A Neglected Victim

If you're unfamiliar with pregnancy & infant loss, you may wonder who suffers the most when a child dies. If you ask my husband, he would say that I did, because I carried Tyler & Ethan and knew them the best. But if you were to ask me, I'd say that he suffered more, because he never got the chance to know them like I did. Either way, the parents' grief is the most profound, that is for certain. No one loves a human being like their own mother and father. I never knew how much my own parents must love me until I had my own children. Now I understand.

Oftentimes I'm a little selfish with my children. They're mine (ok, ours)! I want to be everything to them, and I want to be great at it. It's silly, but I get a little upset when people step on my parental toes and start doing things for/with my kids like they're their own. I think I've always been like that, but more so since the boys have passed. My kids are my everything (no offense, Brad - you're right up there too).

Which brings me (at last) to today's topic. The neglected victim. Any guesses who it is? Yep, it's my daughter, Addison. She was barely 3 years old when Tyler & Ethan died. Aside from enduring the death of our babies, breaking the news to Addison was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I knew I had to explain this to her, but I didn't know how. So I asked an expert...our funeral director. I remember he looked at us and said "imagination is worse than reality." He recommended that I tell her the truth, but in terms she could understand. So I told her that the boys were born too early and that their bodies didn't work. So their spirits, the part of you that makes you laugh and love, went to live with God. And since God is everywhere, the boys will always be with us. She cried a little, probably because I was teary when I told her, but  then she wanted to play. I wasn't sure if she got it or not. At the funeral, Diego asked if we wanted one last look inside the coffin (we had a closed casket service). We asked if that was ok with Addison around. Again, he told us that imagination is worse than reality. So we let her see them. And I'm so glad we did. While it was open, I read a book - Goodnight Moon - to all three of my children. I'm so glad we had that time together, and I'm so glad that Addison met her brothers.

Now, you might be concerned that I have just scarred our child for life. Not so. I truly think it was good for her. She asks questions about the boys, draws pictures of them and asks if we can send them things in Heaven. She talks to them when we go to the cemetery, and she includes them in her prayers every night ("...and please take care of Donut & P'sketti."). And she is sad for them, and for our family, that we can't all be together. It breaks my heart that she has had to learn about death at such an early age, and in such a close-hitting way. She's the victim we often forget about because we assume she's too young to understand. Truth is, she gets it, sometimes better than a lot of adults do.

So this October, let's remember our babies gone too soon, and let's also give thanks for our living children who have suffered and walked this road with us. No more forgotten victims.