Updated: May 30
1/31/2023 0 Comments Hi Mama,
You don’t know me, but if you’re reading this blog, we are walking the same path--the path of
grief after the loss of a child. It is my hope through this blog that you will find like-minded
mamas, like me, who actually understand this pain and loss.
First, it is my hope that as you read this, there is a moment in the sea of grief for you to see you
are not alone, and you have a community behind you to give you support. We are members of
the same club. It is not one we were eager to join, nor wish to be a part of; however, we are now
Angel Mamas. Our beautiful little baby was taken from us, and it is a pain that will never
completely leave you. I won’t tell you it gets better because the pain you are feeling will never
go away, but we, as mothers, find the strength and endurance to survive, especially if we have
other babies to care for.
Second, it is my hope that by learning of my story, maybe you will be able to see that, although
your heart is broken, your life will somehow prevail. You will carry your little angel with you
forever. Days can be good or bad, but your love for your little one will help you to somehow
prevail on those bad days.
November 23, 2021, I was 8 months pregnant with my beautiful baby girl, Noella Christina.
Noella was my second child after my son was born in 2019. My pregnancy with Noella was
difficult with terrible morning sickness, two bouts of food poisoning, and a mild case of COVID,
but somehow she managed to survive them all. She was an active baby, always kicking and
flipping around in my belly. She loved it when I ate nectarines and pound cake, and hated the
smell of coffee. We had scheduled an induction in three weeks, and I was going into my
doctors for a routine sonogram. At the time, I didn’t feel much movement from her, but I just
assumed that it was my crazy pregnancy anxiety getting the best of me. How wrong I would end
up being. I went in for the sonogram only for the technician and nurse to tell me there was no
heartbeat. My baby girl was gone. The rest of the day was a blur between the shock, my mom
coming to get me, my husband holding me as I sobbed, getting my son set to go off to my
parents, and going to the hospital. The next clear image I had was the doctor performing a C-
section and pulling my lifeless baby girl out.
My husband and I have been together for ten years this March, and in that time I have never
seen him cry, but in that moment his knees hit the ground, and our whole world fell apart. The
umbilical cord had wrapped around her throat four times, and my sweet angel girl went to sleep
and never woke up again. We buried her the following Monday.
Although this has been a little over a year ago, my husband and I are still trying to piece our
lives back together. It has been a balancing act that we have, many times throughout this
process, struggled to do. I have my three-year-old son still to bring me joy, but then when I’m
alone, I am so engrossed in the grief. Some days I am able to function, don’t cry, and think of
what we lost. Other days, I am so overcome with emotions that I am exhausted with feelings
and drenched in my tears.
Dear Mama, I wish I could give you a time frame as to when this pain will go away. It never will,
but you will learn how to live with it, and somehow piece your life back together. I know it’s hard
,Mama, to let go of all the dreams and expectations you wanted for your baby, but you are
strong. We women are amazing creatures, and we can do anything.
I’ve found great comfort in cardinals since my daughter died. Cardinals aren’t a bird you see a
lot, but when you do see one, it’s special and vivid. Your angel was a cardinal; bright, vivid, and
brief, but so very special. Your angel was very beautiful and brought a touch of magic to your
life, but like a cardinal, it flutters away before you can capture it.
But you, sweet Mama, I want you to remember you are a butterfly. Right now, you are beautiful,
but fragile. You flutter away from people because you’re sad, or angry, or just frankly don’t want
to be around people. That’s ok. Be your own beautiful butterfly, Mama. Make your cocoon and
rest. When you’re ready, emerge the beautiful, strong creature you were meant to be. Arise from
your grief stronger than before. There is no time limit for your grief. Don’t let anyone tell you to
rush or hurry up, but when you’re ready, be sure to honor your angel with living.
It is my hope that my Noella is working through me and helping me to reach out to you, Mama,
and give you the hug and love you so need right now.
It is my hope you will come along with me through my journey, and as I help you, know you are
helping me, too. Please know I am here for you. I am still living my grief day to day. Some days
I feel as though it was all a bad dream. However, maybe by reaching out to you and others, we
can keep the spirit and memories of our babies alive. Dear Mama, you can reach me at my
email address: email@example.com .
This is my baby’s legacy on this earth. She may have been here for a brief time, but her life
burned so bright, and her spirit burns in my heart. This is how I will keep her alive for us.
Please take care of yourself, Mama! Your baby loved you, and so you should remember to
always love yourself.
“My hearts broken in ways most people don’t understand.” –Sara Millen