There is an unexplainable hollowness that comes with losing a child. Iâ€™ve heard loss-moms explain it as a hole in their heart or an empty feeling. Iâ€™ve searched for words to do it justice but havenâ€™t found one yet. You grow a child and birth them and before you see how their hair touches their shoulders, or if their laugh turns into yours, theyâ€™re drifting away and youâ€™re holding the tiniest thread of what you once had. (Written byÂ Jessica Watson from Four Plus an Angel.)
To survive you tell yourself theyâ€™re holding this thread too, through pinched together fingers or a chubby fist or the growing hands youâ€™ve imagined. Some days you might be the only one remembering, or at least it feels that way. On those days you need reassurance that the child who left was ever here at all and the thread youâ€™re holding is proof.
When your child first passed away you thought sure you were going somewhere too, you were drifting further from here and closer to there but you fell hard right where you were needed; a place unfathomably far. The thread you share makes you different and less whole and often dangling mid-air, but at some point your feet feel the ground again. You reach for your thread and get up when pain pushes you down because loss taught you the art of holding tight.
You tie your thread to your wrist and learn not to feel awkward about taking it out and spilling it through the air. Continue reading