Your Mama will be turning 30 in a few days and all the prediction calendars say that’s the day it is safe to tell the world of your grand arrival. Funny that word safe. From the moment the second line appeared on that little piece of plastic, the moment you made me a mom, all I wanted was to keep you safe. This was our first growing belly photo we took together, a morning with the sun just starting to kiss the sky, a morning so still and quiet a calmness washes over you. I sat on that bed for a long time touching my stomach amazed by the life that was growing inside me, dreaming of the lazy Saturday mornings we would have curled up together in bed reading stories, giggling, pushing the hair out of your eyes while you slept softly.
But baby the universe had a different plan and I like to think that you were just too damn awesome that this earth was not prepared for you – this would be our only official photo together, after that day my belly would stop growing and you would be taken from this world far too early. I know that you know baby, but I fought for you with every fiber of my being. I begged and pleaded, and I would have made a deal with the devil to give you more time.
Although the days that followed were, and still are, some of the hardest, the ones that came before were some of the happiest days I could only imagine – because sweet baby you sure as hell lived. We took you to the edge of the world and as I stared out across the ocean I wished for you a life full of adventure and beauty. One day I hoped that you would hear the calling of the earth’s drum and you would set out on a journey and you would explore the world – taking in every single beautiful piece of it. Maybe your journey would take you to the very spot I stood and in that moment you would feel me and know the magnitude of my love for you. You see baby, even though I will never hear you cry out in the middle of the night or hold your hand in mine, as long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.
In a few days I will be 30 and when I close my eyes, make a wish and blow out my candles – I will wish for you. A wish that wherever you may be, you have days filled with deep belly laughter, love that makes your heart feel it will burst, a place filled with mountains to climb and oceans to swim. A wish that even though we never had the pleasure of seeing each other that when we are lucky enough to meet again we will know that I am yours and you are mine.
I love you goobles and gobbles.
I’ve debated on whether to share our miscarriage story and I am aware that eventhough I am comfortable sharing my walk with grief, there are others out there that by reading this may unearth the pain they are trying to surpress. Miscarriage is a tricky subject to talk about, but the more I process my loss and talk about my experience the easier it is to share. My hope is that while the world still spins madly on, that my words may bring some shred of comfort to someone who might be walking their own painful path of loss. It is my way of not letting myself forget, for recognizing that this pain will subside and while I will never be the same, this baby will be a piece of my story forever. It is my way of honoring my baby’s short life.
So wherever you are on your journey with grief, know that I’m walking along beside you. I’ve loved and lost a baby too. It’s scary, messy and you may feel entirely alone, but you will make it through this. Grief has no timeline, there will be days you feel more like yourself and there will days you are crushed by waves of grief. Know that it is ok to be sad, to be angry, to want to scream, but most importantly know that it’s ok to keep on loving your baby.