Silent Mourning

There is this moment right before dawn, you can see the gentle glow of sun start to fill the sky. It's that pink haze that promises morning is coming, a new day will begin. In those fleeting moments there's hope, there's an expectation that the light will chase away the darkness.

The mourning I experience is silent and there is no dawn coming. My mourning is for children some say were never really my own. I am an adoptive mother who has had a failed adoption.

For years my husband and I watched and rejoiced as our friends and family around us welcomed new babies season after season. I delighted for them but I would be lying if I said I never shed a tear. Year after year we prayed and hoped for a baby of our own, then one day we got THE call.

I stood there forgetting how to respond I was shocked and excited, they had not just one but two boys. Two boys just for us. I remember the first time I held my newborn in my arms. He was only hours old and so tiny and perfect and he was mine. We signed our papers and our boys came home. The next nine months we spent life just living, living with our boys. We loved them, held them and grew together. Then out of the blue we got the call, our boys our sons were no longer, ours.

I cried, I pleaded, I begged, I even yelled but it was out of my hands. My lawyer promised we would fight, at the right price, of course. My heart was broken I felt like my sons had died. I wanted to mourn their loss with those around me but I realized very quickly that when you mourn the loss of an adopted child it is often mourned in silence.

Everyday there are reminder of my sons. Sippy cups, bottles, car seats and wooden high chairs. I still see evidence of their sticky fingerprints on my windows but I can't bring myself to wash them away. Today I heard a song I used to sing to my sons as they fell asleep and my heart stopped for a moment and I couldn't breath.

I can't begin to tell you how many well meaning people have tried to comfort me. If you've never experienced the loss of a child you can't understand. Yet if you are a mama who has lost a non biological child it seems that no one can understand. My family and friends think it's time for me to move on. After a few days people stopped calling, their lives were moving on. I don't know how to let go. I still find myself smelling their clothes just to remember. I'm not ready to let go, so I mourn my sons in the quite early mornings before dawn. I wipe my tears away before the light breaks through the dark. I have no graves to weep at. This pain is my own silent despair. I pray that for me morning will come again but today I mourn, alone.
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26-30
Jan 6, 2013