This is not a post for condolences or sympathetic words. This is a memoir written for the first child who dwelled in me for a few short weeks.
Mothers day is a day which has claimed a big place these days. Mothers are everywhere embracing, acknowledging and celebrating motherhood.
But what about mothers who lost children in and outside their womb?
10 years ago around this time, I was also one of those women. I was a barely a woman then…more a child truly happy to get a playmate. We were just starting out and the then we came to realize we were going to be parents. Although I liked children, I was not really prepared to become a parent straightway. Chettan was ecstatic of course.
Adaptability is never my strong points and I never succumbed to surprises. But I eventually came terms to it and was happy in my own little way. But that happiness was short lived.
That afternoon is still fresh in my mind. When we went for the scan, the emotionless radiologist just said blatantly in my scan, there was no heart beat…no life… I was numb, deaf and blinded. A minute later, she just took out a register and asked me when I was free to come in for a surgery.
I called and pored over to Mum that I lost the child. She told me to take the next flight and come home. My parents were in denial themselves with the hope the baby would spring back to life.
A week later, I experienced excruciating pain whilst at my in-laws. I was rushed to the hospital. By then it was confirmed. I still remember many people telling me I would have successful pregnancy and have many more babies. But that advice didn’t really help.
I stayed with my mum for a few more weeks. I did a Tanjore painting of Baby Krishna and his mother Yashoda to mark the death of my unborn. I was slowly returning to my normal self.
When people asked me how the pregnancy was progressing, I could never complete the sentence without tears. Some of my friends became pregnant.
It always excited me when I visited the newborn of my friends or family. But that year , it was different. I could feel the heart breaking pain and tears welling up uncontrollably and unexpectedly when I visited the nursery.
Towards the end of that year, I still remember the sadness I felt. I had anger issues and intense loneliness. I never understood why. Recently I was reading a book written by a doctor. Many women face intense sadness at the time of expected due date even if baby passed away. The soul never came to terms with the reality.
A couple of years later , I went on to have two more beautiful babies…I am happy to be their mother…but sad for my unborn….a death within me…a baby I never saw …but was truly mine.
Presenting Yashoda-Krishna Tanjore painting commemorating my unborn on its 10th anniversary.