I write extensively about grief, yet when another loved one departs, words escape me. Memories become my companions, constantly replaying moments shared with that person in my mind, gradually fading like the end credits of a movie. It doesn’t mean I cease thinking of the one I loved (and still love); rather, I’ve halted the constant rumination, and with time, the pain associated with reminiscing subsides.
Mourning woman, old tomb sculpture, Paris, France. Free public domain CC0 image.
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The fragrance of their cologne or perfume may now evoke tears of joy. I’ll eventually arrive at a place where I can smile at the memory of them. Though not fully there yet with this loss, I know I’m on the path to healing.
The following is one of my most recent poems addressing loss:
Why is there a push to get back to ‘normal’ as if normal is always being jolly? What’s wrong with sitting with our feelings for a while? Should we aspire to be fictional characters who never experience sadness?
No one can exist without feeling sadness sometimes, and if such a person exists, I feel even more sadness for them. It’s essential to allow ourselves to feel the unavoidable stages of grief when we experience the loss of a loved one. This is the balance due.
When we share our life with someone and lose them, part of our life also diminishes. We’ve given pieces of ourselves, and now we no longer feel whole because the person carrying those pieces is no longer with us. It’s terrible, but this is how we know we’ve loved someone completely.
Perhaps in our sadness, there is a sentiment that can bring us comfort – the knowledge that we had the opportunity to love someone so deeply, and even when they pass away, they remain on earth because we carry them with us in some form or another. They’ve imprinted on our hearts, and we are forever changed by both having them with us and by being apart from them.
We must feel, whatever it is that we feel, whether it’s joy, sadness, anger or any emotion that makes us human. We should all find others who give us grace during this process and allow us to grieve at our own pace. Nobody should rush us out of the process or expect us to hide our pain for their convenience or comfort.
After experiencing a stillbirth, I found it difficult to return to teaching at the high school. Being in the same environment where I had experienced so much distress during my challenging pregnancy was too overwhelming for me. I didn’t want to answer questions or be reminded of the loss of our first child.
The Murrain Children, Photo Taken May 30th, 2023
Initially, my husband and I had planned to spend the summer traveling with our new baby. However, instead, we spent the summer grieving in the new home we had purchased in preparation for our arrival. I avoided calls and emails from the school for as long as I could, but eventually, I had to admit that I wouldn’t be returning.
One day, I summoned the courage to collect my things from my old classroom. It was a difficult and emotional task, but it gave me a sense of closure. A year later, I sat down on the anniversary of my daughter’s stillbirth and wrote the following poem:
April carries with it’s heavy rain
Memories of you, My most piercing pain
In May the many flowers bloom
That’s when you know I’ll visit soon
Though crushed, I know I must be brave
While planting daisies at you grave
With tears, I’ll wash your sunken stone
And sit alone
Alone, I moan
I decided to take up a teaching position in a new city and district, and also enrolled in a Master’s degree program. However, my plans changed when I found out that I was pregnant again, and it was likely to be more complicated than my first pregnancy.
While I respect that not everyone desires to be a mother, it was a dream of mine to have a family. Thus, I left my teaching job and unenrolled from my courses to focus on being healthy, spending quality time with my spouse, and preparing my heart and home for the arrival of our twins.
Despite facing rumors from a few of my former high school students that I had lost my mind after having children, I found motherhood to be a fulfilling and beautiful experience. It was a stark contrast to the difficult time I had teaching in a Detroit charter school where a student once threatened to murder me, my spouse, and my unborn child.
The reality is that after having children, I discovered a renewed sense of purpose and joy. Everything I thought I had lost was, in fact, reclaimed. I am not a mother who resents family life, so if that is what you are looking for, you won’t find it here. There are plenty of platforms expressing disdain for children, but I am here to share my perspective on finding delight and purpose in everyday child-rearing. If you are looking to hear from a mother who has found fulfillment in motherhood, then you have found me, just as I have found myself.
Song + Prose 