Once, I had a son who never made it into the world. There are gentler ways to express it — he was stillborn, he passed away before he was born, I experienced a pregnancy loss. But at its core, the truth remains unchanged: I am here, and he is not.
Life often splits us into two distinct selves. Once, I was a woman free from the heartache of losing a child. Then, everything changed. I found myself at a crossroads, forced to walk a path I had never chosen, a journey that has forever altered my existence.
It has taken me six long years to find the courage to share my story about my son, Ethan. In the aftermath of his death, words that once comforted me became elusive. Nothing could encapsulate the experience of surviving such an unimaginable loss. I didn’t just feel sorrow; I felt hollow, as if a piece of me had vanished. Life, however, persisted.
The paradox of grief is that while your own world crumbles, the universe continues its relentless march forward. Time waits for no one, and therein lies both the beauty and the pain. We possess an incredible resilience, pushing ourselves to navigate treacherous and dark paths, sometimes crawling when walking feels impossible. We stumble, take wrong turns, and often find ourselves retracing steps, but slowly we discover new avenues.
My son, Ethan, was stillborn on Christmas Eve in 2011, propelling me into a realm of grief I had never anticipated. Initially, my sole focus was merely to exist; even breathing felt monumental.
In time, I began the arduous task of reshaping my grief into something that might lead to personal growth. I reassessed my life, distancing myself from people and situations that didn’t uplift me. I started supporting other families grappling with their own losses, sharing my feelings, both the dark and the light. I embraced the notion that while some things are senseless, I could honor the space in my heart where Ethan resides, transforming it from a void into a sacred place of remembrance.
I often believed that losing a child would be my undoing. I was correct; the person I once was vanished, and in her place stood a new version of myself. I felt like a changeling, as if the essence of who I was had been exchanged for an altered version — a haunting reflection of my former self.
Gradually, I began to merge the two aspects of my identity — part woman, part changeling. My living children became my guiding stars through the darkness. At that time, I had four little ones, each grappling with the loss of their brother and a mother who was adrift. They became my motivation. When I struggled to live for myself, I fought to be present for them.
Then, my devoted partner, struggling with his own grief, reached out to me. Together we navigated our pain, sometimes stumbling blindly, but eventually, we began to glimpse hope. We sought out those who walked a similar path, connecting with fellow travelers who, like us, were navigating a journey no one chooses. We took hesitant steps forward, sometimes at different paces, but we persevered, realizing that this path would become less daunting over time.
As I continued to move forward, I encountered yet another challenge. I was pregnant again. Surely, this time would be different. But at five weeks, I experienced bleeding, and another dream faded away. Undeterred, we pressed on, cautiously stepping into the unknown once more, and this time, we welcomed a healthy baby boy named Alex. He would always know about the brother who came before him, a soul who could not stay.
My heart danced in a complex mix of relief, guilt, joy, and hope at this new life. Alex healed a part of me I thought would remain a raw wound forever. Now, it’s a scar—a reminder that, while painful, is not an open sore. It signifies my survival, a testament to my journey.
Many ponder what lies beyond death. For centuries, philosophers, theologians, and thinkers have speculated about souls and what comes next. I don’t have all the answers. What I do possess is proof of life beyond loss.
My evidence includes a spirited little boy who came after Ethan, helping to mend my beautifully fractured heart. My data is found in the kindness we extend in Ethan’s name each year. My witnesses are four children who, despite their tender age, remember him. My validation comes from visiting families in their moments of loss, supporting them at hospitals and mortuaries. My testimony lies in choosing to rise each day, even when the desire isn’t there. Love endures beyond death; it is everlasting.
I yearned for Ethan to make a mark on the world. Though he never took a breath, he did indeed leave a legacy.
I am his mother. I once carried him, and I continue to carry him in my heart. Not even death can sever that bond. I will always embody his life after death.
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Summary
This article reflects on the deep journey of grief and survival after the loss of a child. The author shares her transformative experience of navigating motherhood, love, and loss, emphasizing the enduring bond with her son, Ethan. Through resilience and the support of family, she finds hope and healing while honoring her child’s memory.