Always a child missing

Post 63 of 66
Always a child missing

Most people don’t really know what to say to a person that’s facing such a loss like we are. I’ve heard all the variations: Better now than later… It wasn’t meant to be… At least you know you can have children… Or the most common one: You can have other kids!

I realize they are just trying to help and mean no harm, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s hard. We just faced the most terrible loss a person alive can ever experience. And then we also have to deal with comments that hurt, although they meant no harm. It’s not easy on them either, whether they are family, friends, or just people you know. They just don’t know how to react to something like this, and their first reaction (or the second) is therefore not always the best one.

And don’t get me wrong. Another baby will certainly be celebrated, cherished and loved. Tremendously. If I am ever that blessed to have a healthy, living rainbow baby in my arms, I will appreciate the miracle of that little bundle of joy even more than a mother that has not gone through this loss. Because I realize how fragile and vulnerable this little miracle is. Still, another baby will never, ever, replace the one I lost.

Sometimes I daydream about the future. A future with rainbows. Even in the middle of all this grief. Because I long so much to have a family with the man I love. To give all the love that I have to give. To be a mother to a living child. Little sisters and/or brothers that can remember her with me. So I imagine them, running around, playing “catch me if you can”, giggling, screaming… All while Frank and I have a refreshing drink and enjoy the good weather and especially these miraculous rainbows that life would have gifted us.

While I watch these little wonders, I also see a void. The child I will never see running around. The one that will never be giggling as she escapes from one of her siblings. The one that won’t be hiding behind a tree catching a breath. The one I won’t have to call 2 times to come finish her pancakes before they get cold. The one name I won’t have to repeat to “get in the car” because she wants to play just that little longer. The one that left us too soon.

Other babies would bring joy and hope back to my life. They will even bring back happiness. Because of them I will be grateful to live another day. Because of them I will learn to love life fully again, with all its wonders, with all its downsides too. But even if life grants us other healthy, living children in the future, I will always be missing one. A beautiful little girl. I imagine her with big caramel brown eyes, endlessly long eye lashes, curly hair just like her momma, dimples in her cheeks, and beautiful rose coloured full lips.

There will always be one missing. Our firstborn. My girl Sahar.

That’s why saying “You will have other kids”, is not a comfort. It will bring joy, but it won’t take this pain away. Nothing can. Nobody can. And that’s okay. Because she was. She is. And she will forever be. In our thoughts and in our hearts.

 


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