I remember out loud all the things that we did together: the walks, the early morning feedings, the first time he rolled over. Maybe you could just sit with me while I cry over all the things we'll never do together.
Please don't tell me it could be worse. How? I really don't want to hear about your grandfather's death. It's not the same. Don't think my pain will be eased by comparison. Of course I'm glad that he didn't suffer, but I'd be a lot happier if he hadn't died at all.
I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind looking at his picture just one more time?We don't have many of him, and I'm just a little bit afraid that I may forget what he looked like. He wasn't here that long, you know.
Could you please just listen? Don't tell me I'll get over it. There is no "over it," only through it. Maybe you could just be with me while I take my first steps through it.
Please don't tell me I should be glad he was just a baby, or that at least I didn't get to know him. I knew him. I knew him before I ever saw him. He is a part of me. And now he is gone. I haven't just lost a seven-month-old baby. I have lost a part of myself.
I know you mean well, but please don't expect me to tell you how to help me. I'd tell you if I knew. But right now I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.
Maybe if you looked around, you could find some things to do, like taking my daughter for a walk, or doing the dishes, or making some coffee.
Please don't try to remove my pain or distract me from it. I have to feel this way now. Maybe you could just listen.
Deborah R. Gemmill, from Getting Through Grief, 1996, Beachcomber Press
My baby has died.
Please don't tell me you know how I feel. You don't. You can't. I hope you never do.
Don't tell me he's with God and I should be happy. How can I be happy when every time I go into his nursery all I see is an empty crib and toys that will never be played with? How can I be happy when my arms ache to hold him?
Please don't tell me God needed another angel. It's hard for me to understand why God would take away this little one who was so loved. Maybe I'll understand later. But for right now, let God find another angel.
Please, please, please don't tell me I'll have other children. Maybe I will, but my son was not a puppy that ran away. He cannot be replaced.
Maybe you could just listen when I remember out loud all the things that we did together: the walks, the early morning feedings, the first time he rolled over. Maybe you could just sit with me while I cry over all the things we'll never do together.
Please don't tell me it could be worse. How? I really don't want to hear about your grandfather's death. It's not the same. Don't think my pain will be eased by comparison. Of course I'm glad that he didn't suffer, but I'd be a lot happier if he hadn't died at all.
I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind looking at his picture just one more time?We don't have many of him, and I'm just a little bit afraid that I may forget what he looked like. He wasn't here that long, you know.
Could you please just listen? Don't tell me I'll get over it. There is no "over it," only through it. Maybe you could just be with me while I take my first steps through it.
Please don't tell me I should be glad he was just a baby, or that at least I didn't get to know him. I knew him. I knew him before I ever saw him. He is a part of me. And now he is gone. I haven't just lost a seven-month-old baby. I have lost a part of myself.
I know you mean well, but please don't expect me to tell you how to help me. I'd tell you if I knew. But right now I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.
Maybe if you looked around, you could find some things to do, like taking my daughter for a walk, or doing the dishes, or making some coffee.
Please don't try to remove my pain or distract me from it. I have to feel this way now. Maybe you could just listen.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Author Unknown
The mention of my child's name may bring tears to my eyes, but it never fails to bring music to my ears. If you are really my friend, let me hear the beautiful music of his name. It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul. —Unknown
Monday, April 20, 2009
Dreaming of you
I had a dream one night last week that we had another baby, also a boy. He was a preemie and was very sick in the NICU. They asked us what his name was and we hadn't picked one but Joe blurted out, "it's Scott Harrison." That sounded ridiculous to me but I said, "ok, whatever." I think I was feeling like it wouldn't matter what his name was anyway since he wasn't going to survive either.
....It was only one of the many dreams I have had about babies since Rylan died. The best dreams I have are actually of Rylan - that he is ok and I am holding him. The hard part is when I wake up from one of those dreams and realize it had not been real. Each time it is like losing him all over again.
