Losing a child is one of the worst experiences we could imagine, but Kara Keough is using that unfathomable loss to reach out to others who have suffered similar pain.
The former Real Housewives of Orange County star first opened up about the loss of her infant son, McCoy, back in May.
In spite of the horrific circumstances, Keough has continued to share her grief with the world in poignant Instagram posts marking the milestones of what would be her son’s early life.
On Thursday, the reality star took things a step further in an open letter to other grieving mothers who lost their babies. Posted on the Good Morning America website, the letter began:
“To My Fellow Loss Mom,
I wish there was something else I could call you, something else I could call myself. ‘Angel Mom’ feels too fluffy, and ‘Bereaved Mother’ sounds like we should be wearing black lace and howling on our knees in a stone church somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, we’re absolutely still howling. But we’re doing it in yoga pants. Lululemons just do a better job of hiding our postpartum bellies and helping us avoid questions like, ‘When are you due?’ or worse, ‘How’s the baby?!’ That’s one thing even grief counselors don’t warn you about: how you’ll have to break the news of your child’s loss to strangers, insurance agents, employers, acquaintances, TSA agents, everyone.”
OMG. That hadn’t even occurred to us. It’s like your heart is trying to heal from being ripped out, and people keep coming along to tear your stitches.
The 31-year-old went on to detail the shared experiences of losing a child: blaming yourself, wishing the world would stop for your grief, people who “say the wrong things and … say right things that feel wrong.” She wrote that the best friends are those who “can sit quietly with us without feeling the need to fill the silence.”
She continued:
“The space where our babies should be somehow starts feeling less like a gaping hole and more like an invisible fullness as time goes on. We want to hear their names, we want to think about them and smile, we want to see them in the world around us. Milestones hit us like bricks and time feels jumbled. How has it already been so long? And who would they be today?”
“Every day, every minute, another mother joins us in this club. It’s a club no one wants to be a part of, but the love and compassion within it are unlike any other. The instant bond that ignites between two women when we sit together in this pain is almost spiritual. Sorrow like this, grief like ours, carves profound depth into our souls. We’re no longer flat, shiny objects, but we’re instead embossed by our loss. Somehow more beautiful for it.
If not wasted, grief can be an incredible gift. After the initial haze, the lens through which we see the world sharpens our view. It’s almost like that first victorious gulp of air after being underwater too long, so much more treasured than the sip before. In grief, the spirit of the Earth somehow reveals herself to us. Sunsets are technicolor, wind is euphoric, and rain is an echoing chorus of our hearts. Rainbows and butterflies seem to show up just for us just when we need them most.”
Kara, who is also mother to Decker, 4, wrote that a “new us” can be born from the unimaginable loss. She said:
“The new us can love again, despite knowing the risk. That kind of bravery didn’t exist in us before. But alas, here we are. Never moving on but moving with. Grief is like going on a bear hunt: We can’t go over it, we can’t go under it, we have to go through it. Squish, squash.”
“Yes, being a mother with empty arms becomes a strange juxtaposition. More joyful despite suffering, more alive despite death and more loving despite loss. We ask ourselves, ‘Where are we supposed to put all this love, all this love that we had reserved for them?’ The answer becomes so clear: all around us, of course, and into them, still. Most importantly — and with no hesitations — we must put the love back into ourselves once again. Terry Tempest Williams insists, ‘Grief dares us to love once more.’
So, to grief, we respond, ‘You triple dog dare me?'”
Wow. What a truly incredible piece of writing, and what strength it must have taken to write. We commend Kara for her openness, and we hope for anyone out there suffering a similar loss, that her words make them feel less alone.
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