I DID NOT LEAVE YOU, MUM

Grief. There are no words. But maybe we should look for them.

On Sunday I’m seeing one of my good friends. I haven’t seen her for months. She has been in, and still is in, grief of the most horrific kind. She lost the baby days before the due date. The heart just stopped. I left her a voice message without knowing, “Um excuse me, but why have I not been updated? Isn’t he coming any day now?”

“Hi Abi, I’m going to leave you a voice message after this one, but it’s horrific so you might want to wait until you’re in a calm place.”

That’s when I learned and howled. Started wailing in the car with my son and husband wondering what the hell was going on.

Nothing so horrible, nothing so unfair and so nightmarish had ever happened to anyone I’d been close to. The elderly have passed which is always awful but we can always say, “They lived a full life. They were in pain, they are resting now. You can see them in their grandchildren.” Everything makes cyclical sense. But a baby a few beats away from breaking into the world, and parents eagerly awaiting after years of trying to conceive…what can you possibly say?

“What do I do? What do I say? There must be something somewhere, help me, help!” I desperately asked in What’s App groups. As with all these unimaginable horror stories, it had happened to the best person, the person who deserved a child more than most. So I needed to find something to say.

I was sent this piece of text in Spanish by a mother I’ve never met. The author was unknown, but it was a beautiful piece, and I thought it was the only thing close to helping. I sent it to my friend who was hanging halfway between worlds.

I DID NOT LEAVE YOU, MUM

I didn't leave you, I stayed with you.

I stayed safe in your heart, in that room that feels empty today but is well occupied with memories, dreams, loving words said between joy, sadness, anger, and pain.

No one knows how to tell you why, and for what reason. I don't know either. Everyone has good intentions, but no one knows how to say the right words or give you the right hug. No one knows what it feels like or how to help you stop feeling it, but I am there and I help you continue (with my tiny step) your valuable step through the world. My heartbeats are now there, hidden between yours. Maybe today you don't hear them among the haze of thoughts that invade you, between the bitterness of what you suffer in silence and the recklessness of those who tell you "Everything happens for a reason, now they’re in a better place."

I know it's not fair, it's not right. It’s not.

I know that divine plans do not give you any consolation now, that medical reasons do not satisfy you, that guilt and helplessness attack you, but I want you to know that I never lacked anything while I was with you and, for that reason, I am not leaving you. I remain in the form of the light at the end of that tunnel that today feels eternal, in the laughter of my siblings, in your morning coffees, in the hummingbird that visits your garden, in each act of love that you give to someone and that you give yourself. I am in every second you need to feel better, in the permission you give yourself to get angry, to talk to a friend, to hug tightly and cry. I am in the courage you find to get up every day and continue living and loving, even if it is not easy now. I am in every goodnight kiss to each person you love, in every time you remember me, in the first laugh that comes out of your stomach after our goodbye, and in every laugh that comes after.

I promise you that many will come.

Don't feel guilty about feeling good one day, about doing things for your own good. I know you're afraid of forgetting me, of replacing me, of stopping to miss me. I want you to know that I will never leave you, no matter how short my journey in the world has been. With my tiny feet, I left a footprint that hurts a lot today, but time can help it heal slowly, at a pace that allows you to grieve without pressure. No hurry; be patient with yourself. None of this is your fault.

You deserve a happy life even if you suddenly feel very sad. There is room to feel everything, sometimes at the same time. That's okay and no one should expect anything different. People may get uncomfortable when you talk about me and your voice breaks, but it doesn't matter. Talk about me and tell them that it hurts, because talking helps to heal and because there are many women who have gone through this and no one should be alone and silent.

They say that each child leaves cells in her mother's body and she will never be the same again, and boy is that true because I am a little piece of you. Thank you for wishing me so strongly and for holding me with so much love with your warm body, during the time I was there. Even if you feel like I'm far away, I'm very close because of how much you love me. I know we didn't meet in the world as much as we would have liked, but we met long before, in your dreams.

I am always your baby and you are always my mom. I didn't leave you.

This piece got me thinking about words. Why do we say so much sometimes and say too little at other crucial moments? My plan with this weekly post was to talk about hot topics and give my unwanted opinion on things the whole word and the angry algorithm seem to be interested in. My goal was to get people to see the other side of things. I recognize how useless that was now. The human brain does not work that way. A mind made up will read words and remain unchanged. It was a waste of my brain and breath.

But this piece passed around in WhatsApp groups by women who live in a patriarchal world that doesn’t have the time nor the words to understand or value life or death…I think this is worth sharing. These clumsily translated words just might help someone heal someday. We need a world of words like these.