There is no word in english to describe a parent who has lost a child. But in Avet they have hundreds, because everyone in Avet has lost a child.
In Avet you must lose a child before you can become one. Invisible friends forgotten, characters rewritten, siblings rewired in utero. Every embryo of Avet has a shadow twin in the womb, but only one will survive the birth. No one knows whether the surviving twin has assimilated its vanishing sibling or whether it has been reabsorbed by the mother.
When the aphids of Earth are born they are already pregnant, but the aphids of Avet are born before their parents conceive. They spend most of their youthful energy conspiring with time to introduce mother and father, and so secure their own existence.
In Avet, infants go off to law school, toddlers run away with the circus, teenagers manifest as flesh on the mortal plane. The mothers of Avet rarely leave the tombstones and shrines at which they kneel. Some conjure and bear new offspring from postures of bereavement.
The avish word Invinid, one common mode of the forlorn parent, refers specifically to mothers who have lost a child somewhere in the house for a long period of time. There is no higher incidence of coincidence than in Avet, and it is not uncommon for children to happen (by chance) to be in different rooms from their parents at all times, leaving out one way only when the parent enters from another. Likewise, many are displaced in time–a few seconds or minutes in either direction–and entirely unable to hear their mother’s voice.
On rare occasions the word Invinid can apply to a child who has found their way from Avet into our world. Here we see a double loss, for not only has the parent lost their child, but the child has lost their childhood.