Please Remember Mothers Who've Lost a Child This Mother's Day
The moment my children were each first placed in my arms, a door to a part of my soul I did not know existed opened up and flooded with a warmth like no other. I felt my heart fill with this new kind of love which surpassed anything I had ever experienced. It is truly a love like no other, and it is difficult to describe. But most anyone who is a parent understands the feeling, even if they can’t put it into words.
At that first moment with our child, we know, with a doubt, we will love this new being with everything we have. As my children grew, my emotional investment in their lives never wavered. I watched their successes with pride and their failures with empathy. I felt their celebrations deep within my soul, and their physical falls when my stomach fell into my toes. I did everything I could to set them up for success and supported them when they stumbled, sometimes without even saying, “I told you so.” We know our children have no understanding of the depth of our love, although we hope they will someday, if they choose to have their own children.
Mothers and fathers gets one manufactured holiday celebration every year when our children are expected to recognize our unwavering dedication to raising them into men and women. Gifts, cards and phone calls, some heartfelt and some obligatory, are exchanged and, hopefully, feelings of mutual love are shared.
For the majority of families, when parents pass before the children, the children still think of their mother or father on those designated days, perhaps sending flowers to a final resting place or raising a glass in toast to their memory.
But in the cases where a child passes first, we are left with a gaping hole in our heart, constantly aching for the love of a child whose outward expression of love can no longer reach us, so this specific day comes and goes with little if any acknowledgment of the child and our loss.
We still carry the never-ending love for the child, but our love reserve is never refilled by the lost child. It is an emotional and often physical drain.
If you’ve lost a child and can relate, let Kimberly know in the comments below.
Lead image provided by contributor
Kimberly A. Starr earned a Bachelor of Arts in Theatre from Whitman College and a Masters in Theatre Production from Central Washington University. After her son 16-year-old son, Tom, died by suicide in March 2015, she started writing as a way to process her feelings around her loss. Her pieces about her grief and the aftermath of her son's death have been published by The Mighty, Our Side of Suicide, The Ugly Shoes Club, and other national and international blogs and publications. She compiled the writings from the first 457 days of her loss into a book called, 457 Days; A Mother’s Journey Along Grief’s Path. In addition, Starr owns and operates StarrBright Suicide Prevention Presentations. After Tom’s death, she felt called to learn more about suicide and mental health conditions. Starr regularly presents research-based information in combination with her son’s writings with a broad range of audiences in hopes others will not experience the depth of pain involved in losing a loved one to suicide. Previous audiences have included Pacific Northwest National Laboratory Wellness Program, Yakima Valley College Grandview Campus – in classrooms and for student groups, Kadlec Hospital, Washington State Day of Remembrance Conference for Gold Star Families, Prosser School District – in classrooms and for school staff, Prosser Rotary Club, and multiple mental health and suicide prevention summits.
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