The Sunday News
Busie Mtshede
THE death of a child is a traumatic event that can have long-term effects on the lives of parents and I am not going to sit here and pretend as if I know what it feels like to lose a child but my maternal instinct tells me it is heartbreaking.
The loss of a child is the most devastating experience a parent can face — and missing the child never goes away and a piece of yourself is lost and your future is forever changed. The traumatic impact of bereavement has been shown to extend to social functioning and family life. Difficulties have been noted for parental marital functioning in particular and even past research on the impact of bereavement as a trauma has emphasised significant negative psychological and health outcomes.
In most cases the bereaved persons, especially those with extreme emotional loneliness and severe depressive symptoms, are at risk for suicidal ideation. The grief journey has many emotional peaks and valleys and lasts far longer than society in general recognises because there are certain myths that surround grieving a child especially the stillborn. Each person’s grief journey is unique; every individual will process grief in their own unique way best seen fit for them.
Some people can and will express their pain easily and openly, while others will keep their feelings locked inside.
While there is no right or wrong way to grieve, this past week I had to constantly hold back and fight tears as I read about this heartbreak, I was not sure of how I was going to pen it on this column for fear of not doing justice to it. I sit here, trying so hard to type through the tears that are threatening to spill down my face. I cannot imagine the fear and pain you have felt and will feel, forever. Your writing embodies your pain so eloquently and your love for your daughter will always shine on.
I woke up this morning and poured my cereal like I always do, making my eggs like I always do and about to have my breakfast I pulled a chair up to the table, my mouth and heart began to water for something I have not craved in a very long time, I badly wanted to write. The Sunday News was still on the table and still on the Hearts on Fire column.
I felt the urge to write my story and talk about it in a way I have never done. I have never really shared my deep and honest feelings about the loss of my baby girl, mainly because I am not allowed to and partly because people hardly talk to me about it, even my husband has never asked me how I feel.
I remember the day like it was yesterday and I was lying on the hospital bed and I kept asking to see her, I needed to see her and I wanted to at least touch her hand and see if she was as I always imagined when I touched my stomach and spoke to her every morning. People on my bedside were looking at me with sad faces but no one said anything that made sense, that is when I realised I had missed a couple of hours of my life. I will skip the part when they broke the news and jump straight into what I felt on that day after being told I had a stillbirth. My whole world came down crushing on me, all my hopes and dreams to dress up my baby for parties were all gone.
A week before I had a baby shower and I was surrounded by people I loved and cared deeply about and strangers too, but we had shared tips on parenting, we had fun and a lot of discussions in regards to parenting. I have never felt so prepared in my life, I was ready to bring my love to this world. I was ready to be a mother and I was more than ready for the nappy changes and sleepless nights. So when I realised that all my preparedness was nothing but a wishful fantasy I was shattered, broken and in pieces, I felt so much pain though I cannot say for sure what hurt.
It was as though my heart was on fire; I felt a cut from inside my heart. I was bleeding to say the least. Whenever a child dies, it’s too soon, and it’s unnatural at first, you live minute to minute, then hour to hour and after that I could not think of anything past one hour. I had to slowly adapt and then, slowly, I started living day to day.
Today as I write this I feel alive again, there is something happening on the inside of me though I cannot say for sure what it is, it feels as though I am talking to someone. I always want to talk about her, I am just rarely allowed to and I remember one lady reaching out to me to offer her condolences, my aunt snapped and told her that she was not supposed to say that because of cultural reasons. Throughout my grieving I have never been able to talk about her because no one asks or says anything about her. Maybe people do not ask because of fear that I might get upset, or I might cry and they will not know what to do, or worse still that I might damage them with my tale of loss.
There are many here reading this who know grief, much worse grief than mine but for those who do not it physically hurts. Your body feels like it is splitting in two and it does not matter how much you cry it just does not seem to get the pain out. As I write this I want to answer a few questions that I wish people could ask me, so what does it feel like to lose your child? To say it hurts does not quite cover it. It feels like you are going to break in two, I honestly thought that my rib cage was going to snap, that something was wrong with me, the pain was almost unbearable, and I realised that this was true heartbreak.
I know that the medical people reading this will comment that this is due to the parts of your brain associated with loss and pain being interconnected because I have been told this each time I complained about this type of pain.
Since I am in charge of explaining how I feel today, I will simplify the pain and I will tell you that it was the pain caused by part of my soul ripping clear of my body and leaving me, so it could stay with my deceased baby comforting her and remaining with her on whatever journey she was going to take.
How does it feel to lose your child? It feels like your world is going to end and it is at a standstill and nothing matters.
I thought that my being had just closed, agony had encircled me and I was worried that I would spend the rest of my life a shallow reflection of my former self, forever haunted by the shell of having my baby die inside of me. It felt like my husband and I were the only people to be suffering like this.
We felt like fools for so excitedly planning for a child who was never going to arrive. I felt ashamed for failing at the first hurdle of motherhood — delivering a live baby. I felt devastated that my child would never get a chance at life and that I would never get a chance to support her in having a future.
Mainly though I learnt that it does not matter how little a time you have with your child, your role as a parent begins early, your love for your child does not require them to breathe and your identity as a parent is down to you and only you. Love comes in all shapes and sizes, I am lucky to have had my child grow inside me, feeling the kicks and falling in love each and every day of my pregnancy. I never knew how all consuming it could be, how much you can miss someone you never properly met or how much you wonder why they never lived to see this day. I have been screaming a lot lately, screaming in conversations with God, but it’s not what you think.
I am not screaming at Him, I am screaming with Him. He is just as angry as I am that I, His little girl, missed out on a life with the little girl, the one He knitted together so delicately in my womb. I still want her back and I always will and that’s ok because I am the only one that is directly connected with her.
Till next week, if your heart is on fire and you want to share your story email [email protected]
