I Am Still A Mother Of Two

"You got kids? No? Well, don't wait too long!" I used to dread the question when I was trying to have my first child. However, once I had Lea, and then Owen, the question was an easy conversation starter. As bereaved parents, we wish answering such an innocent question could be simple again.

A special photo

During the first two months after Owen’s death, I created a nightly ritual of fondly looking through photos of my son's beautiful 7 months of life and watching our family's favorite videos of him on repeat, often tearing up.

One day while browsing through my husband’s photos, I rediscovered a rare photo of me sitting on the living room floor with the kids on my lap - Owen, 2 months, and Lea, 22 months. As a new mom of two under 2, you can see the under-eye bags, pronounced eye crinkles, and spit-up on my already stained sweatshirt and maternity jeans.

The old me would consider this a “bad” photo – one I would never share on social media. Now it’s one of my most prized photos. Despite the exhaustion, I look truly happy as a mother of two. All was right in my sleep-deprived world.

I have this photo on my phone wallpaper now. It reminds me that even though Owen is not here in body, I am still a mother of two. I still have two children. I didn’t lose one - I know where he went. Why did he die so soon? Only God knows.

I do know that I am a mother of two: to one on earth and one in heaven.

The dreaded question

If a stranger asks me “How many children do you have?” I’m not sure what I will say. I doubt a somber “I have two kids, one living” will fly at a Meetup. Maybe I could say, “I have one” and quietly add “here” so as not to discount my beloved son.

It’s not the inherent sadness that makes me dread answering this question, but the conflict between erasing my son’s existence and causing the friendly inquirer to lose face for unintentionally entering sensitive territory .

Whatever happens, I will always be a mother to my daughter and a mother to my son.

We’re still mothers

When my mother passed away 14 years ago, she stopped mothering me, but she is still my mother and I am still her daughter.

When mothers tragically give birth to sleeping newborns, they are still mothers.

If my daughter moves across the country when she grows up, I’ll still be her mother.

I guess you could call my relationship with my son a divinely long-distance one where reception is super spotty at best. So, even though my son is in heaven, I am still his mother. And I still have a son - only in a different form.

I still love and care for both children

I'm afraid of the day when it will feel like the world has forgotten Owen, that I even had him. And if I bring him up too often, there will be resistence: “She’s killing the mood.” “She’s vying for attention.” “She’s dwelling on the past.” "Just move on."

I love and care for my children in different ways. With Lea, I play with her, bathe and feed her, keep her safe, share photos of her, and talk about that funny thing she said at dinner to the relatives.

With Owen, I care for him by communing with him. I love him through keeping his memory alive with others, talking about him and honoring him.

I also care for my children by taking care of myself.

Owen will always live in my heart. But a piece of me also died because we were like one for most of his life. After all, my body carried Owen for 9 months and nourished him for 7 months afterward.

As a mom to one on earth and one in heaven, I sometimes feel caught between both states. And while I've entrusted Owen in the best heavenly care, I am still his mother.