The Club

I belong to a special club. It’s one I have known about since I was little, but one I hoped that I would never personally belong to. I am a member of the women who have lost their babies. I always suspected that membership in this club would be difficult. The initiation fee was very high.

Not everyone stays as an active member in the club. Some people have more children and they move up to alumni status. Still members, still paid the same high dues with the same tear on their heart, but with another child to help dull the ache of those empty arms, and to help the heart grow fuller with love.

We are sort of a secret society. After a while, people forget that we are even members. We learn early not to talk about our membership. To openly wear the club insignia is anathema to other people and they will avoid us. We wear our club’s sign on the inside. You might even know some of us without ever knowing that we belong. The loss may have occurred 2 years ago, 10 years ago, 40 years ago. Time doesn’t lessen our membership. We don’t have a sustaining category. Our dues were too high.

You might be able to spot us from time to time. A stranger who might ask how old a particular child is. A lady on a park bench who surprisingly doesn’t ooooohhh and aaahh over a new born as much as one would expect.

It’s not that we begrudge anyone the happiness of a new baby. In fact we would love it if our club never got any bigger and that it would eventually die out with us, knowing perfectly well that that’s not the way in this life. No, it’s just that our hearts, once damaged, have to be protected and only we can protect them. Our husbands don’t even feel this as we have, they might not even be aware that we are still wounded. The rest of the world has gone on. The only one who can protect those tender feelings are us. So we keep a safe distance from new babies. Make mental note of what children the age of our missing child are doing. We are happy to know about new babies, but that happiness is still tempered with a very real sorrow.

Many of us in the club experienced our losses later in life. It’s a bittersweet irony that the miracle of life was shared with us one more time later in life, only to be snatched away and the hope of creating another new life is dim. It’s like a purgatory, doing our time from month to month, not sure exactly if our time is done in hoping to be a mother again, until the time really is over. You just hope and pray.

So don’t judge the members of this club too harshly. We really do love mothers, babies, and children. Just please be gentle with us.

Please feel free to leave a comment under the posting, or sign my Spiritbook (guestbook). You can chat with me on the tag board to the right!