The Mother I lost, The Mother I Became

13th,Written by Laura

I had spent most of my adult life under the impression that my early years hadn’t had too much of an effect on me. I knew that it was something. I had a therapist for a few years before having my son, but I was a well-adjusted, self-aware professional woman in a loving and safe relationship with an incredible woman. Life was good. I had never had that burning desire to have kids; it wasn’t something I ever gave any thought to, and I’d never previously met anyone that changed that. But it did change, and we set off on that journey together.

I was taken away from my mother when I was 9 months old, along with my 3- and 2-year-old brothers. It was on Mother’s Day, 1979, May 13th to be precise. She attempted to take our lives and her own. I used to always say she failed, but she didn’t. She took the life I should have had away from me; she took the brothers I should have had away from me. She took the sister they should have had away. At 9 months she would have been my world, my safety, my everything. She ended that life that day and set me on a very different path.

We were in care for a while, and then my dad was awarded custody. I have no memories of this time. I know that she was gone completely for over a year. And then we had visits. I know who she is; I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. This has never been as relevant as it is now that I am a mother myself.

I had my son later in life... well into my forties, with my partner's egg. I had spent a long time feeling motherless, this being a very normal feeling for me. When he arrived, I felt like I had lost her all over again. It was an overwhelming feeling of loss and grief. I described it at the time as carrying around a huge heavy bag of sadness that you have no option of putting down. I’ve never felt sadness like it. It enveloped me; even in the happiest moments there was a dark cloud. I had a direct view of exactly what I had lost. It sounds selfish to say it, but I was so sad for myself and so, so angry about it all. It was overwhelming; that’s the only word that even comes close.

I wanted to shut the world out and keep my boy as close to me as possible, but I had to share him; he has 2 mums. And that was hard for both of us. Navigating two women wanting the same role shouldn’t have been so hard, but with everything else on top, it was very very hard. It’s amazing to me how much feeling you can hold in your body without even knowing it’s there.

When he was 9 months old, the darkness really took over. I would sit and stare at him sleeping and imagine the horror of losing him. I have always been one to catastrophise, but at this time it went through the roof. I would imagine losing him daily in all sorts of different ways. I was really struggling and I couldn’t see it. I was far too in it to have any insight at that point. I would cry over anything and everything. Every news story that involved someone’s son was a trigger for my grief. I couldn’t see a world where I wasn’t in danger of losing him. I wished I had a mum that could reassure me and support me and make me feel safe. I felt very alone. I still live in that world, just not on a full-time basis anymore.

I gave birth to our son on the labour ward I work on; I am a midwife. I was looked after by some of my friends and colleagues I work with, and I was so privileged to have this experience. I felt safe and assured that my baby was safe. It was very surreal to be on the other side and feel firsthand how my job can impact such an important time in someone's life. I feel very lucky and proud to have had that opportunity, even though nothing actually went to plan!! He turned 2 in February, and he is the light of our lives. If Heaven had 2 feet and a little curl on the back of its head, then it would be my son. He brings me so much joy; I had no idea how much love my heart could hold. Unfortunately it was all too much for my partner, and she left. That’s been tough.

I only found The Motherless Mothers charity very recently; I wish I had found them sooner. I had no idea that what I have experienced is “a thing”. I feel so comforted by the thought of other people out there understanding me. I had begun to feel that I was a monster. I see now that I am not. I see now that this is grief, and it isn’t something I will get over. I can only walk through each day, one foot in front of the other, one little hand in mine, looking towards the light.

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