It's really bittersweet to watch the children play - when they don't know I'm observing - and witness them remembering their baby brother, George, who died just over two months ago during my labour.
I sometimes wonder if the children bring him up in conversation for my benefit; if I'm conditioning them to somehow discuss their little brother. I worry, as only a mother can, that I'm forcing them to think of their dead baby brother more than they otherwise would as I grieve. I also worry they might not talk about him for fear of making me cry. I want talking about baby George to be normal, but it's really difficult right now because I'm so overwrought as the loss of this long-expected baby is hitting me as the shock of his death wears off. And so I worry that I am sad too often, or that if I'm not letting them see my tears that I'm hiding reality from them. It's exhausting.
The four of them frequently leave an empty chair beside them as they play or at meal or snack times, "because there are really five of us and maybe angel George can come and sit with us." They sit in the sunroom of our new house, where I pictured so many times sitting to nurse our new baby, and they speculate which books he'd have enjoyed reading with them. They include him in drawings of our family. And this afternoon, as they had the very best time playing first in a big box and then ripping it up with the help of our 10-month-old Old English Sheepdog puppy, Albert, they wondered if George would have laughed at the dog's antics. And if Albert would have given the baby slurpy kisses or if baby George would have been used to Albert's bark.
Oh, what might have been breaks my heart. At least what is still includes our angel baby.
I sometimes wonder if the children bring him up in conversation for my benefit; if I'm conditioning them to somehow discuss their little brother. I worry, as only a mother can, that I'm forcing them to think of their dead baby brother more than they otherwise would as I grieve. I also worry they might not talk about him for fear of making me cry. I want talking about baby George to be normal, but it's really difficult right now because I'm so overwrought as the loss of this long-expected baby is hitting me as the shock of his death wears off. And so I worry that I am sad too often, or that if I'm not letting them see my tears that I'm hiding reality from them. It's exhausting.
The four of them frequently leave an empty chair beside them as they play or at meal or snack times, "because there are really five of us and maybe angel George can come and sit with us." They sit in the sunroom of our new house, where I pictured so many times sitting to nurse our new baby, and they speculate which books he'd have enjoyed reading with them. They include him in drawings of our family. And this afternoon, as they had the very best time playing first in a big box and then ripping it up with the help of our 10-month-old Old English Sheepdog puppy, Albert, they wondered if George would have laughed at the dog's antics. And if Albert would have given the baby slurpy kisses or if baby George would have been used to Albert's bark.
Oh, what might have been breaks my heart. At least what is still includes our angel baby.
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3 comments:
Thinking of you, Karen, and how terribly hard this must be.
Dear Karen,
It sounds like you're doing a wonderful job with the children. Look how freely and naturally they include thoughts of their baby brother in the course of their days. I think it's gorgeous! I just finished a course [psych of grief and loss in children and adolescents] and one of the books I had to read, and loved, was "Guilding Your Child Through Grief," by Mary Ann and James P. Emswiler. They are experts in the best sense, parents of grieving children and the founders of the Cove Center for Grieving children. This books includes helpful thoughts on parent care, as well. I got mine second hand on Amazon for peanuts. Again, you're doing a beautiful job. Yes, kids do fear the tears of their parents to some degree, but it also shows them that it's okay to cry and nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing's perfect. Sounds like you're intuiting right priorities and helping the children feel natural about it. God bless you, dear Karen, and keep up the excellent writing. You're really good!
Lisa
Thank you, Steph and Lisa. It's being able to talk / write about George and support from other mothers that's keeping me afloat these days. xo
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