Musings

"For parents, the death of a child is no less than a holocaust. "- Sarah Connor from the TV series, The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

I know nothing can compare to THE holocaust. It was the most horrific event in history that shook humanity in its very core. Is it pushing too far when that fictional character, who's also a mother, pondered how parents feel about their child's death?

Maybe. But somehow I couldn't agree more with her statement. Whoever included it in the script of that sci-fi series described what I, as a bereaved mother, feel so accurately. Even though it may sound a bit overly dramatic and Hollywood-ish. 

But I think Robert McAffee Brown explains the connection between our loss and the holocaust even more precisely.  Brown, a friend of Romanian-born Jewish writer and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel, wrote: "Death, which is no respecter of persons, is no respecter of numbers either. And in death's mysterious mathematics the pain at the loss of a single child can be infinite, while the pain at the loss of six million lives can be...no more than infinite. This does not minimize one jot or tittle the magnitude of six million deaths; it simply acquaints us more sensitivity with the unbelievable magnitude of a single death."

I admit what I've experienced is not equal to THE holocaust. There's nothing grand scale about my loss. In fact, it's so small, it didn't even create a global ripple. It will never be recorded in any books. But in my own little world, it will go down as one of the most sorrowful events in my history. The kind invisible monuments are built and life-sized statues are erected in remembrance. My son's death will never be forgotten. It's been engraved not just in my heart, but also in my psyche.

And this is what other people don't know. Those who don't have an understanding of this loss that we carry all the time. Those who look at the clock and impatiently say, "Isn't it about time you get over it?" Those who wanted us to be done with our grief, think positive and move on. Those who can't imagine why we're so wrapped up and so attached to a baby that would never be.

I know some of them meant well. Others may even feel worried about our well-being. Still, there are others who feel it's ridiculous to wallow in our grief for such a long time. I wonder if they silently think, "If I'm her, I won't act that way. Sure it will affect me big time, but it will not rule my life," as they offer us support.  Or worse, "I'm glad I'm not in her shoes. Can you imagine all that negative vibes coming from her all the time?!"

I wish there's a way to let them feel the weight of our loss with a mere touch. Imagine you can stop someone in the middle of their empty platitudes by a simple tap and make them feel all the sorrow and pain you have. Just like being electrocuted. The result: instant empathy.

But unfortunately, such ability doesn't exist. We are left to justify our boundless grief and end up wondering: How is it that they could readily understand the grief for six million people, but they have a hard time believing that a single death is just as infinitely painful?