A letter to Athan

2019 Sep 18th

A letter to Athan

....because we didn’t know how to say goodbye.

There are no rules when it comes to grief, no time-frames or boundaries, just words. I hope you find comfort in this story.

Our family experienced the loss of a beautiful baby boy named Athan. We never heard Athan's cry or looked into his eyes, as they were forever closed. Our family was cheated by fate and life changed forever – Athan was stillborn. 

To my son, I can't cry for you.

The skies have opened and express how I feel.

Tears fall from the sky and drip down soaking my entire body.

I'm cold — I don't know what you need.

My thoughts are engulfed in glacial ocean waves.

Tiny rocks of ice hit my face, which bring me back to see that you are truly gone.

But I still can't cry for you.

I sit still.

My breath has been knocked out of me by a tsunami of heartbreak.

My body is captured by a river of ice — I hurt.

I am paralyzed by grief.

I crave for anything to sooth this ambush of emptiness and black void inside of me.

And I still can't cry for you — my tears are frozen.

I need to speak but the words are heavy.

I shout loudly with the earth that rumbles with anger.

How can I say goodbye?

I attempt to make my journey.

I walk along a dark-gray unforgiving muddy road covered with the Earth's tears.

I've lost my composure and now crawl through the sludge of terrifying swampy sorrow.

I'm raw with salty tears — I can't stop crying for you.

My body screams out by your absence.

I want to give you my everything, and I scramble to comfort you.

You're gone from me now.

What is the purpose?

Can I find the forgiveness in this burden that fate has asked me to take on?

Can I find my peace in the noise of your silence?

And when I don't think I can take anymore I look up.

The category of my desperation has levelled.

It stopped raining — I am wrinkled with sorrow.

Will I feel whole again?

I've swam against the tide — and I was barely alive.

Your loss pierced and wounded my skin with it's razor sharp coral.

I will carry scars of mourning, which are now filled-in with empathy.

I've survived only on my gratitude of the gifts you allowed me to share with you.

You've humbled me.

Knowing you, was my gift to share.

You are my single drop of humanity within this ocean of despair.

I'll always question why we can't we breathe the same air.

In a world without you what can I do?

Is it enough to say I'll always remember you?

Each day, I promise to smile.

I'll blow you a kiss and say, I will always love in today.

By Athan's Mom