Today is Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
Today my facebook newsfeed was filled up with posts from mamas and daddies, aunts and uncles and grandparents who had to say goodbye to their babies too soon.
Today I remembered my own darling girl, gone too soon for my liking, but forever in my heart
Today I give a silent nod to you, all you mothers and fathers with wounds of your own, holes in your heart from missing your babies
I nod to you, new parents, still freshly grieving your loss. The hurt never goes away, but it does change, and it gets easier to deal with. You are not alone.
I nod to you, you seasoned veteran. Maybe your baby would be a teenager now, or perhaps an adult. Your wound is no longer fresh and gaping, but it is still noticeable, still there. Your loss still matters.
I nod to you, those who have lost more than one baby. Their lives mattered, and have forever changed who you are.
I nod to you parents and family members and friends of lost potential and babies of all kinds because your loss matters, and your story matters.
Do you hear me? Your story matters
Your story of loss, whatever that looks like, matters
And tonight I light my candle in remembrance of all our babies.
We stand together
So tell me, dear friend, what's your story?
If you're feeling brave, maybe comment below with the name of your sweet one and how long it's been since they left this earth
And regardless of whether or not you say a word, know I am standing with you tonight, and honoring your sweet babe(s)
Their lives matter
And so does yours
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babies. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 October 2014
Friday, 12 April 2013
It should have been different...
I've written here before (I think) about how a friend of mine has a baby girl who was born only a few days before I lost Mia.
I am in love with my friend's daughter. While every milestone baby S reaches is a reminder of the milestones Mia will never reach, it also feels like an honor to get to watch baby S grow up and have that physical reminder.
So, last night, I offered to watch baby S so her mama and daddy could go out.
Our evening was full of fun, including a poopy diaper (Which went everywhere, including all up her back and on her feet and on me) and a leaking bottle (Spilling milk all down her and all over me)
At bed time, I took baby S into a dark room, and held her to my chest as we walked back and forth across the floor.
I let myself imagine, for a minute, that I wasn't holding baby S, but Mia.
I imagined that I wasn't waiting for her parents to come home, but for Cam to come home from a night out.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the baby scent and imagined Mia was here.
I absolutely love my friend's daughter. I am the best non-official auntie ever. And I've promised to go with her mom to take her for her first pedicure and I want to be the one who teaches her how to drive in an empty grocery store parking lot and maybe take her to get her ears pierced or her first tattoo.
Because we should have been doing that together, little S and her mama and Mia and me.
And instead of hiding under my covers because I don't get to do those things with my daughter, I want to do those things, to honor my daughter.
It just hurts so much sometimes because she should have been here.
Things should have been different
But they're not
and it sucks
I am in love with my friend's daughter. While every milestone baby S reaches is a reminder of the milestones Mia will never reach, it also feels like an honor to get to watch baby S grow up and have that physical reminder.
So, last night, I offered to watch baby S so her mama and daddy could go out.
Our evening was full of fun, including a poopy diaper (Which went everywhere, including all up her back and on her feet and on me) and a leaking bottle (Spilling milk all down her and all over me)
At bed time, I took baby S into a dark room, and held her to my chest as we walked back and forth across the floor.
I let myself imagine, for a minute, that I wasn't holding baby S, but Mia.
I imagined that I wasn't waiting for her parents to come home, but for Cam to come home from a night out.
I closed my eyes and breathed in the baby scent and imagined Mia was here.
I absolutely love my friend's daughter. I am the best non-official auntie ever. And I've promised to go with her mom to take her for her first pedicure and I want to be the one who teaches her how to drive in an empty grocery store parking lot and maybe take her to get her ears pierced or her first tattoo.
Because we should have been doing that together, little S and her mama and Mia and me.
And instead of hiding under my covers because I don't get to do those things with my daughter, I want to do those things, to honor my daughter.
It just hurts so much sometimes because she should have been here.
Things should have been different
But they're not
and it sucks
Monday, 15 October 2012
Oh Baby
Today was Infant Loss Rememberance Day. Today was also the day of my good friend's baby shower.
I was conflicted, these 2 important events crossing. I wanted to go to my friend's shower, but this would mean missing the 7 o'clock wave of light... and lighting a candle for my baby girl as well as the children of other wonderful ladies I've met through this blog, and places like Glow.
