The biggest shock of starting my family wasn’t losing my first pregnancy, nor the arduous road of infertility treatments.
It was losing my own mother weeks before my baby was born.
Throughout my excruciating journey to motherhood, she was my biggest champion. She felt my pain, and shared wholeheartedly in our joy as we anticipated the arrival of our baby girl. The fact that she never got to hold that baby, to see her beautiful face and watch her grow up, is a grief I will never overcome.
On that fateful July day, I was home in Northern Virginia, on bed rest for premature labor, and my mom was on life support after a tragic accident in South Carolina. She had been without oxygen for more than 10 minutes, so we never had any real hope she would awake. My sister and much of our extended family were by her side. My husband, my doctor, and the rest of my family all insisted it was not safe for me to travel to see my mother. It wasn’t safe for the baby.
In the first days of motherhood, I was faced with fresh grief that my mom wasn’t there to help me and be with me.
In what turned out to be the first true sacrifice I faced as a mother myself, I stayed home for the two agonizing weeks my mother was kept alive, until the baby was considered full term. I did not get to see her; I did not get to say goodbye. The day after she was removed from life support, I flew down to attend her funeral.
[lz_org_series]
Two weeks later, my baby’s heart rate became erratic during her birth. The room filled with medical personnel, ready to take me into the operating room for an emergency cesarean section. Quietly, my husband pulled out a framed picture of my mother holding me as a newborn. He set it on the shelf across from my bed, and within a few minutes, the baby’s heart rate stabilized and the room’s atmosphere changed.
My daughter was born, strong and healthy, about an hour later. I know Mom was there, helping me through.
In the first terrifying, joyous, and exhausting days of motherhood, I was faced with fresh grief that my mom wasn’t there to help and be with me. I would not share the bond of motherhood with her, would not get to add that piece to our relationship. I was angry, and in my anger found I was not even able to turn to God for comfort.
I draw comfort and strength in the belief that my mom is watching over me and protecting my family in some way.
My daughter is now 8. Sometimes I still struggle with my anger, continue to have doubts. But I draw comfort and strength in the belief that my mom is watching over me and protecting my family in some way.
I looked for signs a lot in those early days, and aside from the grace she provided during my labor, I couldn’t find her anywhere. My sister saw her and my late father in a pair of cardinals that visited her bedroom window each morning after Mom’s death. I longed to find my own signs, but none came — until one day, my own “cardinals” appeared.
Related: The Science of Being a Mom
During my pregnancy, my mom had accompanied me to one of my ultrasound appointments (a moment I came to be so grateful for — she DID get to see my baby, after all). On the drive, I remember she asked me what I planned to do for contraception after the baby was born. I thought she was out of her mind. After all we had been through to get pregnant! We would be blessed to ever have another baby.
Contraception? Please. But I remembered her next words clearly: “You’ll be pregnant when that baby is 4 months old.”
Lo and behold, 13 months and four days after my daughter was born, we welcomed our second miracle, our beautiful baby boy.
My son is the clearest sign I could imagine that my mom is up there, no doubt sharing a gin and tonic with my dad, watching me try to navigate this crazy life without a map.
Join the Discussion
Comments are currently closed.