*originally published here.
We miss you terribly. To even use the word terribly doesn’t do justice to the gaping hole that’s permanently etched into our hearts, our souls, our psyches. We thought it’d scar over and we’d move on in some unnatural way but it hasn’t. We don’t know if it ever will. We’re just learning how to be in a world where so many people have their children in their arms when we only have you in our photographs and memories. We’re learning how to put the pieces of our hearts back together so the cold wind blowing through that empty hole doesn’t freeze the rest of us. We need to keep going.
You should be in our arms, not in our memories. You should be sleeping soundly in your crib, not eternally sleeping in the ground/Heaven/[insert your life after death belief here]. You should be with us. And yet, you aren’t.
We’ve spent many nights driving ourselves crazy trying to make sense of the senseless. We’ve wandered aimlessly around the house in the quiet hours of the early mornings wondering how anyone could expect us to rise like the sun and shine bright. We’ve begged every deity known to bring you back to us. We’ve cursed them for taking you away. We’ve questioned everything; God, ourselves, humanity, goodness, evil, love, our bodies, even you. We loved you from the moment we saw those two lines. We can’t help but wonder at the audacity of our losses. Was something wrong with your genetics? Was it our doing? Did we do something wrong? Was it some other force beyond what our five senses can detect? Was it fate? Destiny? Bad luck? Karma?
Those three little letters have plagued us. That word, that question that can never be answered accurately. Even with a medical reason, there’s always a “why” lingering in our souls, a heavy weight that never lifts.
If there’s something we’ve learned it’s that ‘why’ can kill us. It can drive us crazy and lead us towards the Darkness: depression, anxiety, suicide, despair. So baby, we are letting the ‘why’ go and instead finding the silver lining. It’s the silver linings of the darkest clouds that allows some semblance of healing and understanding to emerge.
This world is slowly inflating with hate, greed, corruption and drudgery. It will eventually burst to release the love and light our world needs but for now, it can be pretty ugly. So how amazing is it that you maybe only ever heard the sweet, melodic beat of our hearts? You only ever felt the warmth and love radiating all around you, cozy in our wombs. Or perhaps you briefly joined us and you felt the tickle across your skin as we traced your features, memorizing your every body part. You may have felt our love pour upon your skin as we cried for your short life. You were engulfed in a love so strong and fierce, the Darkness never stood a chance of touching your perfect soul. You only ever knew love, our love, a mother’s love, the BEST love. You never had to be exposed to the Dark side. You only knew unconditional love. This gives us comfort.
Tragedy can either make us or break us and many of us Phoenix mama’s (a mother who has risen from the ashes of her own heart’s despair) have chosen to unite and rise. Through losing you, beautiful connections have been made. We’ve created support groups, support organizations and lifetime friendships. We’ve changed into women that others admire and respect. We’ve picked up the pieces of our hearts and lives with trembling hands to try and re-piece ourselves differently. We try. That’s what’s most important: we try to forge onwards. Some days are harder than others but mostly we try.
You taught us what tragedy is. While in the moment it’s akin to devastation, there’s also a lesson in tragedy that can’t be learned otherwise. And lessons are what propel us forward in our knowledge, wisdom and hearts. When we think of you, it hurts so much and yet, we’re different people now. We’re stronger, more resilient, more mindful and wiser. You gave us that lesson in only a few short months. You have incredible teaching power, my sweet angel.
You taught us love and hope and joy. When we found out we were pregnant, regardless of how it happened, we rejoiced. We thanked all the powers that be for the miracle that is Life, that was you. For a few fleeting months, we had the incredible opportunity to carry Life within our bodies. You chose us to be your vessel. What an honour it was that the amazing act of pregnancy was bestowed upon us, however short it was. Many women on this planet will never feel that. You trusted us with your Life, and perhaps you knew yours would be short lived, but still, you chose us. Perhaps you knew we needed strength, change or wisdom and chose us to bring the lessons in tragedy. Perhaps you knew that your short life, your tiny flicker of divine beats would set ablaze a necessary pain that would catapult us towards the women we were destined to be but hadn’t yet realized. You brought us joy and love and hope; you fulfilled every mother’s fantasy. We won’t let that diminish in the wake of our loss.
When we touch the soft skin of the rainbow baby that came after losing you, we can’t help but relish in the loving thoughts that you sent her/him to us. We hold on to the idea that you somehow gave us this chance to love again only this time more fiercely. We pray you want us to move onwards and find happiness eventually. We hold our living children tighter and we don’t take them for granted. We don’t take our subsequent babies for granted either. They’re your brothers and sisters and we hope that as they grew within our wombs, you were cradling them in your energetic love and light, protecting them as older siblings do.
We miss you terribly. We wish you were with us, growing, laughing, throwing tantrums. But if you’ve moved on to another family, we hope you join them Earthside for a long, healthy life. If you’re still roaming the Universe as a beautiful, loving energy then we hope you’re watching over us, sending us signs and continuing to guide us towards our best selves.
We will love you always and will carry you with us forever. Thank you for being you, our angels above.
All the Mommies