No one could have prepared me for how difficult each passing holiday or celebration would be this year. I know these events will get easier, but this year, Sofia was supposed to be here for them, and I looked forward to spending them with her.
But oh how things have changed. While the thoughts of each 2015 holiday once excited me, they now consume me with grief and I dread them for weeks ahead.
Christmas, to my surprise, was not as awful as I thought it would be. We were still in such shock, and our family and friends embraced us in such love that we were okay. Plus, she was not supposed to be here for Christmas of 2014, since she was not due until February, so it was easier to accept.
Valentine's Day was harder. I took out the Valentine's Day outfit I bought her and stared at it all week. I even hugged it and talked to it at some point.
Lent was rough. As silly and selfish as it may sound, I had a hard time giving something up. Hadn't I sacrificed enough? This, I struggled with.
Easter was wonderful. The message of new life and resurrection brought me great comfort and hope. It was a great surprise after what a tough time I had during Lent.
My birthday was the hardest. I didn't want a birthday without her to hold. She was supposed to be there. We were supposed to host an in-home wine tasting and have our friends over to meet her. That was the plan, and I am not one to happily welcome a change in plans. Still, I survived. My sweet Sofia filled her Grammy's garden with beautiful sweet peas on my birthday, and her daddy made sure I was well taken care of. While heartbroken, I was able to feel grateful for the years that have passed, and hopeful for the years to come.
I know there will be more difficult events to come throughout the remainder of the year... I was supposed to spend my summer with her at the beach. We were supposed to introduce her to the family at a reunion this summer, and go on road trips this fall. She was supposed to be Batman (with a tutu) for Halloween, and get into the presents and the ornaments at Christmas (if we could even manage getting a tree with a little one around!). Living through these moments without my Sofia will be difficult, but if there is anything I have learned, it is that the anticipation of each event is usually much worse than living through the day itself.
This is especially true of this weekend's holiday... Mother's Day. I had no idea how the anticipation of Mother's Day would completely consume me and make me feel like I've taken a huge step backward in my healing. Maybe I am extra emotional because I also happen to be fighting a horrible cold, and state testing has started, so work is a bit stressful, but the thought of Mother's Day, or anything baby, or anything family, or child related, instantly sends me into a downward spiral of grief and sorrow. Every Mother's Day commercial is a reminder that while I am a mother, I won't get any kisses from my daughter this Mother's Day, and that makes my heart ache more than it has in a while. This week, when I spoke to Sofia it was with tears in my eyes. I took an extra few minutes to stare at her hand and foot print, to sit in her room, to snuggle her stuffed giraffe, or to close my eyes and remember the feel of her soft cheeks on my lips and nose. I held onto my remembrance jewelry for strength and hope, and I prayed for the strength to live a life that makes her proud to call me mama. Every day after losing a child is hard, but the anticipation of Mother's Day, a Hallmark holiday, is ridiculously difficult.
So this year, while I hope all moms have a great Mother's Day, I will be praying extra prayers for moms who know the pain that my heart knows. This year, I pray for the mom who never got to hear that first cry and gasp for air, the mom who felt her baby's body go cold in her own two hands, who never got to change a diaper, wipe a tear, or give a bath. This year, I weep for the mom who never woke in the middle of the night to the sweet cries of her baby, but instead lies awake for hours on end, crying uncontrollably about the fate of her little one. I pray for the mom who did everything she could to keep her baby healthy during pregnancy, the one who took every precaution, and yet nature had different plans. I pray for these moms, and I hope you do too.
I pray that these women, broken and fragile, feel loved this weekend. I pray that they are surrounded by people who wish them a happy Mother's Day and use their babies' names. I pray that their little angels somehow find a way to bless their days, and that they live through the day with a smile. After all, these sweet angels made us mamas, and that is something to smile about. While our tax statements or census reports may not consider us mothers, we are, and forever will be. We know, just as much as any mom, the loving bond that forms between mother and child, even before birth. We know that being a mom can be the most joyous thing, the scariest thing, and the most heartbreaking thing all at once. I pray that we remember this during this Mother's Day, and always.
A child who lost both parents is an orphan. A wife who lost her husband is a widow. A husband who lost his wife is a widower. But there is no word for a mom who lost her child. Moms of loss are still moms.
I am a mom. As painful as it may be, this is my holiday too, and for Sofia, I will cherish it and honor her.
After writing this post I finally built up the courage to read some of the articles and blog posts I bookmarked earlier this week. For those interested in learning how to to better support those who have gone through loss, or to feel less alone if you are going through loss... read on... These are not specific to stillbirth, but to the loss of a child none-the-less.
A Mother's Day Letter to Grieving Moms
Dealing with Mother's Day after the death of a child
Being the Mother of a Child Who Died -- On Mother's Day
