A Gift for Mom! 🤍

I Thought My Arms Would Be Holding a Baby Today, Instead My Heart Holds a Memory

4 Minute Read

By Brittany Dick

Photo of a sonogram — Image via Brittany Dick

Today was meant to be special.

From the moment you tested positive, imaginations ran wild picturing the life you’d soon hold in your hands.

Will it be a boy or girl? Will my first find it difficult to adjust? Will he or she resemble me, or be yet another carbon copy of my husband? Will this baby like our pets? Will our pets like this baby? What items do I need to prepare for this baby’s arrival?

The excitement grew each day. Life felt a bit fuller, a bit more magical while that baby was growing in your tummy.

And then, one day, the magic faded. But not like a gradual fade—more like a violent gust of wind that takes the breath from your lungs.

And when that baby left your body, it felt as if a small piece of you left, too.

RELATED: We Lost Our Baby at 17 Weeks Pregnant

Miscarriages happen all the time. You know several friends or family members who have angel babies of their own. But just because they are common doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to mourn each and every loss you experience.

To the mom who’s grieving on her baby’s due date:

Mom to mom, I want you to know it does get easier. With time—and through allowing yourself to mourn—it stings a little less. You’ll be able to talk about your experience with others without crumbling. You may never be OK with losing your baby, but it’s possible to learn ways to accept it.

But today, on your baby’s due date, I encourage you to make room for whatever emotions come up.

Sadness.

Peace.

Anger.

Numbness.

Resentment.

Hope.

It’s all valid. There is no guidebook for pregnancy loss. I’m not anyone special, but I’m a mom who’s grieving, too. And I can say I’m feeling all of the above on the day my baby was projected to be born.

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

Today, I find myself wanting to steal some moments of solitude when I can.

To hug my husband in silence—because I know what he’s feeling, too.

To close my eyes in solemn concentration to feel a connection to the being I lost months ago.

And in my head, my words echo on repeat, like a letter or prayer I desperately hope my baby can hear. They sound a little bit like this:

Hi baby, can you hear me? I really wish I could hold you.

Today was supposed to be your due date. You left my body months ago, and yet I still feel a part of my soul intertwined with yours. Do you feel it too?

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

It’s been six months and sometimes, when my mind has drifted from this reality, I still reach down to caress the soft spot on my tummy where you once grew. Today, I feel sad because you’re not where I am. I can’t reach down to feel your presence—I can only try my best to feel it in the breeze.

Today, I choose to honor you.

Instead of celebrating your birthday, I’ll acknowledge the pain we felt from losing you as what it was at its core—love. We really loved you, and we always will.

I don’t know why you’re gone, but I know where you are is where we all hope to be one day.

There are so many things I wish I could know about you. But I do know this—I miss you, I love you, and one day I’ll see you again.

Love,
Your mama

Until we meet again, my baby—due April 20, 2020.

Previously published on the author’s blog

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 due date Grief heaven loss loss mom miscarriage Motherhood

Brittany Dick

Brittany is a health writer and blogger who's admittedly awkward, anxious, and usually hungry.

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

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood

Editor’s note: This post discusses child loss Child loss changes Mother’s Day. My 19-month-old, Julia, died suddenly on Mother’s Day in 2024. Three months later, her autopsy revealed she had B-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (B-ALL, also known as SUDNIC). Julia died a week after we did an embryo transfer at an IVF clinic in an attempt to have a second child. We found out three days after Julia’s death that the embryo did not make it either. Six months later, we did another embryo transfer that succeeded, and I now have an 8-month-old daughter, Lucy Mei (“Mei Mei” means “little...

Keep Reading

I Miss Having Parents

In: Grief

Grown daughter posing between smiling parents

I have been living with the ache of loss for so long that I truly don’t remember what it feels like not to carry it. Sometimes it rests quietly beneath my ribs, dormant and almost polite. Other times it rises without warning—on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a coffee line—and cuts straight through me. Today, it was a song. I was waiting for my coffee when “Pictures of You” by The Cure drifted through the café speakers. I hadn’t heard it in 20 years. In my twenties, it meant heartbreak—young love unraveling, relationships ending before they were...

Keep Reading

A Grandmother Leaves an Imprint of Love

Grief

A Grandmother Leaves an Imprint of Love

"This Isn't Going To Be What Takes Me Down."

Grown Children

I Thought My Arms Would Be Holding a Baby Today, Instead My Heart Holds a Memory

And then, one day, the magic faded. But not like a gradual fade—more like a violent gust of wind that takes the breath from your lungs.

RELATED: We Lost Our Baby at 17 Weeks Pregnant

But today, on your baby’s due date, I encourage you to make room for whatever emotions come up.

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

To close my eyes in solemn concentration to feel a connection to the being I lost months ago.

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

Today, I choose to honor you.

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

Brittany Dick

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

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Get It Now

So God Made a Mother

I Thought My Arms Would Be Holding a Baby Today, Instead My Heart Holds a Memory

And then, one day, the magic faded. But not like a gradual fade—more like a violent gust of wind that takes the breath from your lungs.

But today, on your baby’s due date, I encourage you to make room for whatever emotions come up.

To close my eyes in solemn concentration to feel a connection to the being I lost months ago.

Today, I choose to honor you.

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

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

I Lost My Daughter on Mother’s Day: 3 Truths I’m Believing Today

I Miss Having Parents

Previous Post

Next Post

You May Also Like