birthday after loss

Today, 4 years ago was the day you lived.

You were born yesterday 4 years ago – and you passed on, tomorrow 4 years ago.

It’s been 4 years, not a long time and still, quite some time has passed.

Certain things have changed – and some have not.

I miss you – and that won’t change. It doesn’t have to change. I don’t expect it will ever change.

Those we love are those we miss when they are no longer around. This is normal.

Yesterday, as we celebrated you and your sister’s birthday she said: “I want Amya! I want my twin…” It came out of nowhere, what seemed to me out-of-context because at that moment we were not talking about you. She continued asking: “Did Amya want to grow up with me?”

I looked at your father, saying: “What do I say?” I translated what your sister had said, so he would understand in his language and he responded: “Yes, I think she would have if she could.”

We will honour and remember you – and that won’t change. It doesn’t have to change. I don’t expect it will ever change.
Those we love are those we honour and remember when they are no longer around. This is normal.

Your sister has just grasped the concept of impermanence – she cried tears of sadness for 30 minutes after her birthday party was over this past Saturday. Your sister opened a present a bought in memory of you, a book about a girl who lost her name. I said: “I think Amya is glad if you keep the book and enjoy it for her.” She responded: “Yes, Amya can’t use the book where she is now…”

We celebrate your memory – and that won’t change. It doesn’t have to change. I don’t expect it will ever change. Those we love are those whose memory we celebrate when they are no longer around. This is normal. Nowadays, butterflies have become “Greetings from Amya”. How lucky are we to have a garden (on earth) with flowers and plants to attract lots of your greetings.

You are part of our lives – and that won’t change. It doesn’t have to change. I don’t expect it will ever change.
Those we love remain part of our lives, even when they are no longer around. This is normal. This is normal after loss.

We miss you
We honour and remember you
We celebrate your memory
You are part of our lives
And your physical impermanence won’t change that.
It doesn’t have to change.

Thank you Amya – my Hope – for teaching me so much about life and death, grief and grieving, love and loss.

It’s been 4 years
Since I held you
In my arms
The only time, my child

(Author’s Note: The book ‘Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple’ has just been released in its German translation (‘Trauernde Eltern: Wie ein Paar den Verlust eines Kindes überlebt’). This book has been writing in honour and memory of both of my daughters.)

This article was first published September 2, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

grief quote — Grief Quote by Nathalie Himmelrich

At the beginning of this week I noticed the date of my article for Still Standing Magazine: September 3^rd. This day, 3 years ago, I held my twin girls in my arms for the first, last and only time – together, alive and in my arms, where they belonged. Holding them together was my vision all the along the pregnancy.

Holding her as she passed away, was not.

Today, September 1^st, as I’m writing this, it is their birthday. It is a day with mixed feelings for me. My husband and I went into Ananda Mae’s bedroom this morning and sang ‘Happy Birthday to you’ with both their names. My daughter said: “No, it’s MY birthday.”
Understanding the self-focused world of a 3-year-old toddler I replied: “Oh, yes, sweetie, and it’s also Amya’s birthday but you get all the presents.”

When I’m with Ananda Mae, she draws all the attention. Still, there are moments I have time to reminisce what it would be like to have the two girls. It’s not hard to conjure this image with identical twins… I don’t have to think what she would look like, how she would talk, sing, smile or cry. I have a living example right in front of me, every day. I am grateful for what I have, at the same time there is sadness for what is lost.

Now, as I write these words, my thoughts go back in time: when I held her in my arms. She was so tiny, with slender limbs and dark short hair. She had extremely long finger and toes, just like her sister and just like me. She lay there in my right arm and I watched her every breath. Her heart was beating fast. I held her on my bare skin and felt her warm skin on mine. I breathed in her scent and imprinted my memory with her facial features, her long lashes and red lips. She didn’t move much but then she opened her eyes and stretched out her arm as if to touch my face.

It was the first, the last and only time I held her.

I don’t know how mothers experience the loss of one child and return home with empty arms. I can read about it, hear you talk about your experience and empathize with you. The truth however is that the loss of one twin and the two miscarriages is the only personally experienced reference of child loss that I have.

In life I choose my focus.

Sometimes I think: “You should be happy to have one, others have no children.”

I am happy.

I focus on what I have and what I’m grateful for.

Yet, life is a coin with two sides.

Sometimes, the coin flips unexpectedly and there is a sting of sadness as I see a twin stroller coming my way or seeing a mother preparing for the arrival of her baby. The waves of sadness come and go. That is life. With or without loss.

When I can, I choose my time to turn to the coin and spend conscious time in reflection. And that is today, that is now.

Dear Amya,
You are my child.
You are Ananda Mae’s sister and always will be.
For some, you are a memory.
For others, you are just part of a story.
You don’t get any presents or mentions on birthday cards.
But you live in our hearts and memory forevermore.
Happy Birthday – Happy birth-into-the-afterlife Day
My child, I miss your physical presence in our lives.
Mum

This article was first published on September 3, 2014 in Still Standing Magazine.

Dear Child Of Mine

It’s 3 Years Today That I Held You In My Arms: The First, The Last, The Only Time

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Nathalie Himmelrich