There was one dream in particular that seemed so real I could even feel his soft skin against mine as I held him. It was the only time I can recall physically feeling something in a dream. It was amazing. The dream took place in the hospital room before they took him to the NICU (so no tubes or anything). I knew he was sick and needed to go to the NICU but it was like time had stopped momentarily so there was no urgency for him to be taken away from me. I couldn't stop looking at how gorgeous he was and what a little miracle I was beholding - my baby. It is agonizing that in actuality I did not ever get to have a moment like this with him since he was rushed off to the NICU right after birth (we did not get to hold him until the next day when he was dying/died). But because of the dream it somehow feels like I did have that moment. As it was happening in the dream, I half knew it was just a dream but I soaked up every inch of him while I could and kept thanking God for these few moments with my sweet boy. After time started again and the nurses took him away, I was going room to room in a house searching everywhere for him. I was sobbing so deeply I felt my heart would give out and when I woke up I was crying real tears.
....It was only one of the many dreams I have had about babies since Rylan died. The best dreams I have are actually of Rylan - that he is ok and I am holding him. The hard part is when I wake up from one of those dreams and realize it had not been real. Each time it is like losing him all over again.
There was one dream in particular that seemed so real I could even feel his soft skin against mine as I held him. It was the only time I can recall physically feeling something in a dream. It was amazing. The dream took place in the hospital room before they took him to the NICU (so no tubes or anything). I knew he was sick and needed to go to the NICU but it was like time had stopped momentarily so there was no urgency for him to be taken away from me. I couldn't stop looking at how gorgeous he was and what a little miracle I was beholding - my baby. It is agonizing that in actuality I did not ever get to have a moment like this with him since he was rushed off to the NICU right after birth (we did not get to hold him until the next day when he was dying/died). But because of the dream it somehow feels like I did have that moment. As it was happening in the dream, I half knew it was just a dream but I soaked up every inch of him while I could and kept thanking God for these few moments with my sweet boy. After time started again and the nurses took him away, I was going room to room in a house searching everywhere for him. I was sobbing so deeply I felt my heart would give out and when I woke up I was crying real tears.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
"Happy" Easter
The holiday was tough for me. That kind of caught me off guard because I thought I would be fine. But, I found I was really missing Rylan. Seeing all the children at Good Friday and Easter service actually knocked the wind out of me and I was so sad not to have our baby with us. I wondered, among other things, what kind of handsome outfit I could have dressed my baby boy in for Easter... But as I reflected on the significance of the holiday we were celebrating (our risen Savior) I imagined how Rylan is already in His presence and I was comforted thinking of that.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Pressing On
My good friend Margaret sent me a book titled From Grief to Glory (http://www.grieftoglory.com/) and I am finding it such a blessing. Apparently Margaret heard about it in one of her classes at Westminster. It was written by a man who lost an infant and subsequently researched historical Christians who had suffered similarly. I guess it should not be surprising that in the past infant death was common because of the size of families and lack of medical care. The book is a compilation of letters, poems and biographical accounts of these individuals. It has been comforting for me to hear how the Lord brought many other Christians through this type of loss - John Calvin, John Bunyan, Martin Luther, Fredrick Douglas, and many others. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who has experienced the loss of a child (whether their own or that of a close friend or family member).
Of all the books I've been given lately it has been the most helpful by far (thanks Margaret!). Reading the accounts of these fellow believers who were also bereaved parents has been such a comfort. I feel like these individuals have come alongside of me and shown that there is a way to move forward. At the beginning of the book the author quotes Hugh Latimer, an English reformer from the 16th century: 'Set before you that though the weather is stormy and foul, yet you do not go alone; many others pass by the same path; their company might cause you to be the more courageous and cheerful.' I've certainly found those words to be true. Their accounts have given me the strength to press on. The human side of me would naturally want to grieve Rylan indefinitely. Just give up on life and walk in sorrow forever in allegiance to my beloved son who is gone. But I realized that my allegiance to Christ (who ordains all things in my life including the passing of my son and the continuance of my life) must overrule. It has become a conscious choice to press on despite wanting to lay down in the grave (so to speak) with my son. I don't know if that makes sense. It is a choice to say with Job "Though he slay me, yet will I praise him." Job 13:15
In one chapter the author quotes from John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. The Pilgrim's Progress contains many subtle parallels to John's own life (which included losing a child) so it is possible this section was reflective of his loss: "These troubles and distress that you go through in these waters are no sign that God has forsaken you; but they are sent to test you, to see whether you will recall that goodness, which up to now, you have received from Him and if you will live upon Him in your distresses. Be cheerful, Jesus Christ makes you whole." Then the main character, Christian, cries out, 'O! I see Him again, and He tells me, "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.'"
