Upon recently being diagnosed with postpartum depression (PPD), I decided to reach out through my blog to connect with other women who have faced similar challenges. Their stories were heartfelt and moving, but one in particular struck a chord with me: the story of Sarah, a remarkable young mother who shared her experience of losing her own mom to PPD.
Postpartum depression is a topic often shrouded in silence, yet the impact it has can be devastating. Hearing from someone who lost their mother to this condition makes the reality of PPD even more poignant and frightening.
Initially, I hesitated to share my own experiences, as I always aim to maintain a positive outlook. However, the moment I questioned whether to speak out was the moment I knew I had to. By opening my heart and being vulnerable, I hoped my words might reach someone struggling with postpartum depression or any form of depression.
My mother was just 21 when she gave birth to me, having married my father only eleven months prior. As a stepmother to my brother, she eagerly anticipated welcoming her own child. When I entered the world, it was a joyous occasion; she was a warm and loving person, full of life and enthusiasm. My mother had a contagious smile, a passion for running, and an unwavering dedication to her family and friends.
However, the joy was short-lived. After my birth, she began to argue with my father over trivial matters. She neglected to bundle me up in the cold and even nearly harmed her nephew, who was lying nearby, simply because she was so preoccupied. Her eating habits changed drastically, and she started losing weight. Most alarmingly, her radiant smile began to fade, a change that only became clear in retrospect.
Tragically, she took her own life on the very day my father was set to stay with his brother due to their escalating conflicts. After a nap, he awoke to find her hanging from a closet door. Although her heart was still faintly beating, she was later pronounced dead at the hospital, surrounded by family as they grappled with the nightmare unfolding before them. My father wanted to escape but knew he had to raise me alone.
Growing up without a mother was challenging, and I often relied on my extended family for support. My father’s job as a truck driver meant I spent much of my time with relatives living nearby. The hardest part, however, was confronting the feelings of loss and the painful reality of losing my mother to suicide—a fate that could have been avoided with appropriate treatment for postpartum depression.
When I share that my mother passed away when I was young, people often respond with sympathy. My reply has always been, “Don’t be.” I genuinely believe everything happens for a reason, although I can’t comprehend why I was meant to grow up without her. Nonetheless, that doesn’t diminish the reality that I missed out on a crucial part of life.
No child should have to live without their mother. She is irreplaceable. My father has chosen not to remarry, feeling it would betray my mother. This loss has left him with a heartache that time cannot heal. My grandparents leaned on their faith and each other to navigate their grief. It wasn’t until I was eleven that my father finally revealed the truth about my mother’s death, after I had already heard it from classmates. Until then, I had been told she was sad and had gone to heaven.
Losing a loved one to suicide brings about a shift in how others respond. People often struggle with what to say or how to react. When they realize who I am, their faces fall, and conversations halt.
For years, I battled self-blame, wondering if I was the reason for my mother’s death. If she hadn’t had me, she might still be here. I grappled with the notion that my life was not worth the loss of such a remarkable woman. This complex mix of emotions led me to harbor resentment towards her. I couldn’t blame external circumstances like an accident or illness; I felt she had chosen to leave me.
Her choice meant she wouldn’t be there for pivotal moments in my life: school, friendships, graduations, and my own wedding day. I lacked her guidance, missing the comfort of her presence. It took years of introspection and prayer to forgive her for the pain her absence caused me.
Despite the hurt, I love her deeply, more than I ever thought possible for someone I barely knew. She battled postpartum depression, and though she could have chosen to end my life too, she didn’t. For that, I am grateful.
But it doesn’t get easier. As I grow older, the reminders of what I’ve lost become more frequent. I watch friends share special moments with their mothers, and my children ask why they must visit a cemetery to “see” their grandmother. I often find myself questioning my parenting abilities without her guidance.
Through education, I’ve come to understand that my mother was not herself during her struggle with PPD. Suicide is often the result of untreated mental health issues, and I can’t help but wonder if she would still be here today if there had been more awareness surrounding postpartum depression back then.
To anyone currently facing PPD or depression, I urge you to seek help. No one is perfect, especially new mothers, and the pressure from social media can be overwhelming. Remember, you’re not alone. Reach out to someone you trust, whether it’s a partner, friend, or even someone like me. Please don’t suffer in silence.
I strive to cherish the memories I have with my family and remain hopeful that my mother is with us in spirit. I’ll continue sharing her story with my children, even when it’s difficult. I hope that by being honest about my experiences, I can help prevent another child from experiencing the pain of growing up without their mother.