I am that mom.
The one whose blog you may visit through guarded eyes, until you know I am having a “good” day.
The one whose story you read with a tissue in hand, not quite opening your whole heart because it might just be too much to take in.
The one who you talk to or email or tweet, hoping that I don’t mention grief or pain or my daughter,
because what will you say next?
This is the turn my life has taken and as much as I never imagined it to be, never in a million years pictured myself in this place,
here I am.
There are days when grief swallows me whole and I’m not really sure what to do with myself, or my relenting ache, or the ever-present emptiness.
I am having one of those days, or maybe one of those weeks, or is this the flow of my lifetime? Three years of grief have passed and I am still caught off guard by the current.
The edges of grief and the softness of love and the intense gratitude for the life that is and the life that was, all meet somewhere within me and blur to one place of being, of living, without my whole world here.
I am tired of the relenting grief, of hearing new stories of loss and heartache, of being that mom along with so many others.
NO ONE, NO ONE EVER, should sit by the side of a piece of their heart in intensive care or walk through life with that piece missing.
We, as mothers, deserve a blissful, bonding nine months of rubbing a belly full of life and the immeasurable prize of a tiny, pink newborn to take home in the end.
But we don’t all get that and we don’t all know what to do when it happens to someone else either.
So here is what you can do for me and the millions of other moms who are that mom too…
You can breathe in and treasure that cooing baby wrapped around your waist and read that toddler pulling the glasses off your face one extra bedtime story and appreciate the warmth of the hand of that little girl strutting next to you with shoes on the wrong feet and give an extra long hug and a warm smile to that teenager grabbing for your car keys, because appreciating the life that is here is the most tremendous way to honor the life that is not.
And if you still want to do more? You can, because I am walking.
I am walking, because honestly, I don’t really know what else to do.
I am walking like I have done every year… but this year?
This year I am going to fundraise until steam comes off my keyboard and walk for my preemies who won their battle with life and my preemie who lost her’s and all of those moms of babies born weeks or months too early and those of babies who took their last breath and those of high risk pregnancies that left them wondering if a baby would “be” at all.
I am walking because I am grieving with so many others and because this walk and this day makes being that mom a title I have an ounce of power over.
If you want to do more, click that little purple button below with my beautiful baby’s picture on it and donate a dollar or two to fuel the fire that my grief has lit.
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