In the weeks after losing a child, we wander around in a fog, it protects us. Continually, our minds are trying to accept the truth. This doesn’t happen all at once, but rather in little pieces.
When we start to see more clearly, we notice that all around us are other grieving mothers. We didn’t see them before because we didn’t recognize the signs. Then tragically, one day we do. It’s as if a pair of glasses is placed on the bridge of our noses and suddenly they appear. Like the cheap 3D ones at movie theaters, the glasses allow us to see things that have always been there but were invisible to us.
One newly bereaved mom I know said it’s like a bat signal shining on the underside of heaven. Bringing us all together. A signal you were oblivious to until you lost your child. Now you need it because you can’t do this alone.
I have wonderfully supportive people in my life. A tribe I’ve built myself. Try as they might, they can not understand what it’s like to lose a child. And I’m glad they don’t. The other bereaved mothers, do. We are bound together in tragedy and pain. And healing.
Recently, I had an epiphany. When I meet a grieving mom for the first time, I believe our children meet in heaven. Why wouldn’t they? They are still bound to us. They know what we are doing. When I hug the mom, I am certain Becca hugs the child. They can look at us and know for a moment we’ve found understanding.
My first instinct is to rush in and offer comfort. This is my duty. And my honor. Eventually, these mothers will be charging in to give support. Right now, it’s my turn.
As I write this, I know that my daughter is holding a beautiful girl named McKenna.
McKenna’s mom is struggling. I’ll do what I can to help her here and Becca will comfort her child there.
It’s our life now.