This morning I went to a kids consignment store for a big sale. The line was wrapped around the store and took forever, so I struck up a conversation with the other moms around me. As we chatted casually about our children, one of the moms asked me "so do you just have the one daughter then?" I replied, "Yup! At least for now!" and we proceeded to discuss her brood of boys and a million other things moms like to discuss with other moms.
But in my mind I was focused on something else. I clung to the detail of her question, "one daughter." I clung to that technicality, in thanksgiving.
As a loss mama, I am not at all ashamed of my baby in heaven and I'm never afraid to mention his name, but I often feel like I'm not supposed to in public. The times I've been asked how many children I have, and responded truthfully, have often been met with awkward silence and uncomfortable looks. People clam up and don't know how to respond, and their discomfort is instantly my responsibility. So when someone asks me if I just have "the one daughter" instead of "is she your only child?" I take advantage of the technicality and am grateful to avoid the awkward response.
However, at the same time, it kills me. It kills me that we live in a world where lost babies are treated like Voldemort... They must not be named or mentioned. It kills me that I even notice such a small technicality in a strangers question. A detail I would've never thought of a year ago. It kills me that our culture respects and honors the grief of a parent who loses their grown child, but not the parent who lost their child to early miscarriage. It kills me that I second guess every mention of my second child, no matter who I am talking to, just out of habit. It has to stop. We need to change the way we view pregnancy loss and stop being silent.
Today, in honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, millions of parents across the world are breaking the silence and speaking the names of their babies lost too soon. We are rallying together as a tribe of moms and dads who never wanted to share this connection, but sadly do. We are sharing our babies, our stories, and our grief in hopes of changing the world. And I really think we can.
So here we are, broken and grieving, brave and joyful, as we carry this heavy cross we never wanted. See us. See our babies. Break the silence.
John Simeon Xavier, pray for us, sweet boy.
