Big questions

One of the issues I wrestle with since August 18 is whether I am still a mother. When your only child dies, are you a parent anymore? Max and I not only really, really enjoyed being Sarah’s parents, but because of her progressive and rare medical condition our whole lives basically revolved around her care. There were so many battles to be fought, both major and minor. Her education. Her specialists. Her medical treatment. Her diagnosis, which changed so many times. Her therapies. The shifting face of her disorder once she was diagnosed. We were constantly putting out fires and we were in a state of hypervigilance.

Our life now is easier in many ways and that’s painful to face. Both of us feel adrift to a large extent because of the vast amount of free time we have now compared to before August 18. We talk often about some kind of plan or project to fill the void, but at the same time we’re not ready. There have been discussions of volunteering with special needs kids, of service projects, of memorials for Sarah at her school and so forth. But we have failure to launch both daily and all around.

But back to my question. It causes me a lot of pain, this hypothetical motherhood issue. The probably more healthy, less-depressed part of me is exasperated by this, and responding “Of course you’re a mother.” I need to stop imagining panic-making scenarios in which nosy strangers demand to know how many children I have.