Musings on "Lament for a Son" by Nicholas Wolterstorff

Loss becomes part of who you are.
As Nicholas Wolterstorff says, "If someone ask, 'Who are you, tell me about yourself,' I say -- not immediately, but shortly -- I am one who lost a son."
In a way I envy him. I wish that was something I could say about myself. Recently I was talking with two ladies who had lost their sons. One was my mother and she was talking about my brother, the other was a friend whose son died when he was sixteen. Death is a part of their lives, as it is a part of Nicholas Wolterstorff's life. But what they don't realize is that death is also a part of my life. Our friend was talking about a locket she found for herself and her daughters with a special poem to help bring comfort when they were especially missing their son/brother.
My mom was interested and so was I, but my mom thought I might want one for my brother.
I wear a locket almost every day with a picture of my son Ian. He was part of me. He still is. It connects me to him in some strange way. A way for me to remember even though the world cannot see him. A way to keep him with me. I may hold the locket, hurting, remembering, sometimes opening it, sometimes it's enough to just know it's there. I do not need that for my brother. Not that I do not miss him. Not that it does not hurt. That day, talking with those ladies, I felt like I was standing there as a woman who had also lost a son, but it was only in my mind.
I cannot tell people that my son died, because a stillborn child (even at nine months) is not considered a real child.
But they are wrong. My son has died. In the words of Wolterstorff -- I am one who has lost a son. It is part of who I am.