Sometimes the storm doesn’t end with a rainbow. Sometimes the storm just ends.
Sometimes a mama’s arms remain empty and aching. She wakes in the night only to hear the deafening silence. There are no first steps or doctor visits. No play dates or photo shoots. No car seats or strollers or diaper bags. Only empty space occupies the place where joy should be.
Sometimes a mama feels alone. When all around her announcements are made and parties are planned and photos are shared, she feels left behind. She’s happy for them, but she can’t see her own happy ending. Everything in her longs for that bulging tummy and swollen feet as her friends playfully fuss about theirs. She knows they don’t mean to make her feel sad and excluded, but she does.
Sometimes a mama’s grief becomes overwhelming. Dates that haunt her come and go on the calendar, and nobody even knows. They don’t see how her heart breaks with all the what-ifs. She silently celebrates a birthday that never happened and only she remembers. Guilt and grief walk hand in hand, meandering through her thoughts, leaving a trail of lies that she believes.
Sometimes a mama’s healing is slow. There is no scar to see, but the pain is still very real, a daily companion she keeps by her side. When the sharpness dulls, the ache takes over. She walks through her days in every way seeming fine, but her wounded heart is so sore, threatening to re-open at a moment’s notice. The days are long. Time creeps by, and the mending of the broken pieces of her soul is a lesson in patience and perseverance.
Sometimes a mama cries. She knows people see her and wonder. She feels awkward and conspicuous when she wants nothing more than to shrink into the shadows with her tears. But they come unbidden and without warning. And she stands in the aisle of the grocery store with tear-stained cheeks as she watches a new mom bounce her baby next to the pasta section. She hears a song as she sits in the pew at church and the flood comes swiftly as everyone around her worships.
Sometimes a mama needs to know there are others whose stories mirror her own. She craves the company of other moms who have walked this desolate path. Even if it’s just to sit together, quiet and contemplating all that has been lost. Shared tears and a place to feel safe to say all the things that have never before been uttered. The warmth of a knowing hug that says it’s going to be okay.
Weathering this storm of loss takes courage and strength, so keep going, mama. You are not alone. You are seen. Your grief is shared and your tears are mine too. You don’t have to carry this all by yourself. Take your time. It’s okay to cry in all the weird places for all the strange reasons. I do it too.
Some of us don’t get a rainbow. But remember the treasure we do have. We have shared life, no matter how briefly, with a little one in the most sacred of ways, and that precious memory is ours to cherish.
by Alaina V. Fletcher 
