I ran into you at the post office. We did that awkward shuffle thing where neither one of us really know where to go, but we got around. I asked how you were doing and I saw the horror in your face. The memories of the baby class we both attended. How we had the same exact due date, but you were having a girl and me a boy. You could relate to me and talk about how hard pregnancy was at that time, but we were both so excited for our first born babies.

That class had to rush in your mind. It did for me. You stumbled on your words, blurted out you were good then ran away. Honestly, I understand not knowing what to say, but that look on your face is still haunting me.A mix of shock to see someone who’s baby died and the realization our lives could have been swapped. Or maybe you didn’t want to say anything else to me because I somehow could make your baby spontaneously combust. I promise that won’t happen.

As ‘scary’ as it is for you to talk to me, it’s way more disheartening to not even be seen as his mom or just this unknown person that I feel like I was being treated. It really hurt. I would have loved to hear how your daughter is doing and what news things she’s discovering. That little window in what I wish my life would have been. I’ve seen her pictures online; she’s growing and is absolutely beautiful. It brought tears to my eyes to see how much my son would be growing. I could imagine him giving me the same look she gave you in that picture. That precious look a child gives their mother of pure love and trust. Instead, I’m left with your fear of me and my son.

Non-bereaved mother, I can see your motherhood so very clearly. You have your baby in your arms and your whole future still planned out just as it was when she was in your belly. There’s still hope in those tired eyes. That tiredness from being up all night with her. She might have even had you in tears last night because motherhood is hard. Yet, you continue on getting up and doing your very best for her. The love for your daughter is so strong, it’s almost blinding.

I’m here to tell you that we’re not that different.

Even though my motherhood is invisible to the outside world, it’s so very clear when you look on this inside. My baby is held in my heart, forever. My plans for the future have changed from seeing him grow and prosper to trying to fill this ever growing hole in my heart. But he’s still right there, always intertwined in my life. You surely can see my tired eyes. They come from the many sleepless nights full of me crying for my son to be back in my arms and hoping with every ounce in my body that he’ll never, ever be forgotten. Yet, I survive each night and day to do the best for him. Love is what carries me through too.

A mother’s heart will always be filled with love. Not even death can take that away.

The next time you see me, please don’t be afraid to say his name. Ask me how I”m doing because I might really need that moment and I want to hear all about your motherhood. We have a completely different path in motherhood, but we’re still mothers. I’ll never let anyone take that title from you or me.

Love,

A Bereaved Mother