Danielle’s Blog: Jensen Grey Emily’s Books: Invisible Mothers and You Are Not Alone
I’ve been trying to put this article into words for weeks. Since the day in May when I held my beloved kitty cat in my arms as the vet gave her a shot to help her move from this earthly life into whatever lies next.
I spent a couple hours the other night rocking someone else’s crying baby to sleep. It’s something I do fairly regularly now as part of a new job. Sweet baby smell, aching arms, and that heavy sleeping baby weight in my arms. On the same
Dear Beautiful Mother, I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet baby. I know that the pain and grief and numbness and confusion you are feeling now seem unbearable and massive. Babies aren’t supposed to die. Yet here you are. Here we both
Loving my body isn’t an easy thing for me. Not. At. All. See, I have two daughters. They both died before birth. And, although I don’t really talk about it much because I’m not 100% sure, I’m pretty sure I had another very early miscarriage
I have been a mother for 12 years. It is a core piece of who I am as a person and has crafted me into the strong, determined, resilient, and powerful woman I am today. I am not, however, your typical mother. Both of my
To all my beautiful mothers who have lost their baby or babies, this is what I want you to know: You are allowed to grieve and mourn your baby, no matter the circumstances or how uncomfortable it makes others You are allowed to heal in
Recently, I posted on Facebook that I missed my daughter as her would-have-been birthday approaches. A simple statement of “I can’t believe it’s been so many years and I miss her.” The following day, I got a note from someone who had seen my post
Dear Doctors of the World, Let’s talk about miscarriage, stillbirth, and the loss of children, shall we? I know it’s not a popular, feel-good topic, but let’s face it – if you work with women of childbearing age or post-childbearing ages, it’s going to come
I used to whisper her name to myself over and over again. “Grace. Grace. My Grace. Grace.” Her name was a lifeline that I desperately clung to through the waves of grief and pain and rage and sorrow that swamped me. Her name was my manta.