Trigger warning: child loss
I couldn’t bear to stay in the hospital any longer. After the loss of my son, Miles, I requested to be discharged a day early. My family swiftly packed our belongings while I stayed near the NICU, unable to face the room that should have been filled with joy and memories, but instead was a haunting reminder of what I had lost.
As I left the hospital, I was engulfed by a surreal experience. I watched other new mothers being wheeled out, filled with happiness and gifts, and their babies. I walked to the car, heavy with grief and disbelief, knowing that my arms were empty.
My uncle drove us home, and as we arrived, I felt the suffocating silence that replaced what should have been the joyful sounds of a newborn. I instructed my husband to close the nursery door, convinced I never wanted to open it again. But then I spotted the unwrapped baby swing in the living room. “Get rid of that swing! I don’t want it out!” I cried, and my husband quickly moved it to the basement.
As more friends and family arrived to support us, I was left alone with a haunting question: how would I explain to my five- and three-year-old sons that their baby brother had died? I feared for their understanding and the impact it would have on their lives.
After the visitors left and silence enveloped us, my eldest son, Lucas, sat at the kitchen table, seemingly unaware of the loss. I wrestled with the right moment to tell him, anxious about how he would react. I thought about letting them forget the pregnancy, but the fear of them never knowing their brother weighed heavily on me.
Finally, I approached him. “Hey buddy, do you notice anything different about mommy?” His eyes lit up, “Your belly isn’t big anymore! That means you had Miles! But where is he, Mama?”
I took a deep breath. “Well, Miles was sick, and he needed to go home to God.” The words felt like shards of glass. I never imagined I would have to utter such a painful truth to my child. He looked confused and then asked, “But mommy, you were supposed to take him home so I can hug him and kiss him!”
All I could manage was, “I’m sorry, buddy.” The moment became overwhelming as my three-year-old, Ethan, echoed his brother’s questions. I felt a wave of emotion crash over me, and I ran upstairs to hide my tears, leaning against the wall for support.
As I sobbed, I heard tiny footsteps behind me. Lucas said, “Don’t cry, mama. It’s okay if you do, mommy, if you cry for Miles.” Ethan climbed onto my lap, gently touching my face, and asked, “You sad, mama?” I couldn’t hold back any longer, and we sat there together—two small boys comforting their heartbroken mother instead of the other way around.
In that moment, I realized I wouldn’t shield my sons from my grief. They would know about their brother, and they would understand that it’s okay to feel sadness. Life can be unpredictable—sometimes, the roles are reversed, and you find solace in the arms of your children.
If you’re navigating similar challenges, consider checking out this helpful resource for support on pregnancy and loss. Also, you might find insights on boosting fertility from Make A Mom to be valuable during this time. For more stories like this, visit our blog.
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