Some Days I Forget You're Gone - Her View From Home

A Gift for Mom! 🤍

Some days I forget you’re gone.

I skip the tall, skinny mocha because I don’t want to overdo it on the caffeine. I practice self-control and deny myself the cookie dough. I caution your siblings not to tackle Mommy like they normally would.

I see the dates marked on the calendar—written in pen—that keep track of how far along I am. Almost halfway. It’s getting close, so close.

So very far.

I can’t bring myself to scribble through those dates. So they remain.

RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured In Weeks

Some days I forget you’re gone. I reach down to touch my stomach and wonder when the flutters will start.

They never do.

On the days I forget you’re gone, I pick up baby clothes in the store. Sometimes I almost put them in my cart. I make plans to pull old clothes and bouncers and swings down from the attic.

They’re all still in the attic. Gathering dust.

On the days I forget you’re gone, I look forward to future family Christmas cards where your dad and I are finally outnumbered. I work out the logistics of who will sleep where and anticipate sleepless nights.

I wasn’t wrong about the sleepless nights.

Some days I forget you’re gone, and when a friend announces her due date, I almost blurt, We’re due right at the same time! Instead, I will my throat not to burn and celebrate the life growing near but not in me.

RELATED: A Letter to My Mama, From Your Baby in Heaven

Some days I forget you’re gone, for just a moment.

But then I remember.

I hate remembering.

I remember, and then I drink the coffee. I eat the cookie dough. I wrestle with your brother and sister. I set the baby clothes back down. Because you’re gone. You’re gone.

But then there are those special days. The God-given days.

Like the one when your 2-year-old sister walked up to me and stated matter-of-factly with a grin, “I have a sister.”

“No,” I told her with a smile, “you have a brother. You don’t have a sister, Silly Goose.”

She turned serious and looked me in the eye. “Yes, I do,” she said, her voice steady. “I have a sister.”

The truth of her words sliced through my heart. I have a sister. And that’s when I realized.

I’d forgotten. Forgotten that you’re not gone after all.

RELATED: You Were Here My Angel

You’re not here with me. You’ll never flutter within me or kick me in the ribs. You’ll never be placed in my arms or rest your sleepy head on my chest. You’ll never nestle against your siblings in a Christmas card picture or wear the sweet outfits I’d already set aside for you.

But you’re not gone.

You’re just already home.

And someday we’ll all be together in the place prepared for us before the beginning of time.

And it’s on those days, in those moments, that I don’t mind remembering so much.

We love the comfort offered in Loved Baby to those who have experienced pregnancy loss and the loved ones supporting them through their pain.

Recommendations in this post contain affiliate links. Her View From Home may receive a small commission if you choose to purchase.

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

baby in heaven heaven I forget infant loss miscarriage pregnancy and infant loss pregnancy loss some days I forget

Mary Holloman

Mary Holloman is passionate about communicating deep truths through story-driven writing. Her first children’s picture book, The Anxious Lily, released in March 2023. She is also a contributing author for three books, and has written for many online publications, including Lifeway Research, the Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission, Charisma Magazine, and the Christian Broadcasting Network. She and her husband have three beautiful children and live in the Triad of North Carolina. She loves to create rhymes, act silly with her kids, and eat dark chocolate. You can follow along with her at maryholloman.com.

I Can’t Remember Her Laugh Anymore

In: Grief

I can’t remember her laugh anymore. It’s been four years, and I still can’t say that out loud without feeling like I’ve done something wrong. My mom died in October. The specific details of that week are burned into me in the strangest way: I remember the brand of crackers someone brought to the hospital waiting room, I remember my shoes were too tight. I remember a conversation about parking validation that felt absurd while it was happening and still does. But her laugh? The actual sound of it? I’ve lost the edges of it. It comes back to me...

Keep Reading

I Tried To Call My Mom Today

In: Grief

I tried to call her today. It has been a little over three years since she has been gone, and I tried to pick up the phone and call her. I saw the most beautiful sunrise on my way to work and thought, I’ve got to call my mama. It has been three years, and yet for a split second, my brain had me convinced she was just a phone call away. For a split second, I was just a girl, wanting to talk to my mom on the way to work. Almost like my heart just hasn’t caught up...

Keep Reading

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

In: Grief

In his last years, Dad spent his days in a chair by the big picture window. From there, he could survey all the comings and goings of the ranch. He watched the weather, the dogs, and our Arabian stallion, Axum, galloping through the pines and calling to the mares across the hill. Occasionally, Dad would alert us that a certain dog had escaped or that a storm was coming in. He was looking out. He was keeping track. He needed help to move even a few steps. At night, my husband or I cleaned him, dressed him, and tucked him into...

