to the woman who gave birth to my daughters
To the woman who gave birth to my daughters.
I see you and my heart breaks while being filled at the same time.
I see you and I feel immense gratitude that you brought those two precious souls into this world.
I see you and I feel envy. Envious that I didn’t get to carry them and feel them kick and roll. Envious that I didn’t get to hear their first cry and see their first day. Envious that I missed so many milestones of their life.
I see you and I want to know you. I want to see them in your smile. Hear them in your laugh.
And then I see you. And I want to run far from the reality that you bring. I see you in them and my heart hurts. The physical stinging reminder that I am not their mom.
I watch you and I see so many pieces of them in you that I feel more pieces of my heart break.
If I could say anything to you, I would start by saying thank you. Thank you for carrying them inside you and giving them life. Thank you for loving and caring for them as they grew.
I also would say I don’t know why or how you could abandon them the way you did. But it’s what God allowed to bring them to me. He used it to write me into their story. And I will forever be grateful to Him.
So thank you for allowing me to love them as fiercely as I do. Thank you for letting me be their mom too and not making them choose. Thank you for coming back into their life and being there for them as best you know how.
To the woman who gave birth to my daughters. Thank you.
3.3.17
I had a front row seat on the anxiety roller coaster this week.
Then Friday, March 3rd, it all stopped.
Including me.
It's hazy. But unforgettable.
I sit and stare. I don't know how long.
My world goes black.
Nothing.
And no one.
"Before I knew you, I loved you."
I read that somewhere. I lived it too.
I found out about you, February 1st, 2017. 2 days before my birthday. And I was over the moon.
I immediately started studying and list making. Typical. Everything was perfect. And everything was light.
I talked to you. I sang to you. I was shocked by how much love I had for you so soon! It was instant. I prayed for you constantly every day.
Something wasn't right though.
I begged and pleaded day and night with God- just for you.
I still talked to you. I still sang to you. I still loved you with an all-consuming, scream from the rooftops, dance in the rain kind of love. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
You were never meant to meet this world, little love. You were never meant to meet me. Nor I you.
This kills me. My insides are dead and cold. You left. And so did the light you brought.
And some of mine too.
Most of mine.
Maybe even all of it.
I will never understand why I couldn't have you or hold you. I would give anything. I can promise you this- you would have known more love and care and protection than any precious soul ever… but every mom says that, I'm sure. And I suppose that promise is meaningless now. And it is crazy how empty I felt. I mean, you were there less than a month. Yet, everything crumbled the moment I got the phone call from the doctor with the blood test results.
I will never be the same. I planned for you, thought of you, talked about you. And loved you. In a way words couldn't even begin to describe. You were a part of me. My favorite part.
My world went black. My life became a big production of going through the motions.
I am lost.
I wonder what you would have looked like. Smelled like. Felt like. I wonder who you would have become. You would have been perfect. Absolutely and breathtakingly perfect and beautiful in every way.
You took more than half of my heart when you left. But whatever morsels of my heart remain-small as they may be- you're there. Smack dab in the center of them. Consuming every inch.
And there you will stay, until I take my last breath.
And maybe, just maybe, when that day comes, I will get to meet you. And see your absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, perfect face.
And that will be my favorite day.
3.3.17
I had a front row seat on the anxiety roller coaster this week.
Then Friday, March 3rd, it all stopped.
Including me.
It's hazy. But unforgettable.
I sit and stare. I don't know how long.
My world goes black.
Nothing.
And no one.
"Before I knew you, I loved you."
I read that somewhere. I lived it too.
I found out about you, February 1st, 2017. 2 days before my birthday. And I was over the moon.
I immediately started studying and list making. Typical. Everything was perfect. And everything was light.
I talked to you. I sang to you. I was shocked by how much love I had for you so soon! It was instant. I prayed for you constantly every day.
Something wasn't right though.
I begged and pleaded day and night with God- just for you.
I still talked to you. I still sang to you. I still loved you with an all-consuming, scream from the rooftops, dance in the rain kind of love. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
You were never meant to meet this world, little love. You were never meant to meet me. Nor I you.
This kills me. My insides are dead and cold. You left. And so did the light you brought.
And some of mine too.
Most of mine.
Maybe even all of it.
I will never understand why I couldn't have you or hold you. I would give anything. I can promise you this- you would have known more love and care and protection than any precious soul ever… but every mom says that, I'm sure. And I suppose that promise is meaningless now. And it is crazy how empty I felt. I mean, you were there less than a month. Yet, everything crumbled the moment I got the phone call from the doctor with the blood test results.
I will never be the same. I planned for you, thought of you, talked about you. And loved you. In a way words couldn't even begin to describe. You were a part of me. My favorite part.
My world went black. My life became a big production of going through the motions.
I am lost.
I wonder what you would have looked like. Smelled like. Felt like. I wonder who you would have become. You would have been perfect. Absolutely and breathtakingly perfect and beautiful in every way.
You took more than half of my heart when you left. But whatever morsels of my heart remain-small as they may be- you're there. Smack dab in the center of them. Consuming every inch.
And there you will stay, until I take my last breath.
And maybe, just maybe, when that day comes, I will get to meet you. And see your absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, perfect face.
And that will be my favorite day.