By nature we are all attracted to the darkness in other peoples lives. Probably to compare our own stories to see how messed up we are. I carry my secret in a tight pocket. Since this bog is also a secret I will let you in on my midnight hour.
Everyday I carry a weight. The weight brings down the corners of my mouth and it takes a little extra to smile. The weight hangs off my heart and I try a little harder to feel compassion for other people. In my line of work… this is crucial. I must make the face but more importantly I must make others believe it to be true.
Want to know the truth? I have learned to cringe at peoples reaction. The instinctual head tilt and the way eyebrows jump to the hairline. Revealing makes people look at you differently. When people know, your emotions that have hardened to steel turn to glass in their eyes.
I get it. My secret is difficult. My secret is a nightmare. Instant depression. Self medicating. Automatically resenting. I could no longer look at my husband. His face was too familiar. His grief wasn’t compatible with mine. I was trapped in cold thoughts, too hard to escape from. My body turned sarcophagus. Giving and taking away life like power hungry deity.
He was my seventh loss. He was my son. He was beautiful. His heart stopped. He was supposed to be safe. Something was off all along. I could tell something needed to be protected. I didn’t know how. I was a perfect mother. I know I was. I did everything right. He never cried. My silent boy. I screamed for him. I cried his tears. I laid with him. I searched for him on his face. Oh my boy. My fire turned to ash.
I don’t tell anyone anymore. I have grown so much through the years. I am not ashamed. I don’t wish to hide him. He is alive in my heart and everyday his short memories are carried with me. He is talked about with those who shared the happiness I felt. He was celebrated. He was wanted. He was stillborn… but he was still born. I kissed his lips. I mourned then and I mourn now. I will carry him with me happily and forever. I am his mother and I keep him always.
It is something desperate to have the need to carry sadness. I would never choose to forget. It hurts but it’s the last thing I have of him. Someone once said,
“When a child looses a parent they are an orphan
When someone loses a spouse they are a widow
There is no word to describe someone who lost a child.”