Heavy heart, 14th January 2012
Well today has been pretty trying. And I'm just a bystander to a tragedy. As a Mom I can tell you that the most horrific notion that springs to mind is the loss of a child. So today I've held my boys close, and thanked my lucky stars that I have them and can know them.
A very important girlfriend of mine sent out an email this morning, to a very close personal group of ladies in which I'm privileged to belong. We 6 girls lived together for three years while studying at University in the UK. We drank together, and danced together, laughed together and cried together. And today all alone in my home in Texas I cried again together with my friends across the ocean, for the loss of a baby girl.
10 years has passed since I said goodbye to that stage of my life. A stage which was very difficult to move on from, and to which I look back upon with the fondest of memories. But thankfully I've taken these ladies along with me, and though I'm far away I count on them. They are my safe haven network of gal pals. The most concrete friendships should not need constant maintenance. They just work when they need to. That's the way it has to be for one who lives far from so many loved ones across the world.
But today, this distance is killer. As I realize the limitations of technology, I know that I truly cannot be there for a friend. Fortunately my friend has a wonderful husband and family and close network of friends to whom she can turn and I hope fervently that they can find the words that I cannot. This morning I emailed back a few words offering my love and support albeit remote in nature, and yet how pathetic did this email read to me?
I appealed to my husband for ideas of what to send my friend to help her feel better. A card? Or perhaps a care package, or some pampering gifts.. or maybe flowers? He says ''Nothing. Unless you can turn back time...'' He's right of course. Not that I shouldn't send something, but that I can't do anything to take her pain away. There's absolutely nothing within my power I can do for my friend to lessen this loss. I ask myself what I would want if it were me? I can't answer this. I can't bear the thought. Her strength in her email surpasses anything that I could be in her situation.
Time heals all wounds. So they say. But nothing has lessened in a day for me. My tears have dried up and now I feel numbed through. I am humbled by my friend's strength, confused by a cruel twist of fate, and heartbroken for a little baby girl that I will never meet.
My friend had carried and nurtured and loved her baby daughter almost to full term, but devastatingly fate intervened, and she stopped breathing in the womb.
A year (less one week) later, on the 7th January 2013, this little angel made it safely into their world.
|My friend's beautiful baby girl, born 7th Jan 2013|
When I heard the news I cried again. I didn't realize how much grief and fear and anger I'd been holding inside.
And what I feel I'm sure is just a minuscule fraction of what my friend must be feeling.
For the last year she's been a mother but without her baby. I can't type about this without a lump in my throat and fresh tears falling. But today, when I look into those sparkling eyes in the picture above and I see such wonder, I can finally feel the happiness for my friend that she was rightly due a year ago. And I know, as sure as I know it of my own, that this little miracle is loved more than life itself.
“It has been said, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”—Rose Kennedy
(this post is written in support of Surrey Sands - Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Charity www.surrey-sands.org.uk)