I've said to family and friends how surprised I was when she came out that she was exactly what I'd envisioned. Tall, thin, long feet, dark hair, and a face like her dad. You can know a lot about a baby just by carrying one. I knew she was tall because I could always feel her position in my belly. I knew her feet were long because I could see and feel them pushing through my skin. I knew that her hand was frequently by her face because I could often feel it. She even came out with her hand resting on her cheek. It's the only reason I tore, the nurses said. I didn't mind - she was just leaving her mark.
Knowing that she is no longer inside me makes me feel vulnerable and exposed and empty. Sometimes I still hold my belly for comfort, as if the heat and pressure of my hand will somehow reach her and communicate that mommy misses and loves her. Or I'll hold one of her few possessions as if it's some sort of earth-heaven walkie system and she can "hear" me and my love.
Grief does weird things to you. It makes me feel a little more normal reading other moms' blogs and recognizing things that I do and feel and think in their words. I hope that other moms find my blog and get some comfort from my story as well.
I love you, Haven. You'll always be mama's girl.
Haven's Mama, I am so truly sorry for your loss. My hope for you is that you allow yourself to grieve the tragic loss of your beautiful baby girl. You said it in one of your other posts and I just want to remind you that even though you are not able to hold your daughter in your arms, you are still (and always will be) a Mom...Haven is truly blessed to have such beautiful parents. Praying that you are able to find calm and strength in the journey that lies ahead for your family.
ReplyDeleteThank you, I appreciate your kind words. Yes, I'll always be her mama. :)
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