My heart is heavy today. I was traveling for most of the day, so I didn't have any personal, private time. Now, it's nearly dinner time, so I'm not quite able to get some time to reflect in privacy. But, I am able to write this.
A very good friend of mine shared her story and I cried from so many different emotions. She was so brave, sharing her story on Facebook and letting all her loved ones read. So much of me wanted to do the same, to openly acknowledge that I am an angel mom... But I know so many people, especially family members, would either not accept the truth, or ask for painful details that I don't want to share. Even some friends would immediately want to know the whole story, or expect me to justify my experiences...
Very few people know about my extensive abuse background, and even fewer people know that my two kids were conceived by rape. Not that it matters. They are MY kids and are none of his... he may have been the sperm donor, but he has no claim to my angels. I am not ashamed of them being products of something so ugly, because they were perfect and pure. What matters is people always want to jump to conclusions... You know, thinking I was sleeping around and having sex out of wedlock or something to that effect. Or if I tell them I was 11 and 13 when I got pregnant, even worse conclusions are drawn... like I was some dirty whore or something (Which I have been called).
For some reason, when people hear that a 13 year old is pregnant, they don't see that girl as a child. They put so much blame on her... They never ask sympathetically what happened. People always assume the worst. Nevermind we are children. The only people who are alarmed or shocked are my peers. Go figure.
Anyway... Trying not to be too bitter... I just find the stigma so painful, and it hurts all the mothers out there, especially young mothers and/or single mothers and/or unwed mothers. If you're part of all three of those categories, people suddenly think that you're happy about it. AND if you lose a baby that is the product of rape, they EXPECT you to be happy about it and think you're CRAZY if you are upset about losing a child. So, I tend to get a lot of negativity about my losses...
So, that leaves me feeling wounded and afraid, unsure of the responses I'd get if I shared my story. i would hope on the positive feedback would find its way to me, but I know that even one negative response would ring out louder than 100 positive ones.
So, this leaves me feeling very lonely today. Tonight, I will curl up with my Build-a-Bear that I made for Sophie and I'll probably cry and feel very sad... But I still grieve my little girl. I don't know if I've touched on this before, so I'm going to explain something.
I worry that people think I don't grieve my first loss. I do grieve tht baby, but that pain was very different than what I went through with Sophie. First of all, I was only 6-7 weeks when I lost him. I knew it was a baby, but I didn't know I was pregnant and it didn't really connect in my brain for a long time that he was my child... I was 11 years old, so honestly, would you blame me? I was practically a baby...
With Sophie, I knew for at least a month that I was pregnant and my heart had settled on that. I had names picked out and everything. When I lost her, I was about 14 weeks pregnant, and when she was pushed from my body, I actually had a baby... I mean, there was no confusing it, I had this tiny baby who LOOKED like a tiny baby... a baby big enough to decipher gender. Going through labor and birth was a very different experience, and I sat there, with my little sweetheart that I had such big plans for in my hands, it broke me apart... Especially because she was meant to live. I know deep in my heart that if my father hadn't beat me while I was pregnant, my daughter would have lived. And that was beyond painful.
I do grieve my son, but my connection with him only came after death, and years later when I finally made the connection of what happened. I had that connection with Sophie from the moment I found out I was pregnant, so her loss was extremely real in that very moment. I know I lost a child with Tobi, but it never felt the same. I guess because I had that firm knowledge that Sophie was my baby from the moment I knew about her made it even more real for me.
So, yes, most of my grieving is for my daughter. She was the end to a life I longed for. She was a miracle, a gift that was robbed from me. I don't know if I'll ever get over it...
Tonight, I will grieve... I always will... Because a mother's love never dies.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Thursday, October 1, 2015
Sometimes, I Forget I'm a Mom
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I wake up in the morning, alone in my twin sized bed with no one else home except for the dogs.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I sit in the silence that can only accompany being alone, listening to the quietness of the fall morning.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel my best friend's swollen belly, carrying my godson, whose heart beat was the first I'd ever heard and whose ultrasound is the only one I've ever seen of someone I love.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I read posts about mothers loving their daughters, or daughters loving their mothers, and I'm always the last to realize it applies to me, too.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I walk through the baby section of a store, looking at clothes that my godson will wear.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I slam on the breaks and throw my arm out to shield a person who's not there.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I'm surrounded by people with kids, who glow with exhaustion and love.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel lonely, even though I'm surrounded by people.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I get this nagging sadness in my chest for no reason.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel like something is missing on days that are big and important.
