The letter I wish parents didn’t need

For newly bereaved parents

You came home with empty arms. I am so sorry this happened.

You’ve likely just lived the worst day of your life - holding death in its most innocent form as your arms physically ache for your living, breathing, crying baby. This ache comes from deep within - your body knows they’re missing - and while it may not feel like it now, it will learn to carry this ache as armor through the ebbs and flows of this grief journey. This armor that is actually love without bounds. 

I won’t sugarcoat it. Nothing makes sense. Everything hurts. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. This is as devastating as it feels. Feel every ounce of it. Give it space. Let it burn. Nothing about this is okay but giving it space is what allows you to rise to carry this pain. 

You have learned how to defy the unimaginable in those moments you were forced to let your baby run off ahead. Living with a heart shattered to bits, in so much pain it hurts to breathe. In a world where you’ve learned that there is no safe zone and some prayers - no matter how loud or to whom they are directed - go unanswered.  

And somehow, you are here. Doing the unimaginable. One moment at a time. You are choosing to cling on. After all, you’ve already lived the worst day of your life. So you rise.

Somehow, seemingly against your will, the sunlight still meets your tired, swollen, bloodshot eyes each morning during that brief sliver of time that your brain assumes the nightmare you just woke from is not the harsh reality that consumes your mind moments later. This is not how it should be. This is not fair. 

As if this impossibility is not hard enough, unhelpful platitudes will start to fall from the lips of well-meaning family and friends. Here’s the truth. People will say shitty things. Others will not know what to say so they don’t say anything, ever. That’s also shitty. So hold tight to those that show up and see your pain for what it truly is. Let the rest fade. You need your energy elsewhere.

There is no greater loss than the death of a child. One that is out-of-order and, with it, the death of the future you imagined. This is your unique grief to own. As unique as the love you have for your precious baby. No one can take that from you.

No distance can sever that love.

You have the right to let this grief be exactly what it needs to be to honor the limitless love that you have for your child. Whether that means that in this moment you are honoring your energy by choosing to lay in bed, or eat something, or tend to your surviving children, or walk your dog. You have the right to let this pain paralyze you or energize you. Since you’re reading this, I’m guessing you chose the latter. Keep going.

Because your baby died and you did not, you’ll probably feel the most alive you have ever felt before. Like how you don't care for involuntary functions (like breathing). Or the fact that your body needs nourishment (when your taste buds have gone numb). Or when you left the hospital without them.  This chasm of such grave loss is suffocating and overwhelmingly disorienting.

Know this - you did not leave them behind. You carry them in your heart and they will be with you always.  You will not carry them alone. At times, this will feel impossible to survive. And dare I say it, to thrive. You will. One day. As long as you keep choosing to rise. 

I imagine it’s safe to say that your life is now divided into “before” and “after”. This feels really hard because it is hard. The fact that the sun still rises, the world keeps spinning, and people are smiling. How could that be?  I am so sorry this happened. 

This weight of grief, it cannot be fixed. Nor does it need to be. But it can be carried. Grief is normal and valid. It is just love in its most raw, unfiltered, passionate form. And as you learn to carry this pain, it will lose its power. Hope will find you. Light will shine through you. There is always going to be someone to help lift you up. Our RAISE Family will stand alongside yours. But you needn't worry about that right now. Just do the next right thing. Unfortunately, no one can do it for you. Rise.

Sending you love & light,

Alexi - Rory’s Mama