I also want to share one of the many beautiful poems from the book. It was written by Horatius Bonar who was a 19th centry Scottish minister. He and his wife lost five children in successive bereavements.
Of all the books I've been given lately it has been the most helpful by far (thanks Margaret!). Reading the accounts of these fellow believers who were also bereaved parents has been such a comfort. I feel like these individuals have come alongside of me and shown that there is a way to move forward. At the beginning of the book the author quotes Hugh Latimer, an English reformer from the 16th century: 'Set before you that though the weather is stormy and foul, yet you do not go alone; many others pass by the same path; their company might cause you to be the more courageous and cheerful.' I've certainly found those words to be true. Their accounts have given me the strength to press on. The human side of me would naturally want to grieve Rylan indefinitely. Just give up on life and walk in sorrow forever in allegiance to my beloved son who is gone. But I realized that my allegiance to Christ (who ordains all things in my life including the passing of my son and the continuance of my life) must overrule. It has become a conscious choice to press on despite wanting to lay down in the grave (so to speak) with my son. I don't know if that makes sense. It is a choice to say with Job "Though he slay me, yet will I praise him." Job 13:15
In one chapter the author quotes from John Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. The Pilgrim's Progress contains many subtle parallels to John's own life (which included losing a child) so it is possible this section was reflective of his loss: "These troubles and distress that you go through in these waters are no sign that God has forsaken you; but they are sent to test you, to see whether you will recall that goodness, which up to now, you have received from Him and if you will live upon Him in your distresses. Be cheerful, Jesus Christ makes you whole." Then the main character, Christian, cries out, 'O! I see Him again, and He tells me, "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.'"
I also want to share one of the many beautiful poems from the book. It was written by Horatius Bonar who was a 19th centry Scottish minister. He and his wife lost five children in successive bereavements.
He was the music of our home,
A day that knew no night
The fragrance of our garden bower,
A thing all smiles and light.
Above the couch we bent and prayed
In the half-lighted room,
As the bright hues of infant life
Sank slowly into gloom.
The form remained; but there was now
No soul our love to share;
Farewell, with weeping hearts, we said,
Child of our love and care.
But years are moving quickly past,
And time will soon be o'er;
Death shall be swallowed up in life
On the immortal shore.
Then shall we clasp that hand once more,
And smooth that golden hair;
Then shall we kiss those lips again,
When we shall meet him there.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Tough day
I don't know if it is this weather or PMS or what but just having a tough day and cannot stop crying. Just missing Rylan and dreaming of what could have been. The usual.
We had dinner on Saturday night with my ex-boss and his wife. They lost a 2 year old about 9 years ago. She said it does get easier but she still cries everyday. They shared some of the stupid and hurtful things people have said to them. It helped to talk to two people who are further down this terrible path. They have photos of their child all around the house and speak about him openly with their other children. They inspired us and we only hope we can honor Rylan's memory in our future family as beautifully as they have.
I had a dream last night that I was pregnant and Joe and I were both so ecstatic. Somehow they already knew it was a girl (I've always had a feeling my first child would be a boy and the second a girl so who knows).
We had dinner on Saturday night with my ex-boss and his wife. They lost a 2 year old about 9 years ago. She said it does get easier but she still cries everyday. They shared some of the stupid and hurtful things people have said to them. It helped to talk to two people who are further down this terrible path. They have photos of their child all around the house and speak about him openly with their other children. They inspired us and we only hope we can honor Rylan's memory in our future family as beautifully as they have.
I had a dream last night that I was pregnant and Joe and I were both so ecstatic. Somehow they already knew it was a girl (I've always had a feeling my first child would be a boy and the second a girl so who knows).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)