Oh, sweet momma…
I am so, so sorry you are here.
I know this is
your worst nightmare realized. I know this wasn’t plan A, B, C, or Z. I
know the weight of it all is suffocating, soul-crushing, devastating,
and earth-shattering in every way possible.I know you would trade it all
just for one more moment.
I know your
heart is broken. How I wish I could make you feel at home again. How I
wish I could take away the pain. How I wish I could place that baby back
in your arms. You could watch them grow. All the giggles, skinned
knees, and eskimo kisses. I know you would savor every moment. I know
you would breathe that baby in till you no longer had any breath in you.
I know you would give every ounce of you to save every ounce of them,
one thousand times over.
I know you miss
them. I know you wish you could just smell them one more time, see
their face one more time, kiss that squishy cheek and then freeze that
moment so it would last forever. There are things that pictures and
videos can never replace, and having that baby in your arms is at the
top of the list.
I know.
If I could “fix” this, I would move mountains. My gosh, I would in a heartbeat.
You, sweet momma, are so brave. You are strong. You are such a good momma.
You need to know this.
On the days when it’s all you can do just to function, that’s okay.
On the weeks
when you live off of sweatpants and dry shampoo and ice cream for
lunch, you deserve a freaking break. You are doing a good job.
On the days
when you try your hardest to pull yourself together, and somehow things
just don’t work out, give yourself grace. Give yourself room to breathe,
you are so loved, sweet momma.
On the days
when no one but you mentions their name, I am so, so sorry. Say their
name bravely. Know that they are still real, they were still here, and
you are still their momma.
On the days
when you feel like you could burst from anger and pain, go somewhere
alone, cry it out, curse at the sky— there’s nothing worse than having
to fake it. Just don’t. Please, let yourself feel it. You’ve been
through too much to put on a face, and healing doesn’t come when we are
living under a facade.
On the days
when the world tells you to “heal” and “move on”, friend, healing from
child loss doesn’t look like healing from an injury. Our children were
not a broken bone, they are a piece of our hearts, and now a piece of
our hearts is gone. Friend, you will heal, just not in the way the world
wants you. You will breathe easier. You will ache maybe a little less,
but I’ve heard from mommas much, much further down the road than I, the
longing will never, ever, ever leave. That’s the beauty and the
fierceness and the strength of a mother’s love.
Momma, you are strong. You are so brave. You are doing such a good job.
You are
irrevocably changed, in the sweetest, head-over-heels, all-in,
never-stopping way. Your love is strong. That’s the promise you made
when you swore to love them every second of their life and every second
of your own, no matter what the cost was on your heart. Nothing on this
earth has shown me unconditional love better than the love of a grieving
momma. I see your love. I see the power of it. It’s stronger than any
amount of pain, than a sea of tears, than even the grasp of death.
I know, because of that love, you would brave every ounce of pain one thousand times over just for them.
Even when you don’t feel it… Look, momma. Here you are… You’re still breathing. You’re still standing. You are so brave.
Sweet momma friend, I am so sorry you are here. Know that you are so loved.
Know that where there is great pain, there is even greater love.
So much love to you,
A Momma Who Knows
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