I lost my daughter in 1982.
Emily Anne Elizabeth was a full term trisomy 13 baby. She lived 18 hours and 31 minutes. She experienced the nighttime and the sunrise and daylight. My heart broke.
I desperately longed for a baby and had Gregory Michael 1 year and 9 months later.
I always thought maybe if I’d had time to form memories and experiences with her the loss wouldn’t have been so great. I learned that’s not true when Greg died of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma 17 days shy of his 25 birthday.
Now when people ask me how many children I have I say I have 3 children, 1 of whom is living.
After Emily died and Greg was born I always said I have 2 boys because I hated people’s reactions if I said I’d lost a daughter – I felt sorry for them in their awkwardness to respond to what they thought was a simple friendly question.
My wound of losing a child is deep and sweet and mine alone.
Others grieve the loss of my children but none feels it the same way I do.
I often feel so alone in my loss. I love knowing bits of them remain in me.
