Posted in Lanscape of Loss, Markers, My Bonnie

Grief & Pregnancy


I often think of my 20-year-old mother today. Irish Catholic. Exactly 8 & 1/2 months pregnant. Her President, the age of her father-in-law, shot dead, beside his wife, on a Texas street.

My mother was 17, the same age as my son, when she went door to door with her younger sister. “The Kelly girls,” the neighbors called them. It was their mother Loretta who sent them out to canvass the neighborhood for Kennedy.

When I think of the unbearable grief that I felt on 9/11 & 11/9 and on the December day when children were shot inside their first-grade classroom, I wonder that today is not my birthday.

And I wonder, what my young mother felt in those last two weeks with me inside.

And I wonder if the sweet sensitivity of my own son is in part due to the grief I held as he came into the world and she left it.