by Shenia Coleman Kirkland (www.1peachymama.com)
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The days after my daughter’s death are a blur. Some of my most pronounced memories include trying to select a 24-inch casket for our baby girl, going shopping for the “perfect” pink dress for her to wear at the funeral, and explaining to the mortician how to do her hair so that it would look “just right.” I did all of this while my breasts were engorged and leaking because I no longer had a child to nurse. It was a surreal, out of body experience.
It wasn’t until I was walking behind her 24-inch casket into the church sanctuary for her funeral when the finality of everything really set in. As I looked at my child resting peacefully in the satin and chiffon adorned casket, I realized that I would not see or hold my daughter again in this lifetime. The overwhelming and profound extent of the loss really began to sink in.
After the funeral, I had an urgent need to be alone with my daughter. And, I followed her casket into a small private room. I wanted to memorize every little thing about her before I said my final goodbye. I studied the creases on her little fingers, her plentiful eyelashes and her beautiful, full eyebrows. This was simply too much for my husband. So, it was just the two of us . . . me and my baby girl.
I talked to her and caressed her hair, trying to savor every last second with her. I promised my baby girl that I would do everything in this life to make sure that I’d see her again one day. After nearly an hour, I had to say my final goodbye. (My mom later told me that I was in that room so long that she began to wonder if I had taken the baby and run off somewhere. Lol! *smile*) I left that room knowing that never again in this life would I be able to hold or caress my child again. I can’t begin to put into words the heaviness in my heart.
After our daughter’s death, my husband and I experienced feelings of numbness and the profound loss that only a parent who has lost a child can even begin to comprehend. There is a reason why losing a child is considered to be a catalyst for divorce””men and women grieve very differently. I longed for my baby. Just as a new mom misses her child when she’s away from her for a few hours, I, too, missed my daughter. I missed her new baby smell and her chubby little legs. I missed holding her and nursing her. And, I became fixated on wanting to join her . . . I wanted to die. I completely isolated myself from the world. I didn’t even want to go to our neighborhood grocery store for fear that one of the clerks who weeks before had seen my very pregnant belly might ask me about my baby.
My husband felt useless because I was absolutely inconsolable. As a man, he felt that his job was to be the problem solver and to make everything better. But, there was NOTHING that he could do to make this better. And, when he managed to have fleeting moments of happiness or when he distracted himself from his grief with something else, he was always met by his despondent and desolate wife.
Fortunately, I found a support group that provided a “safe” place for me to share my feelings with people who had experienced a similar loss. Through the support group, my husband and I both learned that the way that we were grieving was normal and that we had to respect and honor what the other person needed. By letting go of unreasonable expectations of one another, we allowed the other to do what was needed to work through this profound loss.
Almost exactly one year after our late daughter’s birthday, I gave birth to our second child”... a healthy and beautiful baby girl. She brought more joy into our lives than our hearts could hold. Three years later, we were blessed with another beautiful, healthy baby girl. And, we rejoiced! A child is truly a gift from heaven! Our angel baby is still a very present part of our lives. Her pictures are displayed prominently throughout our home. My princesses know that they have a big sister in heaven. We celebrate her birthday each year by releasing balloons. While we can’t reach out and touch her, she is a very present part of our family. And, she always will be.
Sharing this story is still painful, even seven years after my daughter’s death. I’ve shared these feelings with only a one or two of my very close friends because it’s really emotional for me to go back to those moments. My hope is that by sharing my story, another bereaved mother will find some comfort and won’t feel quite as isolated or alone. Or, perhaps a bereaved father will find hope in the midst of his silent grief. Or, perhaps, others will understand that the joy in my eyes and the spring in my step comes from a profound appreciation for life! This is all part of my journey. And, I believe that I am more compassionate, empathetic and appreciative of life’s blessings because of it!
Until next time”....
Much Love, y’all!
Shenia Coleman Kirkland
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Shenia Coleman Kirkland is an attorney, law professor, novelist, screenplay writer and motivational speaker. She chronicles her journey from a driven corporate attorney (and feminist) to wife and work-at-home mother on www.1peachymama.com, in which she discusses the tenuous balance between motherhood, marriage and maintaining a sense of self. She would love for you to follow her on Twitter @1peachymama.