To the Grieving Mothers,
I pray for you.
Although we’ve never met, I know your hurt by name.
It’s called Baby Loss. It’s called Child Loss. It’s called The Worst Kind of Loss.
Very simply, it’s called Grief – except there’s nothing simple about it.
I know your gut-wrenching tales of complicated pregnancies, complicated births, complicated medical issues.
I carry the weight of your aching hearts, the hearts with a piece forever missing.
I feel your tears as you stumble through another day of disorienting fog.
I hear you when you cry out with the same unanswered questions day after day.
I see your pain. I feel your pain. I hear your pain.
And I pray for you.
As I drift off to sleep, I pray for you who are preparing for another lonely night; a silent night which leaves you longing for the bold cries of a newborn or soft whispers of a child.
When I wake in the middle of the night, I pray for you whose hearts are knotted tightly around the memory of what was and the fantasy of what might have been.
When I wake in the cold, quiet morning, I pray for you who are about to embark on another day in which your sun doesn’t shine.
When I rush through a busy day with little time to spare, I pray for you who live in a world in which time has stopped.
I pray for you.
When the guilt pulses through your veins, though you’ve done nothing wrong.
When love pours down your face in floods of tears.
When the dark emotions leave you gasping for air.
When the voice of The Fallen One attacks you with lies intended to blame and shame.
I pray for you.
That God will lift the veil of darkness that covers your heart and soul; that He will make Himself known to you – that His love and mercy will be evident.
That He will wrap you in the healing hands of compassion, placing you in the midst of those who will weep with you.
That He will breathe life back into you and raise you from the pit of devastating loss.
That He will hold your child in heaven until it’s time for that child to run into your arms.
That He will fill your atmosphere with the breath of a living child, and your arms with the body of one.
That He will carry you when you are too weak to carry on alone.
That He will piece together the fragments of your heart, shaping it into a vessel of infinite love.
I pray for you.
That you know God hears you as you cry out in misery.
That you will keep going, keep living, keep loving.
That you will know without a doubt you’re going to survive this long, dark night and that joy will come in the morning.
I pray for you, Grieving Mothers.
Although we’ve never met, you are not alone.
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