Comfort the Mother
Prior to becoming a mom, I envisioned my future of motherhood to be one of love and care. That’s what I had seen from other people — loving their babies fiercely, being able to comfort a cry that no one else could, their simple presence bringing calm to the storm. What I didn’t realize, and am still learning, is how often I would require care and comfort as a mom.
It’s been two years now since I gave birth to my first child — a baby boy. Our vision of our future shattered when I went into preterm labor during the second trimester. I begged for help at the hospital, knowing they could help stop the contractions. They explained to me that my baby was already on his way. He passed away during birth.
I laid in a hospital bed, my world suddenly unbearably heavy. All I could think about was that I didn’t know how I could move on from this. How does one resume life after losing their baby? My whole body ached with loss. My arms burned, not having my child in them. My chest could find no relief from the pressure that seemed to be squeezing it tightly. My mind could think of nothing but my perfect baby that was born too soon.
While still in the hospital, I heard people saying, “Wow, she is so strong. There is nothing as strong as a mother. Moms are amazing.” And I could not relate to what they were saying. Maybe they were trying to help, but it was not helpful. While speaking words to soothe their own discomfort, no words were able to comfort me, the mother.
Though words could not soothe me, I did find comfort in the people that physically took care of me while at the hospital. Too distraught to care for myself, they made sure I was fed and helped me stay clean. They took pictures for us and created items that would help us remember our baby. I marvel that these kind nurses were able to provide a bit of comfort during a time when that was so hard to come by.
At the funeral, I wore a white dress to represent my angel. I was still bleeding, and my breasts were sore from the milk that had been produced for the baby that they would not be able to feed. People brought stuffed animals and roses. Yet no physical thing that day could have comforted me, the new mom without her baby to hold. I will, however, always remember the friend that left work and drove hours to be there for me on that day. I still turn to her when things feel unbearable, because she showed up for me at my worst.
People who knew us reached out, asking if there was anything that they could do. I would always reply that they could look at pictures of my baby with me. It was the only thing I wanted to do — look at my baby, talk about my baby, let others know that he had been here! And while I made that offer to so many, there was only one who came to look at his pictures with me. I will always be grateful to her for taking the time to look through each photo, commenting on his tiny features and asking me questions about how I was doing postpartum. She gave of herself to give me the comfort I so desperately needed as a new mom.
Upon my return to work, people may have thought that I did not notice, but I did. I noticed that no one looked me in the eye. I noticed that no one was able to have a long conversation with me. I noticed that I was given plenty of space. Whatever the intentions may have been, this was lonely and isolating.
I was finally approached privately by a coworker. “I haven’t said anything because I really don’t know what to say, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and your baby and I just wanted you to know that.” To have someone break the silence was such a relief. And though they did not know what to say, those were the most comforting words I heard at work that day.
I miss my son so much, and continue to find my own beliefs, items, and memories that are consistently comforting to me. The grief has become familiar, so it’s not as scary as it used to be. But I still find myself feeling desperate at times for someone to reach out. I always feel such relief when someone actually does.
I have a living child now and have been able to experience the magic of giving that comfort that only a mother can provide. And yet, I am still in need of comfort myself. There are times when my baby cries uncontrollably, and then I feel the tears roll down my own face as well. Every so often, a person will reach out and give me exactly what I need. Sometimes they know they are doing it, but usually they don’t.
Maybe you’ve noticed this in your own life, too. After so much giving, it comes time for us to be given to. It doesn’t need to be from a lot of people. In fact, it wouldn’t mean as much if it were. But when one person shows up, we know that it’s meant just for us.
So whose job is it then, to care for the mothers? The job belongs to each of us. The ones who love fiercely, who can comfort even the silent cries, and whose presence brings calm to the storm. It is the job of a mother.
A mother is strong because she loves, strong because she feels and strong because she will always care. A mother is strong because she has power. Power to influence, to shape and mold, and power to heal. Yet may we always remember that a mother, though we may be in awe of her, will always be in need of her own comfort, too.
KELSEY CICHOSKI is a mother to two- a child in heaven and a child on earth. Her motherhood journey so far has consisted of being a foster mom to a group of siblings, losing her first baby to incompetent cervix, and then receiving a cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy treatments during her second pregnancy. Through these experiences, she has found peace through writing. She hopes that by sharing, you can also feel a little bit of peace. Kelsey is writing from Nevada, USA.
