On celebrating birthdays of our living children
Our twin daughters turned two years old last month. Here is some brief thoughts that I wrote just prior and following their birthday as I processed my dual of grief and joy as a bereaved mother and mothering after stillbirth.
“My sweet girls. You are two today. You're about to wake up to your butterflies decorating the entire house and tricycles and new books. We have been practicing saying "I am two years old." and it is just the cutest thing to hear you both annunciate in your own special ways.
I feel sadness today. I miss your baby sister and wish she were here. She was supposed to be here amidst all the celebrating. I knew that August was going to be Blair's first month of life and I'd need to focus on newborn care and keeping the both of you feeling safe and loved with the changes that our new family member would bring.
Before the pandemic, I had imagined a small birthday party at a park with Blair tucked into a lightweight wrap at my chest. I had even called the county parks department and scoured local mom’s lists for outdoor birthday spots from local moms way back in February. I meticulously researched butterfly activities and a DIY butterfly cake and decorations as recent as a week prior to Blair’s stillbirth.
I did all of this early because Blair was supposed to be with us soon, but she died. Sometimes you both still think she's inside Mama's belly. Blair's stillbirth is very confusing for you to understand.
It is hard for me to switch gears and celebrate your 2nd birthday. How different this birthday is from your last. I didn't carry the weight of mothering two living children while grieving another child who died. You both have a way of making even sad days full of joy, though. You'll say something like "Yes please more jam" on your waffle (C), tell me you're going to the "zoo" [to see the] "animals"[, the ] "zebra" and the "lion" (V).
Following their birthday, I wrote:
“Your birthday was full of joy, for sure, but there was still sadness. I struggled to make your birthday cakes. I desperately wished your baby sister could have been there. I wished I could have heard Blair crying, and not my own cries as I made your birthday cakes and wished she was wrapped right on my chest."
I found some yellow colored sugar and just sobbed as I sprinkled them in the center of your butterfly cakes.
Quickly though, it was time for you two to wake up from your naps and it became an excited affair as we led Zoom calls with family and friends both for a birthday cake cutting and dinnertime later.”
Later that night of their birthday, my husband Nic said, "I just feel like something's missing."
There is. Our third daughter is missing. She would have been here, and as bereaved parents, we continue to feel the heaviness of Blair’s absence even in the joyful moments including celebrating big milestones and birthdays with our living children.
We will never have the joy of celebrating her in the same way we do our living children. As bereaved parents, it is a pain that we will always bear.
Somewhere in the middle of our happy moments, we all sigh a little, in the memory of someone we miss. - Supita Sengupta
