What they don’t tell you about child loss . . .
They don’t tell you that you’ll never be the same—not that you won’t ever feel joy or love the life you have—but that it changes you. They don’t tell you about the countless sleepless nights and the not knowing why, holding your thoughts captive and the guilt that threatens to creep in.
They don’t tell you about the hole that can never be filled or replaced mostly because you never ever want it to. You don’t want it to because you hold space for your child, and you don’t want that to ever go away.
They don’t tell you about the questions . . . How many kids do you have? How old are your children? Are you going to try for a girl or a boy? When are you going to have another?
They don’t tell you about the looks people will give you once you tell them your baby has died.
They don’t know what to say or do. Neither do you. They don’t tell you about the endless tears,
But . . . they also don’t tell you that you will smile. You will smile at the wildflowers as the sun shines and the warm sun kisses your face. That you will laugh as you watch your other children grow and become the goofy, loveable, amazing humans God created them to be.
They don’t tell you that you will gain compassion like none other for those who are hurting because you’ve been there and you can feel deeply what they have felt—and in an incredibly difficult way, that becomes a gift.
They don’t tell you that you will see life differently . . .
More beautiful, more sacred, more precious because this time is all we have. They don’t tell you that every day you will dream about seeing your baby again, about holding her, about being with her. Heaven feels a whole lot closer. Not that you don’t hold all these earthly moments sacred but that you have a treasure like no other to look so forward to.
To the child loss mamas, you are a special kind of beautiful, and I pray you know you are not alone.