You can ask about her. You can say her name. Piper. It's like music to my soul that I already sing on repeat to myself. Often loudly and out of tune. It's permanently on the tip of my tongue like any first time mom eager for a change to discuss their child. This current ramble was inspired by my friend Mere who shared something she had read from another wise momma surviving child loss. You saying her name does not bring it up or remind me because I didn't forget. I didn't forget the love or the pain.
I can imagine people are afraid to spark the pain that acts as an undertone to my journey. But here it is dear friends, my forever permission, to speak of our child. No matter how much time has passed or how many children we may have, she will always be our first born.
It's why we say it aloud and often in our home. It's second nature to our families to speak of her. It's not shuddered against. It has no shock value. My Mom once said that her name, Piper Kai, sounded like a spice. I don't know where that memory came from but how perfectly ordinary.
I live along with the pain. It ebbs and flows. Sometimes consuming and other times almost unnoticeable but it never leaves. Grief and the loss of your loved one will never go away. Hearing her name makes me feel like everything is real.
Because I didn't forget.
If you say it and tears well up in my eyes. That's OK, it's for appreciation. It's for the memories I have and those imagined. It's gratitude. It's pain and love all rolled in to one big complicated ball. It's a welcome reminder how she existed. Although you did not have the pleasure of meeting her.
Rest easy, Piper. All my love.
Piper Kai Bennett
I will scream, sing and share her story may it be short. Our only child was born still at 36 weeks secondary to an umbilical cord accident. This is our journey about choosing life rather than existence.