The thing about growing and birthing children, is that it changes you on a fundamental level.
Your heart changes to accommodate a love so big, that it will never fade.

Harsh reality:
Sometimes babies die.

But that love still lives on.
Not just for a few months.
Not just for the first year.
FOREVER.
The change already took place.
The heart grew to love.
And then it was shattered into a million pieces.
When a baby dies, a mother is left gasping for air, as she tries to pick up the shards of her broken heart and rearrange them into a thing that functions again.
It is painful, grueling, unpleasant work.

People in that momma’s life will probably be confused.
They’ll probably tell her to move on.
They’ll tell her that she shouldn’t continue to speak her baby’s name.
It makes them uncomfortable.
It hurts too much to hear.
They don’t know what to say.
This disrupts our healing.
This instills fear that the lives we created will be forgotten.
This makes us feel entirely alone.

Reminder to my bereaved mommy friends:
You are allowed to grieve.
You are allowed to set boundaries.
You are allowed to own your trauma, your hurt, and your healing.
No matter the pace.
You are allowed to tell people what you need and where you’re at.
And then you are allowed to tell people to fuck off, if they are holding you back, or if they can’t support you.

Reminder to people trying to support a bereaved mommy:
It is not about you.
You are responsible for your own feelings, and your own grief.
You also grieved this little life, but are ready to move on??
How nice for you!
That’s not how a broken-hearted mother’s love works.
This mommy has a right to say her baby’s name.
Every, single day, until her last breath.
She will never be the same.
Show up for it, or take your judgements elsewhere.
You can’t possibly imagine what she’s struggling with every day.

She feels empty and broken.
She feels worthless.
She feels stripped of her motherhood: of her identity.
She holds space with her mother’s love, but there’s nowhere for it to go.

She is changed.
Forever.
The old her won’t return.
And if you’re waiting for her, you have another thing coming.