Three of my babies died. I miss them. I love them. I remember them — not that I’ve ever forgotten. It’s just that today, I am allowed to be a bereaved mother, to mourn, and to speak of the babies I carry in my heart. No one can tell me I need to move on, because today, on National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I need to remember.
Really, this is my everyday. But especially today, I am honoring my Calvin, my Rainbow, and my Gaelen. I am remembering all babies who have died too soon, including those of relatives and friends. I am abiding by these families who must endure a lifetime of mousing.
I didn't know how much more I could fall in love until I witnessed the way he loves each of our children.
Today is NOT his second Father’s Day, but it is his second time spending this holiday with his baby in his arms. For the first without worry whether our child was thriving, and for that, I am so grateful and so happy for him.
Happy Father’s Day, Louie. I am so blessed to celebrate Father's Day with you.
To those who say not to let my grief define me, I say, “Why not?” Our everyday experiences shape who we are. So why not the extraordinary ones that rip our hearts open? A heart that knows mourning is tender not only to its own aching but to that of others. I think that’s a good thing.
Today marks 4 years and 3 months since Calvin’s birthday. Yes, I’m still counting. Yes, I’m still grieving. And, yes, I’m still standing, but a better person by having carried him.
Happy 51 months in heaven, Calvin. Because of you and your sisters, my broken heart has more to give.