loss, life and the world in-between

Since losing Jorai, I have found a world of beautiful women who unfortunately share my tragic story. All of our stories are different. Some have lost one child, some two, some three, and some so many more. Some have lost their child before they could even birth and hold them. Some birthed their child silent and either chose to hold them, or not. Some got to spend a few hours or days or weeks or months with their child before tragedy hit. We're all different. But we're all the same. We're all babyloss mama's.

Some of us cope well. Though we're rocked to the core with devastation, we find our way out and continue on with hope. Others struggle to find reason and peace with life. We may trod on, day to day and find happiness again, but still look at others and hurt. And others...some of us really struggle with life. Struggle with happiness. Struggle to breathe. We all grieve and heal different. But we're all the same.

I love my family and friends, but they have no idea of my pain. And unfortunately, there's nothing I can do to help them understand. I want them to. But they can't. They feel their own loss and they see my pain...but that's where it ends.

The deep down guttural pain I feel is indescribable. It's a pain no one can describe. A loss so big it aches. Every second of the day. There's not one day that goes by that I don't think of my girls. Not one. I have three children, but only one gets birthday cards and presents and hugs. Only one gets talked about and asked about and remembered. Only one. And most people don't get that...but babyloss mama's do.

I feel like I live a fractured life since losing my girls. I have family and friends that I adore and I pour into 100%. But there's always this gaping hole that can't get filled with anyone who hasn't gone through a loss like mine. It's a beautiful, heartbreaking thing.

Like I've said over and over and over again, I would hate for people to treat me differently. I don't want people to watch their mouths or actions. But it hard sometimes to walk this road alone. There are times I wish I had another babyloss mama who could walk with me, hand in hand, through life. So when someone says something that stings, or one or both of my girls is left out of something, I could feel a gentle squeeze against my hand and instantly know that I'm not alone. That there is one person who gets the hurt and will be there by my side for support and comfort. Of course, I know this can't happen. But it would be so lovely.

My life is filled with joy. Asher makes me laugh each and every day. It's beautiful. Without him, I truly think I may not have made it through the darkness. But there's this hole that's left in your life when you lose a child. I have two holes. And I don't only have two holes, but I have two holes and a huge question mark looming over head. Why? Why did my girls not survive? I think of my loss, my grief, the question why, and now the possibility of either going through another loss or getting another miracle baby, daily. Every. Single. Day.

And what's hard....is that even though my life has changed so much and has been so challenging...others have been so blessed. Time after time after time. Everyone around me is pregnant or delivering or just delivered. There's joy and laughter and excitement and blessings flowing all around. And it's a wonderful, marvelous thing. I wouldn't want it any other way. It's what I want. And it's what I want for others. But that doesn't make it any easier to hear and see. Every time I hear something or see something or read something...it's another stab to my heart. To my hope. I wish it wasn't like that. I wish I could be happy for my friends and let it go. But it's hard. It's hard to see them have one, two, three, four...healthy children and me and my friends have gone through so much loss and darkness.

I'm trying to find solace in my walk. After losing Jorai, I held onto the hope that I was needed to walk this path for a reason. Maybe to help others...maybe something else. Her loss was painful, but I felt there was a reason we had to lose her. But to lose Selah too, it's been so hard to find solace. I just don't get it.

I talked to my OB-GYN this week and she wants me to try again. She doesn't want me to be hardened. She really wants me to give it another go. She wants me to try for a boy. She wants me to research collagen increasing foods that may help cord growth. But that question stands looming. What if? What if I lose this child too? What if I find myself with another lifeless child in my arms? Could I survive it? I want to try...but those nine months would be torture. They would be hell.

I don't know. Most days I'm good. Asher is a joy to behold. His smile is infectious and his attitude is invigorating. But there's always something missing. There's always two little girls absent from our lives. And there's a constant feeling of dread about the future that seems to loom over my head.

And I know that I'm not alone. There are so many women out there who feel the same way I feel. There are so many of us searching and missing and longing for life. And though that brings me joy to know I'm not alone...I wish I were. For I hate that anyone has to go through this with me.

If you know someone who's lost a child. Remember them. Remember their child. Send them a card on their child's birthday. Or send them a care package telling them you love them. Their children may not be with us, here on earth, but there's not one day that passes, that their mama isn't missing them dearly. Next Sunday, May 2nd, is International Babylost Mothers Day. Please remember them on this special day.