Grief is by far one of the most complex, confusing, frustrating, and painful journeys that a person can ever take.

When you are grieving the loss of a child that complexity takes on a whole new meaning. 


I think about him 95% of the time.  Which is a change from every minute of every day.  I cry often, but not as often as in the beginning.  Big change from all day every day.  I don’t feel quite so guilty about being happy, but it still hard and sometimes the guilt creeps in when I least expect it and throws me for a loop.

Triggers are still everywhere.  The pregnant woman on the bus.  The friend announcing her pregnancy excitedly on Facebook.  New babies in the family that I’m excited about, but sad all in the same breath.  The subtle suggestions that its time to move on, to forget.  But I can’t do that.  I won’t do that.  The way people look at me sometimes when they know I’m sad and thinking about him and there is nothing they can do about it.  He is still everywhere in my life.

But I’m also living again.  I work.  I make it through most days without the tears flowing until I’m safely tucked into bed, if they flow at all.

Life sure isn’t smooth sailing.  Grief consumes me often.  I actually like to cry, its a release.  I crave a moment alone to let the tears fall sometimes.  I need o let it out, lest I should explode or collapse into a million pieces.  But its not as dark as it was even a month ago.  Hell, even a week ago.  Every day I have more good minutes than bad ones.  And sure, sometimes things come out that knock me flat on my ass, but I can get back up now.

This experience is teaching me so much about myself and about my strength.  I don’t need to be unhealthy to cope.  I don’t need to shut everyone and everything out.  I don’t need to do it all on my own.  I can let people in.  I can let people help me.  And I can let people love me.  And they do, a lot.

Where I am in this journey is developing a sense of peace.  It will never be ok.  I will never be ok.  But this new normal is slowly starting to feel less foreign.

Mothers Day is such a sacred day for so may women.  A celebration of one of a woman's biggest blessings, being a mother. 

But what happens when the baby didn't come home?
Or the baby came home but couldn't stay?
Or the baby never quite made it long enough to be recognized by the outside world?

What happens to those women on Mothers Day? 

Often society feels like if your child was robbed from your arms, you lose your title of mother.  This is particularly true when your loss was early in, during, or shortly after pregnancy. 

What they don't know is that instead of late night feedings and diaper changes, you are left with late night tears and wonderings of what should have been.  Instead of skinned knees and sore throats, you deal with broken hearts and empty spaces.  Instead of the overflowing nursery, a woman who loses her child is left with a empty nursery, empty arms, and a missing piece that can ever be fully filled. 

Women who have lose their babies during pregnancy or shortly after have done the most difficult thing a mother can do for her child; grieved their loss.  We work tirelessly to protect and promote their memory.  We want to talk about our babies until there is no person left on this earth who doesn't know how wonderful they were. 

We are mothers, in every sense of the word.  Or duties towards our children may have changed, but we will forever be mothers.  Some of us will go on to bring other babies into this world, some of us will not.  Either way, we will forever hold the memory of each tiny precious life that was lost in our hearts.  We will forever speak their names, tell their stories, and share their memory. 

We will forever be their mothers.

I wish peace for all of us on this International Bereaved Mothers Day.  I wish peace for all of us on traditional Mothers Day.  We deserve, as much as anyone else, to be celebrated, honored, and cherished on both days. 

We are all, incredible, real, and amazing Mothers.

There are moments in life that you never want to forget.  That you want to seal up in your memory forever.  Events that happen that change the course of your life, often for the better, but monumental changes nonetheless. 

Graduation.

Your first real job.

Meeting the man/woman of your dreams. 

Getting engaged.

Getting married.

Having children.

Countless other things along the way that make this often so very painful life worth living. 

I have the unique fortune of losing all of my parents in rather odd circumstances.  This makes life complicated at times.

"What song are you using for your daddy daughter dance?
"Did your mom cry when you told her he proposed?"
"Did you have fun dress shopping with your mom?"

These are all questions that I've fielded over the past few months.  There are no easy answers.  Either I admit the truth; my parents are gone, and deal with the uncomfortable silence that generally follows.  Or I make up some story and feel bad about it afterwards. 

When baby loss enters the picture it becomes even more complicated. 

"Ohhhhhh you're getting married...will you begin having children afterwards?!"
"Aren't you glad you waited until you were married to start your family?"

Also things I've heard over the past few months.  Mostly from probably well meaning strangers, but sometimes from people who know my situation quite well.  I really don't understand. 

There are these big moments in life that you just naturally want certain people involved in.  I am having a difficult time coming to terms with all that isn't here during this season of my life.

(Before anyone launches into the "be happy with what you have" speech, rest assured, I am happy.  I love the people in my life.  I know I am lucky and I am grateful.  But there are pieces missing.  And those pieces deserve to be recognized, talked about, and grieved.  Missing one does not discount the other.)

This is quite an interesting season.  One filled with so much hope, excitement, and promise.  But also so much sadness.  Pain.  Grief.  Confusion. 

Life really is quite the journey, isn't it?