Dear Mama Whose Arms are Empty

Dear Mama Whose Arms are Empty

I know firsthand the pain that comes with losing a baby you can’t take home. I lost my daughter at 23 weeks 6 days. Below are the things that I know about miscarriage and stillbirth.

Dear mama whose arms are empty,

I know that you wake up every morning hoping the horrible thing that happened was just a bad dream. I know you still feel your baby move even though it’s been days, weeks or months since your baby filled your belly. I know that tears and thoughts of your baby keep you awake at night. I know you despise your body for failing you and your baby. I know you cringe when you hear whining about terrible pregnancies or cranky babies. I know you cry in the shower so no one will hear you. I know that you just want to hear someone say your baby’s name. I know that you hate yourself for the jealousy that consumes you when you hear of new healthy babies being born. I know that you just want to get pregnant again to make this pain go away. I know you never want to be pregnant again because you just couldn’t survive another loss.

I know.

I also know that soon you’ll fall asleep without tears. I know that you’ll find a special way to honour your baby’s memory. I know you’ll appreciate the short months you were able to carry your baby. I know someday you’ll have kind words and a warm hug to help another mama through this pain. I know you’ll show the people you meet on your journey the compassion you would have given your baby, after all they are someone’s baby too. I know you’ll laugh again without guilt. I know your broken heart will grow back together, it won’t be the same as before, maybe even a bit crooked, but it will be stronger than ever. 

I know that you are a mother, a mother who loves a baby she can’t hold.


A mama that knows.

Photo credit: adapted from Yashna M |Flickr

— Kristin, originally published on momstown Edmondon

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