Life in the Silence
Infant
Loss Awareness Month
Jacob
entered the world silently.
There
was no collaborative gasp of joy with the final push that announced his
arrival. No newborn wail of indignation as his warm little body emerged and
felt coldness for the first time. No congratulatory cheer at the declaration
“It’s a boy.” Only hushed whispers among medical professionals. Just a mother’s
muffled sobs and a father’s stoic silence. A chilly hospital delivery room,
warmed by the respect of random people brought together, celebrating this tiny
gift of life now faded.
We
weren’t prepared for the silence, Jacob’s dad and I. We never heard his cry,
his laugh, his voice. Not his infant babbling and toddler mispronunciations, nor
his squeaky transition from boyhood into manhood. We never came to know his
giggles, his outbursts of anger, squeals of excitement, or cries of
frustration.
We came
to know the quiet. But we weren’t prepared for the larger silence. The
irreparable hole in our family. An obvious incompleteness, especially during
holidays and family pictures. On Mother’s Day. In the headcount of
grandchildren, making sure to include him. The uncertainty of how to answer
“How many children do you have?”
We felt
his strong presence, yet couldn’t see or touch him. Sometimes, in an ordinary
moment, we’d hear the tune we’d sung to him while he grew in my belly. A
message from Jacob? “I’m here. Don’t forget me.”
Our
marriage struggled to survive as others divorced after the loss of their child.
We grieved the buried sadness in our older son, afraid to show his hurt or ask
his questions because it might make Mommy cry. We feared pregnancy, of investing
emotionally again. Of another hushed delivery room.
We
were not prepared for the blessings that arose out of the silence. For the
families after us that we’ve been blessed to comfort through their stillbirths
and infant deaths. For the occasions to educate doctors, nurses, and chaplains
on child loss. For changes in hospital protocol we’ve enacted to help parents
through the silence. And for opportunities to share our story, to support you in
your story.
Though
he never took a breath outside my womb, Jacob breathed life into our family
from the moment of his conception, and he continues to bless us now, thirty
years after his quiet entry into the world. He lives loud and strong through
us. His life has a purpose. HAS. Present
tense.
ABOUT
Kristine
Zimmer Orkin believes
that blessings can be found everywhere, even in the most tragic of life
circumstances. She and Philip Orkin have three sons: Joseph, Jacob, and
Jonathan. In June 2007, Jacob welcomed his daddy Home at Heaven’s gate. The two
have had ten years of quality time together.
No comments:
Post a Comment