I decided to go to my friend's shower, hoping somebody else out there remembered to think of my Mia as they were lighting a candle tonight. I knew she would be in my mind, even if there was no candle lit in her memory.
My friend's baby daughter was born 2 days before I lost Mia. We were pregnant together, our girls were going to go to kindergarten together. Her daughter came home from the hospital wrapped in a little pink blanket... and mine came home in a box.
Even in the newness of her daughter, this friend has still been amazing to me after my loss. The very day I lost Mia, she sent me an email, letting me know how sorry she was and that she was thinking of me. She's listened to me cry as I talked about Mia, and life after her, and she's given me hugs that make me feel like - just for a minute - I'm breathing oxygen again. She understood why I wept as I held her baby for the first time.
A few weeks after losing Mia, I went to babysit for her and her husband while they went out. Their baby wasn't there, but their oldest daughter was. We laughed and played pretend, and after I had tucked her off to bed, I creapt through her baby room, running my fingers over the tiny hats my daughter would have been wearing, breathing in the baby scent that lingered in the room.
So tonight was her baby shower, and I went. I'm glad I did.
There were a few women there with newborns, besides my friend, and a couple more that were pregnant. I thought I would have a harder time, but I didn't really.
I laughed and talked. My friend asked if I wanted to hold her baby. I did, I held her sweet, darling girl. I thought of Mia, and how these two would have been friends. With Mia's locket around my neck and my friend's daughter in my arms, it didn't feel strange. I didn't wish my daughter was here instead of...
This friend hasn't been anything but kind to me over the last month, and if anyone, she is the one who understands me the most.
She, with her arms full of baby, waking up every couple hours during the night to nurse, a sleep deprived mama. Her friendship is something I couldn't do without.
So I held her daughter. My arms that normally ache over being empty were finally content, holding a little one.
I expected it to be a lot worse then it was, but it wasn't that bad. It was bitter sweet.
I remembered all of your babies tonight, the ones gone too soon. I was sending love to all the brave mama's out there tonight, the mama's who encourage me, pick me up when I fall and make me believe that I'm brave too.
I was conflicted, these 2 important events crossing. I wanted to go to my friend's shower, but this would mean missing the 7 o'clock wave of light... and lighting a candle for my baby girl as well as the children of other wonderful ladies I've met through this blog, and places like Glow.
I decided to go to my friend's shower, hoping somebody else out there remembered to think of my Mia as they were lighting a candle tonight. I knew she would be in my mind, even if there was no candle lit in her memory.
My friend's baby daughter was born 2 days before I lost Mia. We were pregnant together, our girls were going to go to kindergarten together. Her daughter came home from the hospital wrapped in a little pink blanket... and mine came home in a box.
Even in the newness of her daughter, this friend has still been amazing to me after my loss. The very day I lost Mia, she sent me an email, letting me know how sorry she was and that she was thinking of me. She's listened to me cry as I talked about Mia, and life after her, and she's given me hugs that make me feel like - just for a minute - I'm breathing oxygen again. She understood why I wept as I held her baby for the first time.
A few weeks after losing Mia, I went to babysit for her and her husband while they went out. Their baby wasn't there, but their oldest daughter was. We laughed and played pretend, and after I had tucked her off to bed, I creapt through her baby room, running my fingers over the tiny hats my daughter would have been wearing, breathing in the baby scent that lingered in the room.
So tonight was her baby shower, and I went. I'm glad I did.
There were a few women there with newborns, besides my friend, and a couple more that were pregnant. I thought I would have a harder time, but I didn't really.
I laughed and talked. My friend asked if I wanted to hold her baby. I did, I held her sweet, darling girl. I thought of Mia, and how these two would have been friends. With Mia's locket around my neck and my friend's daughter in my arms, it didn't feel strange. I didn't wish my daughter was here instead of...
This friend hasn't been anything but kind to me over the last month, and if anyone, she is the one who understands me the most.
She, with her arms full of baby, waking up every couple hours during the night to nurse, a sleep deprived mama. Her friendship is something I couldn't do without.
So I held her daughter. My arms that normally ache over being empty were finally content, holding a little one.
I expected it to be a lot worse then it was, but it wasn't that bad. It was bitter sweet.
I remembered all of your babies tonight, the ones gone too soon. I was sending love to all the brave mama's out there tonight, the mama's who encourage me, pick me up when I fall and make me believe that I'm brave too.
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