I gained entrance to an awful club about a decade ago. Before I joined, I thought the membership was pretty exclusive, but now I know there are way too many of us.
Statistically, 1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. That’s a staggering number, and it doesn’t even factor in late losses, stillbirths and the rest.
When I said goodbye to my twins, I had no idea of the sisterhood surrounding me. Now I see us, in the grocery store, in the elevator, sitting in churches, mothers without our children. Even when there are more children, our hearts know who is missing.
“I don’t know what to do,” they tell me, “I am so sad but I was barely even pregnant…”
“I shouldn’t be so sad,” they say, “my mom/husband/doctor/friends say something was wrong with it/the baby is in heaven/we weren’t ready for kids/it wasn’t really a baby…”
Listen, mamas… you should be so sad. In a perfect world, no mother would ever have to live in a world without their child. You, however briefly, carried the soul of your child in your body. You are connected forever. You are their mother. Name your baby, mourn your baby, remember your baby. If someone can’t empathize with you or understand that, then thank God they have not had to experience that kind of loss, but don’t let their comprehension control your emotion. You know, we always know, deep down inside, who we carried.
Someday, on the other side, we will sit by a river with the children we always knew, always loved. We will know them and they will know us. In that reality, we will finally be complete. Until then, we remember them, and we offer the hand of sisterhood, the grace to weep and remember.