I’ve known for a lifetime that I wanted to be a mom. I’ve known for 6 months that I was going to be a mom. But I didn’t truly feel like a mom until last week.
A local four year old boy was hit and killed by a car last week. He was playing on the sidewalk in front of his house. When his mother crossed the street, he ran to see her. His life was over in an instant. I did not know the boy or the mother, only a passing acquaintance with a relative, yet I experienced such a strong visceral reaction to this devastating news – as if it were my own.
Last night, I re-watched an old episode of “Six Feet Under” that dealt with the death of a 3-week old baby. While processing the moment, Brenda says, “You know what I find interesting? If you lose a spouse, you’re called a widow, or a widower. If you’re a child and you lose your parents, then you’re an orphan. But what’s the word to describe a parent who loses a child? I guess that’s just too fucking awful to even have a name.”