It won’t always be this way.
You won’t always find yourself crumpled into a heap on the bathroom floor at the mention of someone else’s pregnancy or baby. It won’t always be so hard to hear of another’s gain when loss has consumed your life. The fact that some babies grow up and some don’t will never be fair. But your now open wounds will in time become scars, the pain real, but no longer raw.
It won’t always be this way.
You won’t always have to fight so hard just to get out of bed. The simple task of standing up won’t always leave you breathless. It won’t always feel like you’re stepping into quicksand as soon as your feet hit the floor. Yes, you’ve been gut punched, gasping for breath. But each inhale and exhale brings you one breath closer to peace. It will come. Be still and wait.
It won’t always be this way.
You won’t always be afraid to step into a world so full of triggers that you can’t stop your well of tears from overflowing. It won’t always be so hard to face a world in which grief isn’t accepted and pain is so often ignored. Because one day, the grief will no longer overwhelm you. One day, you will smile. And it won’t be a fake one.
It won’t always be this way.
You won’t always feel so empty and alone. It won’t always feel so isolating to navigate the days on unsteady feet. Because you’ll start to gravitate towards people who know your hurt. And they’ll gravitate towards you. And you’ll find yourself walking through life with a tribe of others who introduce themselves as Hurt and Broken, and you’ll realize that you do, in fact, belong.
It won’t always be this way.
You won’t always be without your baby. On this earth, yes – yes, you’ll go on living without a piece of your heart. But one day, you’ll be reunited in heaven. Mother and child. Together. Just as you were meant to be.
You will always remember.
You will always wonder.
But it won’t always be so hard.
So beautifully written and just perfect. Perfect. Every single one of your posts has just been a mirror reflection to how I felt 27 years ago, and still feel. As you said, you ALWAYS remember, but it won’t be as hard. I still have a difficult time every year on November 30th, the day that my beautiful, firstborn baby girl was born. Ashlyn Marie. I was married, and 23. I too thank God that I was not alone… but we were young, and he didn’t really get it. “When are you going to be done with this and move on?” THIS?!?! Really? “THIS” was our PERFECT first child that I carried for 9 months. The baby girl whose every movement I felt… My arms were left empty due to a freak cord accident during my labor. She was perfect in every single way. I got to hold her for about five minutes, and left the hospital with empty arms, but hands that carried a death certificate with her footprint, and a lock of her blond hair. Thank God for our parents who literally guided us through all of the funeral planning. ♥️ Thank you for sharing your beautiful words, Jenny.
Oh gosh, Tanya. Thank you so much for sharing this here. I am so sorry for your loss.