You see me and I smile. You ask me how I am and I put on a brave face and tell you I am well, even if I’m not. A part of me wishes that I could show you a glimpse of the pain and love I feel, just so you could understand why I will never “get over it”. You would see memories that I play and replay, forever wondering if there was something I could have done to change the outcome-If there was something I could have done to save the lives of my children. If you could have a moment in my shoes, you would feel the aching of my empty arms and the overwhelming sorrow that I feel everyday, being the mom to four angels.
If I could give you a peek into my life, you would feel the pain and disbelief as I remember the day I found out I was having a miscarriage for the first time. You would see my second pregnancy come to a devastating end at nineteen weeks and the day I gently placed my son in a casket, kissed his head and slowly closed the lid, knowing that was the last time I would see his perfect face. You would feel the panic I felt the day I went to the restroom, days after finding out I was pregnant with our third, only to see blood. You would see my husband and I sitting in a dimly lit ultrasound room during our fourth pregnancy with tears streaming down our faces as we were told the little girl we were expecting no longer had a heartbeat. You would feel my undying love for the children I will hold forever in my heart.
I know so many of you are hurting because you hold your children in your heart instead of your arms. It is beautiful how much a mother can love, even if she only carries her child for a matter of weeks. The length of a pregnancy in no way indicates the strength or depth of a mother’s love. I wish this concept was something more people understood. Losing a child is a heartbreak that words cannot adequately express and it’s not something that one can just “move on” from.
I will grieve for as long as I live. At first I hated this fact, but as time goes on, I have come to view grief as a cherished and old friend. Grief is not weakness and it is nothing to be ashamed of. It has become a driving force in my life to honor the memories of my angels. I may cry, but I am not weak. I might fall, but I always get up. The grief I feel from the loss of my children is evidence that I loved, and that I loved deeply. I will not apologize for that. I am and always will be a grieving mother.