I find it so difficult, sometimes, to go through life. I know I'm a mom and I know my angels are just that... angels... but sometimes, I forget that being a mom without a baby to hold and a child to love, being a mom who has no one to comfort and kiss and sing to... means that the sadness and longing show up in the strangest ways.
I find myself trying to comfort my friend about her pregnancy, the one within weeks of being finished, telling her all these tips and giving her all this advice about things to do or not to do... as if trying to comfort her with words of understanding... and I get mad at myself, scolding saying, "You don't know what it's like, stop trying to pretend." I'm harsh on myself. That part that says, "You have no baby, therefore you're not a mom." But my heart says, "I do have a baby... I have two. They live in heaven, but they're mine.. I AM a mom!"
Some of the things people don't talk about... They talk about the pain and the conflicting feelings, but I don't see people talking about the residual motherly traits living on... the things that stay with you, even though you child or children didn't...
...to just fall in love with a ultrasound or a heartbeat that you know is going to be someone you love... It didn't mean anything to me, not even in movies, until I was a mom.
...the need to protect and shield and shower love on a small spirit just starting their life journey. I didn't know how to do it, or why I'd even want to, until I was a mom.
...the bottomless, overflowing well of love and affection you can feel for someone who is a little bit of you, in body or in spirit. None of that was possible until I was a mom.
Now that I think of it, some of the best parts of me wouldn't be part of me if I weren't a mom. It's hard to remember, when you don't have your child there as a daily reminder. It's hard to give yourself credit to how strong and wonderful you are when your biggest example of that lives in heaven, not on earth. It's hard to believe you're a mother when no one else can see the light(s) of your life... because they walk not beside you, but within you.
So, sometimes, my mind forgets I'm a mom, lost in a world that never got to see their light... but my heart and my soul knows. They knew from the moment their little hearts first started to beat, and they will carry my children for the rest of my life, until we are together again someday.
♥ A mother's love never dies ♥
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I sit in the silence that can only accompany being alone, listening to the quietness of the fall morning.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel my best friend's swollen belly, carrying my godson, whose heart beat was the first I'd ever heard and whose ultrasound is the only one I've ever seen of someone I love.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I read posts about mothers loving their daughters, or daughters loving their mothers, and I'm always the last to realize it applies to me, too.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I walk through the baby section of a store, looking at clothes that my godson will wear.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I slam on the breaks and throw my arm out to shield a person who's not there.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I'm surrounded by people with kids, who glow with exhaustion and love.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel lonely, even though I'm surrounded by people.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I get this nagging sadness in my chest for no reason.
Sometimes, I forget I'm a mom when I feel like something is missing on days that are big and important.
I find it so difficult, sometimes, to go through life. I know I'm a mom and I know my angels are just that... angels... but sometimes, I forget that being a mom without a baby to hold and a child to love, being a mom who has no one to comfort and kiss and sing to... means that the sadness and longing show up in the strangest ways.
I find myself trying to comfort my friend about her pregnancy, the one within weeks of being finished, telling her all these tips and giving her all this advice about things to do or not to do... as if trying to comfort her with words of understanding... and I get mad at myself, scolding saying, "You don't know what it's like, stop trying to pretend." I'm harsh on myself. That part that says, "You have no baby, therefore you're not a mom." But my heart says, "I do have a baby... I have two. They live in heaven, but they're mine.. I AM a mom!"
Some of the things people don't talk about... They talk about the pain and the conflicting feelings, but I don't see people talking about the residual motherly traits living on... the things that stay with you, even though you child or children didn't...
...to just fall in love with a ultrasound or a heartbeat that you know is going to be someone you love... It didn't mean anything to me, not even in movies, until I was a mom.
...the need to protect and shield and shower love on a small spirit just starting their life journey. I didn't know how to do it, or why I'd even want to, until I was a mom.
...the bottomless, overflowing well of love and affection you can feel for someone who is a little bit of you, in body or in spirit. None of that was possible until I was a mom.
Now that I think of it, some of the best parts of me wouldn't be part of me if I weren't a mom. It's hard to remember, when you don't have your child there as a daily reminder. It's hard to give yourself credit to how strong and wonderful you are when your biggest example of that lives in heaven, not on earth. It's hard to believe you're a mother when no one else can see the light(s) of your life... because they walk not beside you, but within you.
So, sometimes, my mind forgets I'm a mom, lost in a world that never got to see their light... but my heart and my soul knows. They knew from the moment their little hearts first started to beat, and they will carry my children for the rest of my life, until we are together again someday.
♥ A mother's love never dies ♥
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