Secondary Losses

As I write, I am staring out the window at a friend play so eloquently with young children in the neighborhood. I feel such admiration for her courage and even her desire to be around that age group. For as long as I can remember, I have never really been fond of elementary aged children (other than my friends kids, of course). I'm not sure why.

When I was placed at an elementary school for my first year of internship in graduate school, someone suggested that I didn't like being around them because I never had the opportunity to see my son grow up. I thought long and hard about whether or not that was actually the problem. If that were the case, wouldn't I also dislike newborns and  high school aged youth? The truth is, I adore infants and enjoy being around them when the opportunity presents itself and I spent close to 15 years in youth ministry, caring for their hurting hearts. There had to be something else that bothered me about the little people.

In recent years, I was able to process the depths of my grief and the loss of my son through adoption after years of numbing and running. I will always feel loss and there will always be an empty space in my heart for the son that I relinquished. But what has hit me more intensely in the past few years is the fact that while running from my grief, I also ran from healthy relationships that could have led to marriage and a family - a dream that I had since childhood.  

Secondary losses often tear away at the heart of a birth mother. The loss of a child, the loss of her role as mother to that child, the loss of her reputation, her friendships, the birth father of her child; for some, the loss family members who disapprove of her decision resulting in the loss of a place to live and the loss of a lifetime of security that she experienced in her home. In addition to these secondary losses, she can also experience feelings of deep depression, shame, anxiety, confusion, ambiguity about her decision and so much more. The grief for a birth mother reaches far past the loss of her child.

The seven little ones are now inside, filling the house with conversation, laughter and tears, an experience that I will never have. Perhaps they represent the loss of a dream. I will never have a house filled with little ones of my own - I am too old for that. I may never have the husband that I have longed for my entire life. I ran to far and too long for that. 

I am processing these secondary losses every day. Coming to terms with who I have become and the life that I now live. And although I am still not fond of young ones, I am learning to dream new dreams. I am trusting that there is still a beautiful, bright future ahead of me. I have deep sadness, but I also have hope for my future. I'm waiting in anticipation for what's to come. I will not give up.