Keep Reading

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

In: Grief

Young woman holding red umbrella walking next to canola field

Outside, the sky hung in a thick, dim slab, like a ceiling over the trees that stood crooked in the wind. Not the fresh spring breeze we’re used to in Florida, but the damp, cold kind that makes you pull your coat together with tight fists. I got there right on time, parked in a front spot in the almost-bare lot, and slid my violet boots with fluffy pom-poms onto the asphalt. I braced for the impact of the frigid air and tucked my body inward as I did a little hop-jog into the pub. Once inside, I let out...

Keep Reading

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

In: Grief, Loss

I lay in bed this morning, sweet boy. It is Saturday. Seven of them since you left. Half awake, I turned over and saw Grief staring right at me. She pounced then stood, haughty, on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. She yelled that she would be close today. If she feels like it, she might even be relentless. She is cruel. You were the reason, sweet boy, for me to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Actually, every morning you were my purpose from the moment I opened my eyes until the moment they shut. I knew on...

Keep Reading

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

In: Grief

They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. I found that to be most true when my grandma passed. Like many grandmas, she was the best. She was kind and tender, but firm when she needed to be. She gave her time freely and used her baking talent to bless others. She had little and needed little, yet she had a way of drawing people together. There wasn’t a day I can remember when someone didn’t call her or stop by. She seemed to have all the answers and somehow knew how to fix almost any problem....

Keep Reading

My Parents Will Never See This Face

In: Grief

Woman with sunglasses shown in rear view mirror

You’ve had that moment, right? That moment when you don’t recognize the woman standing in front of you. Her hair is grayer. The skin around her eyes is a bit darker. Even without noticing the small details, that face is different. It’s aged. And as I stared at her yesterday afternoon, all dolled up and nowhere to go, it dawned on me: My parents will never see this version of me. My mom will never get to see hands that look like hers. She’ll never recognize the wrinkles or the sun spots. My father-in-law joked about gray hair with my...

Keep Reading

The Due Date that Never Comes

In: Grief, Loss, Miscarriage

It is not often talked about. I completely understand why, but when going through something so heartbreaking and devastating, women shouldn’t have to suffer alone or in silence. If you’ve gone through it, you probably already know what I’m referring to – miscarriage. It is the reason many couples don’t tell people they are expecting until after the first trimester. It is so unfortunately common that one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime. According to the National Institutes of Health, 15-20 percent of pregnancies will end in miscarriage, and it is the most common pregnancy complication...

Keep Reading

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

In: Grief, Living

Black and white photo of older man in garden

I was never meant to be a plant person. I’m the woman who can kill a succulent on the way home from the store. Once, a fern sighed in my direction and gave up. That is my spiritual gift. My grandpa Dominic would have laughed—hard. He loved to laugh. And sing hymns passionately in Italian. He was an Italian immigrant who lost his arm working in a mill, and still, he woke up every morning and dressed like dignity itself. He shopped for my grandma. He fixed what was broken. And he tended the biggest, happiest garden you’ve ever seen....

Keep Reading

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

In: Grief

Woman with mother smiling in older photo

Recently, whenever I look in the mirror, I see a strong resemblance to my mother. People always said I looked like her, but I never really saw it until now. I think it may be because you always think of your parents as being older than you are. At the age of 61, I am now only two years away from the age my mother was when she died. The only good thing about dying young is that everyone will remember you that way. I have only known my mom as the vibrant, personable, and active woman she was. Well,...

Keep Reading

If Today Was Rough, It's OK to Cry

Motherhood

If Today Was Rough, It's OK to Cry

Today I'll Hold You Close

Motherhood

Some Days I Forget You’re Gone

RELATED: A Mother’s Love Can’t Be Measured In Weeks

RELATED: A Letter to My Mama, From Your Baby in Heaven

But then I remember.

RELATED: You Were Here My Angel

You’re just already home.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Mary Holloman

I Can’t Remember Her Laugh Anymore

I Tried To Call My Mom Today

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

Some Days I Forget You’re Gone

But then I remember.

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

I Can’t Remember Her Laugh Anymore

I Tried To Call My Mom Today

Farewell My Father: Walking the Trail of Beauty in Old Age

Sometimes Healing Doesn’t Look Like Moving On

Now that You’re Gone, I Sit In This Waiting Room Alone

She Was the Glue That Held Our Family Together

My Parents Will Never See This Face

The Due Date that Never Comes

Repotting Myself: What My One‑Armed Grandpa Taught Me About Growing Anyway

When I Look In the Mirror, I See My Mother

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like