How mothers manage – Loss of a Child

I have always had a fascination and an interest for graveyards and cemeteries, particularly for all of the beautiful and poignant stones and statuary. I wonder at times if this innate interest of mine was a gift of God instilled to sustain me during this time of my life and in the future. I don’t know.

I do know that after the initial shock of losing my own infant, I spent hours and hours exploring the cemetery where he is buried and I could sense the history and the stories there. On one hand there is a sense of lives well lived and loved, and sadness for stories that were not finished and maybe grief over what could never be again.

I found this blog article a few weeks ago and wanted to save it for this month of November, our month for remembering our dead. Thankful for the here and now « Seeking Faithfulness

The blogger writes this so beautifully:

While my elders reminisced, my eyes began to scan the other tombstones. Many were covered with moss, illegible. Many were tumbled – not with neglect, but with time. Even stone eventually succumbs to the wind and rain, and names are obliterated. Some graves had simple pieces of granite to mark them. Nothing carved nor shaped nor purchased – just a special stone brought by the loved ones to say, “She lived.”


But many I could read…and I began to realize just how many infants were buried here.


Ada, Beloved Daughter of Alton and Mary. Age 9 months. Inscribed below was a short poem, in which her parents told how much they loved her and wished she could stay.


Ridenaur Twins. September 1889


Henry Fulton. Born April, 1886. Died March 1887. (11 months.)


Isaac Fulton. Born November 1990. Died February 1991. (3 months.)


And on, and on, and on. Some families buried 3 children, some more. Some appeared to have no children who lived beyond the age of 12. One tomb, from the 1800s, commemorated a little girl named Julia who only lived to be 3. A small white lamb statue marked her resting spot. The body of another little boy, age 2, lay buried beneath a statue of a playful beagle pup.


I could not help but wonder, how much grief had been poured out upon this very hill? I don’t mind telling you that my tears joined theirs. This modern mama, carrying her own precious bundle within, wept for those so long gone. I wept for those little ones, so beloved, laid to eternal rest. I thought of my own little sons, one blonde and bright and the other dark haired with the greatest grin – and I could not bear the thought of saying goodbye to one of them. How did these mothers manage?

How indeed.

Frankie’s mom has been openly sharing her grief journey. I think she explains how these moms, how all moms who have buried children manage:

All of us who have lost a child have a choice to make as we attempt to move on without them. We will be forever changed. It is hard not to get lost in bitterness or drown in depression.

Rabbi Harold Kushner writes in his book “When Bad Things Happen to Good People”:

I am a more sensitive person, a more effective pastor, a more sympathetic counselor because of Aaron’s life and death that I would ever have been without it. And I would give up all of those gains in a second if I could have my son back. If I could choose, I would forgo all the spiritual growth and depth which has come my way because of our experiences, and be what I was fifteen years ago, an average rabbi, an indifferent counselor, helping some people and unable to help others, and the father of a bright happy boy. But I cannot chose.

I cannot chose to bring my daughter back but I can chose to honor her by pressing on with gratitude for all that I do possess.