I have to give you a warning, this will likely not be a very funny blog. In fact, it won’t be funny at all. I’m about to pour out a whole lotta pain, and if you’re not up for it, this may not be the blog for you to read.
In March 2005, I gave birth for the first time to the most beautiful baby girl who made me a mommy. She, as all firstborns are, was so spectacular and new, and she was her daddy’s and my heart and soul. All births are amazing, but there is something about the wonder of a mother’s first, how profound that moment is when you are forever changed… It is now 2010, and this past March, we observed her fifth birthday. Then, on July 5, we observed the fifth anniversary of her death. My beautiful baby girl died of Sudden Unexpected Death in Infancy, a diagnosis which falls under the very large, and more familiar umbrella of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome). In true SIDS, there is still no known cause, in the case of Brady Judith Lindstrom, my baby, they were unable to rule out environmental factors. What this means is that her environment likely contributed to her death. In other words, in Brady’s case, she was placed on her stomach to sleep by a caregiver, and was found with her face turned in to the mattress. Her beautiful body was lifeless and despite best efforts, she could not be revived.
I was there for my baby’s first breath. I was not there for her last.
This year, my baby girl would be starting Kindergarten. I can only imagine her gorgeous round face, crowned with a brand new first day of school haircut of her red locks. I can only imagine it. Most days, the pain of her loss is an ache, like learning to live with a chronic pain, I assume, only it’s a chronic pain in the heart. On her birthday, the anniversary of her death, and on holidays the pain is intense, sometimes unbearable.
I can’t run away from it. All these kids going to school. Living, breathing, happy, giggling kids filled with the excitement. I remember holding Brady in the first days of her life, and calling my mom hysterically, “Mom, how am I going to put her on the bus?” This, of course confused my mom. What bus is she getting on? Why would I be putting my brand new infant on a bus? I was thinking about that first day of school… about that amazing moment as a mother where you let your little one use their wings.
Today is that first day of school, and while my heart is leaping for joy for all my friends whose children are testing out their wings, I miss my little girl, who has a different set of wings. As a bereaved parent, there are days that you dread and anticipate the sadness of for weeks, and there are days that sneak up on you, and then ambush you like a sniper hitting target. Today is one of those days.
Why do I share this? Not because I want people’s sympathy. I share this because I want to give voice to this experience. We are all around you, mothers who have lost our babies. For the most part we keep our pain to ourselves – mostly because unless you’ve walked our road, there is no possible way for you to understand. And believe me, we don’t WANT you to understand. Our hearts break every time another mother joins our club. We are a small club, and a usually quiet club, but when we are given a chance, we will speak loudly. We honor our babies by keeping their memory alive. I thank you for giving me that opportunity.
On September 14, Brady’s little brother will be off to preschool. I can’t wait to watch him use his wings!
Colleen, I'm proud of you for using your voice. thank you. <3
ReplyDeleteColleen,
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing this day with us. You are one of the most courageous women I know. God Bless you and your family.
Colleen-
ReplyDeleteThanks for putting that in words- it is so hard to do. These days are bittersweet and so hard to describe. Thanks for being a (our) voice.
In memory of my son Luke, who would be off to 7th grade now.
Sarah Kerbeshian
Proud mother of Luke, Nick, and Grace
I wish I couldn't relate but I can. My angel would be 10 and going into 5th grade. You explained the feelings perfectly. You are not alone. Thank you for today's blog. It was beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI so admire you Colleen. For someone who has been through the worst thing a person could ever go through, you still have such a positive attitude and a positive influence on others.I don't know you other than reading you here, listening on the radio, and following you on Facebook, but somehow I consider you a friend. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteVery well written Colleen. Thank you for putting it out there. I understand, all too well. My baby would be going into 1st grade this year.
ReplyDeleteLovely, my baby would have been going into 2nd grade this year :( man, it still hurts...it hurts differently, but still hurts.
ReplyDeleteSo beautifully said through so much pain. Brady too was beautiful, and always will be remembered that way by anyone that held her.
ReplyDeleteMy little one would have been going to kindergarten too this year. i thought the same thing, so hard - hurts...
ReplyDeleteI'm so sorry for your loss. I wrote to you the first time when you were pregnant again. I called pregnancy after a loss "controlled hysteria", which is what it was for me, at least.
ReplyDeleteAnd sometimes, parenting after a loss has been that way, too. Our baby was born in 2005 and also should be starting Kindergarten this year, with Brady and all the other children. There are so many things that remind me of her, of what we lost, of what is missing. I don't think people realize that we don't just lose an actual child with everything they are. We also lose a lifetime of hopes and dreams for them.
It's hard, and it hurts. And while I'm sorry I'm not alone, because I hate that anyone else has to have suffered the loss of a child, I'm equally grateful to know women out there who will *get* how much I miss my little girl.