Just a month ago, I relocated to Toronto from Karachi, Pakistan, where I had spent 20 years of my life. Leaving behind my family, friends, and familiar surroundings was difficult, but the hardest goodbye was to my son’s grave.
My son, Amir, would have turned 7 this year. His birth was a challenging experience, marked by 22 hours of labor that culminated in an emergency C-section. Due to my exhaustion, I never got to hold him. However, I vividly remember his first cry, which jolted me awake after I briefly lost consciousness. The second time I heard him cry was when the doctor urged me to see my precious boy. I kissed his forehead just before he was laid to rest. In his brief 14 hours of life, I only got to see him three times, and by the last moment, he had already acquired his angel wings.
I had tried to see him earlier, but by the time they brought a wheelchair for me, it was too late. That night, I fluctuated between sleep and anxiety, and when the doctor told me, “His lungs have collapsed, be prepared for the worst,” I didn’t grasp the finality of those words. I regretted not pushing myself to visit him in the NICU, to hold his tiny hand and offer him comfort.
The next morning, as I attempted to gather my strength, I told everyone I needed a moment to rest before going to see him. Those few minutes turned out to be the longest of my life; it was too late.
Fast forward to the present, I now have a vibrant 4-year-old daughter named Layla. She is full of energy and, unlike my easy pregnancy with Amir, her journey was filled with challenges. Due to the escalating turmoil in Pakistan, my husband and I decided it was time for a new beginning in a stable environment where she could thrive, explore museums, and enjoy the outdoors freely.
As we prepared for our move, the most heart-wrenching task lay ahead: saying goodbye to Amir and his grave. I hadn’t visited his resting place often; for years, I made excuses to avoid it, believing I needed to present a stable facade for Layla. Each visit to his grave triggered a wave of grief that I found difficult to manage. In contrast, my husband found solace in visiting Amir; for him, it was a source of peace.
A few days before our departure to Canada, we decided to visit Amir together one last time, sharing our tears and regrets in silence. Standing by the grave of your child offers an intimate glimpse into the soul of your partner, creating a bond that transcends the pain of loss. The quiet strength that emerges from such shared grief is profound and unbreakable.
We entrusted the care of Amir’s grave to two close friends, with tears still flowing as we parted ways. The sorrow never truly fades when it involves the loss of a child.
Today, the sun shines brightly. Layla is at school, and I count the hours until she returns. Occasionally, as we walk to the library or ride the subway, my mind wanders to a different reality—one where Amir is still with us. I imagine holding hands with both of my children, and it’s a bittersweet thought.
While I have said farewell to his grave, I will never say goodbye to him in my heart. The duration of a child’s life, whether hours, days, or years, does not diminish the impact they have on our hearts. They leave an indelible mark that lasts a lifetime. For those navigating similar journeys of loss, understanding the importance of seeking support and resources is vital. This blog offers insights on the topic of home insemination, which can be found in our article here. Additionally, for those exploring options for artificial insemination, visit Make a Mom for more information. If you want to learn more about pregnancy, the World Health Organization provides excellent resources.
Summary
This article reflects on the emotional journey of a mother who moved to a new country, grappling with the loss of her son while embracing the joys of motherhood with her daughter. It highlights the lasting connection between a mother and her child, regardless of the time spent together, and emphasizes the importance of seeking support and resources during times of grief.