Rainbows

My mother had a child die before I was born - her name was Denise, and they called her "Denny." She was three when she was hit by a car. I was told about it, and there was a grave, but my mother never visited it. She never talked about it much. I knew that I'd had another sister, but that was about it. When I was older and could drive, I went to visit the grave. I was the only one who ever did, as far as I know. My older brothers and sisters (who had been there when she was hit) never talked much about her, either. 

My mother did keep her picture on the wall with ours. She was beautiful - a little blonde pixie with dark brown eyes. But there was no yearly memory of her (I didn't even know her birthday until I was an adult). I always wondered, especially after I had my own children, how someone could lose a child and not acknowledge it that way. I imagined the pain was so great, maybe she just had to block it out as much as she could? 

Of course, now I know what it feels like. But I still can't imagine doing what she did... living as much as possible in denial. I'm sure she thought she was "moving on," but I don't know if she really did. Especially since she once said to me, "When you came along, I was afraid to get close to you, because I'd already lost one child." And I've always been estranged, in that way, from my mother. There's a wall there she put up after her daughter died, and there's no getting past it for me, the daughter who came afterward.

There's a name on this journey for babies born after a loss - they call them "Rainbow Babies." The loss of a child has been like the longest, raging storm, a dark, harrowing place we weather as mothers of those born without breath, but as the clouds begin to clear, the sun finally shines, and there is a rainbow that finally appears...

I was my mother's "Rainbow Baby." But there was never any real joy in it for her - only fear. Fear to risk, fear of being hurt again, fear of loss, fear of loving me. 

I don't ever want to do that to another child.

The other day I was watching Oprah (it's amazing what I'll do to distract myself nowadays...) and the father of Susan Smith's children was on (remember her? The one who put her two little boys in the car and pushed it into a lake? Don't get me started...)

Anyway, he went on to get married again and have another baby... and he held that little baby for the first time and whispered -  I promise you, I won't let what happened to my boys make me afraid to love you. 

That's what I want to be able to say to another baby. I'm not there yet, but I hope to be. As a mother, you always wonder if you're going to be able to love another baby as much, after you have your first and are pregnant with your second. And after you lose a child this way, there's that fear... how can I ever let myself love another baby, get close again? My mother made the choice not to. I don't want to do that.

I don't ever want to let fear get in the way of loving another baby.