Tag Archives: Grief Loss and Bereavement

A Moment with us, Forever in our Hearts

13 Mar

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. It is on purpose. Life goes on and we have to live in the present  and hope in the future in order to really grow positively.

My sister was pregnant with her first and I thought long and hard about whether or not I’d write anything during that time. After a few months of pondering, I decided I would stay away from blogging for a while.

My sister and I are twins. She’s my best friend. The kind that knows and feels my pain and vice versa. It comes naturally. I couldn’t take the chance of causing her anguish or sadness at this important time in her life because of what I was still going through, so I decided to live in the moment. With her. And the new joy we were all anticipating.

I cannot lie. I was nervous. We are identical twins after all but, thank the good Lord all went well.

Over the passed nine months, I’m thankful for hope restored. My sister and my adorably handsome nephew give me hope.

There is still not one day that goes by that I don’t think of my Demilade. It is amazing that I carried the boy for eight months and only got to glance at his face for a few hours and yet, I can never go a day without thinking of him. If he was born breathing, he would be turning two years old today. It’s hard to imagine but I had already pictured him at different stages while he was still in my tummy. Those images don’t go away from your mind, but the sadness that usually accompanied them does wane.

Now my husband and I tease about how my genes were overruled. I guess my sister and I have weak genes. It’s not fair! :). I sometimes find myself chuckling about his flat feet and wide finger nail beds. I don’t know how he’d have ended up looking but I am so grateful for a visual.

As I remember my boy on the day I laid eyes on him, I am grateful for strength, new life and healing.


…and the baby?

23 Dec

Its the end of the year. For whatever reason, I’m running into a lot of people that I have not seen for some months now. I never remember that the last time I saw some of them was when my stomach reached out ahead of me. It was front and center. Anyone who knows me would have known I was with child.

For over nine months now, I have been grieving the loss of my first child. The one who’s cry I didn’t get to hear; who’s little fingers never gripped my own; who’s absence left me broken. But I have been feeling one with myself as of late. When images of his face flash before my eyes, I am no longer overcome with sadness, anger or hopelessness. God has granted me some peace of mind.

However, it is the season of holiday parties, gatherings with friends and family and apparently a time for me to be reminded that Demilade is not with us for his first Christmas. I have been to maybe four or five holiday gatherings and at each one I have been greeted warmly with the usual “hello, how are you?” I am never prepared for what comes next out of these well meaning individuals. “And the baby, how’s he?” 

It makes sense. They saw my size 2 body morph into something much more meaningful. They shared in the excitement of the new life we all expected. It makes sense that after an appropriate amount of time, they’d ask how my baby was. And on some level, I really do appreciate the acknowledgment. It is what comes next that I don’t yet have a handle on. My first instinct is to walk away and find a corner to fight back the tears in. However, it has been just as effective for me to respond with the only truth I know. “He is fine.”

He is fine. With God. That’s as fine as he can be.


Today, an old colleague stopped by. I hadn’t seen her since January or February but we work with the same people so, I did not expect her to ask me how my baby was. She had to have known. But there I was, in front of my supervisees who have no knowledge of my loss, having to say out loud once again that my son didn’t make it. I can no longer take the time to delve deep into all that has happened to me and my child with every person who insensitively asks “what happened?” when I actually answer the “and the baby?” question. What happened is that my son died and I will not be giving the play by play of the causes while standing in a room full of cheery party goers or worse yet, in a quiet office with random passersby. It has taken me nine months to stand in such rooms, among oblivious people and be able to smile like my life is just fine.

Uttering those simple words in response to this inevitable question help me to believe that my boy is just fine. He is fine. As bad as these circumstances may seem, this too is therapy because tomorrow I know how I will respond.

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