How children and prayer can brighten even the darkest moments

Opinion admin September 10, 2026 0 Comments

How children and prayer can brighten even the darkest moments | Opinion

A few weeks ago, my younger, and only surviving son Shawn, turned 65. Yes, the big 6-5. My “baby” is 65. What a shocker, it was, waking up to that reality. And what a blessing.

I thought back to the day he was born and the nurse brought him to me, placing him gently in my arms. He looked at me as if to say, “So, you are my mom!”

Nobody could tell me he didn’t smile at me when I held him close and kissed his chubby cheek.

It’s funny how that moment is still fresh in my mind 65 years later. I suppose that is how it is with all mothers. We moms remember the moment when we first met the tiny bundle of humanity that we would be responsible for. It was a special and beautiful moment that I was reminded of last week when the trial of Lindsay Clancy, the Boston woman who killed her three babies, ended in a mistrial.

My heart goes out to Clancy’s troubled soul because I am one of thousands of moms who suffered from postpartum depression after the birth of my first son. Three and a half years later, I would suffer the same illness after Shawn’s birth.

I had never heard of postpartum depression before the birth of my sons. Even when I felt “down in the dumps” (a term we used back then), I don’t recall asking my doctor, or anyone else, why I felt the way I did. I think I was too ashamed to admit my feelings. Back when my sons were born, I didn’t know the name of the terrible feeling of depression that at times, seemed to overshadow me. But thank the Lord, the will to live, and take care of my babies outweighed the hopelessness that postpartum depression had brought into my life.

So, I took to reading every article I could about new motherhood and the changes that took place in one’s body after childbirth. One day, I found a story in Reader’s Digest that talked about the same symptoms I was having. The story called it postpartum depression. I felt some relief. At least I wasn’t crazy. What I felt was real. It even had a name.

I loved my babies and cared for them with all the warmth and affection I had in my heart. But the depression I felt, coupled with the spousal abuse I endured, made me feel like the most unloved woman in the world. There were days back then, I am ashamed to say, that I didn’t want to live.

However, I don’t ever remember thinking to kill my babies. That’s because when I was at my lowest, something wonderful would always happen: I’d hear sweet cooing sounds, look around and see a beautiful, toothless smile grinning at me. For a while, all my depression would slip away.

Looking back over those early years before I met the Lord, I believe that having my children to love me, and me loving them back was the saving grace in my life. I thank God for giving me two wonderful sons who loved me and who I loved back, with giving me the will to want to live and see them grow up.

It was right after Shawn was born that I started reading my Bible and praying more.

There was no money for me to see a psychologist or psychiatrist. Besides, I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazy. I was, as an old saying goes, between a rock and a hard place. I felt if God didn’t help me, no one could. I was 23, when I asked the Lord to come into my heart for real, to save me. And I simply believed. My prayer that day did more than save my soul and give me a new heart, it saved my natural life and gave me a new outlook and faith to believe I could face anything.

I don’t tell my story to shed doubt on Clancy’s illness. Every woman’s journey down this road is different. I found solace in the Lord. I wish Clancy could have, too. But it isn’t that simple for some women. I can only imagine the demons that fought her mind day and night. I believe she was so tormented by her cruel illness that she thought the only way out was to take the lives of her babies and then kill herself.

I don’t know what the relationship between Clancy and her husband was that day in January 2022, when she strangled her three children with exercise bands in the basement of their home in the Boston suburb of Duxbury, before cutting herself and jumping from a second-story window in an attempt to take her own life. The jump left her paralyzed.

While more light has been shed on postpartum illness, or postpartum psychosis as it is called now, many men still don’t understand the illness, or even understand that it is an illness. And so many men bolt, leaving the wife to handle the crisis, while also having to care for their young children.

According to a story in the Miami Herald, one thing the Clancy trial had done, is to open the debate about how postpartum mental health in women is treated in this country and how the legal system addresses cases when mothers kill their children.

Clancy must be feeling more alone now than ever. My heart is sad for her. She knows she did a terrible thing that she will have to live with for the rest of her life. I believe she knows, and understands, too, that many people judge her and hate her for what she did.

But what Clancy needs now is not hate and judgment. What Clancy needs is compassion and kindness, and yes, love.

You might ask, “What about the babies she killed?”

As a caring mom, we don’t have to worry about Clancy’s babies. They are now in a safe place, a beautiful place where there is no more pain or sadness or anything that even resembles postpartum psychosis.