A few weeks ago, one of my dearest friends lost her 21-month-old
daughter forever when the sweet baby girl died unexpectedly and
suddenly. My friend and I live on opposite sides of the country, so I
took a trip to visit her for this past weekend. Admittedly, I was a
nervous wreck about what I was going to say to her and her husband. How
was I going to find the words to comfort them? How would I avoid saying
the wrong things? I wanted to find perfect words, and, as I am a writer,
words happen to be one of the few ways I truly know how to express
myself.
Except I was at a complete loss over her loss. Having two healthy
children at home, I felt I couldn't truly relate to her pain, so how on
earth was I going to be able to comfort her during a situation that I
have very little experience in? Armed with a pocket full of Bible verses
and a slough of rehearsed things to say, I walked into her home and
could never in a million years have foreseen the life-altering and
powerful words that would be spoken between us during our time together.
Except the words came from her, to me.
From her. To me.
That's right. My friend, who at this point is proving to be one of
the strongest people I know, said something during her time of grief
that will forever hold a spot in my heart. It was a phrase so simple,
yet it has hit a chord deep inside of me. As she was describing the
events leading up to the death of her daughter, she tried to express to
me her complete heartbreak as she held her sweet child in the hospital
during the minutes and hours after she died. Describing the time only as
her worst nightmare, she said to me with tears rolling down her face,
"You're a mom, you know."
You're a mom, you know.
This phrase took my breath away — as well as any composure that I had
managed to keep together up until then. Because it was at that point,
with that phrase, that I was able to start to understand the magnitude
of her sorrow. Sure, I was completely heartbroken for her before, as
death is difficult for anyone. But I'll admit that I didn't fully
understand my role as her friend or as a fellow mom. See, all this time I
had been looking in the wrong places for the perfect thing to say to
her while I should have just looked at our simplest bond: motherhood.
And while I have not experienced the pain that comes along with losing a
child, I do understand the joy that she once experienced from holding
her child. And to lose that? There are no words
Except maybe "I'm a mom, I know."
Losing a child is every mom's worst fear — no matter who you are or
what kind of mom you choose to be. In the days since, I've been keeping
this simple thought in mind when relating myself to other mommies. Sure,
we all have our different ways of mothering and raising our families,
but we do have one thing in common: our hearts are directly connected to
our children. It makes the whole mommy wars thing seem, well, totally
ridiculous.
You're a mom, you know.
So as I went with my own mom, who has recently been diagnosed with
breast cancer, to her radiation treatment, I glanced over at the young
mother of a small boy in the waiting room. He was maybe 3 years old
(though it's hard to tell because he was so tiny). He sported a colorful
Superman cape and a bland hospital mask as he sat cradled in his mom's
arms. She said something quietly to him. My heart stopped. This mom
ached for that mom. And the tears started to fall from my eyes despite
me not knowing her one bit. Despite me only sitting in the waiting room
for maybe 30 seconds. Despite my own mom sitting next to me about to
have her own radiation treatment. This is crazy, I thought. I don't even
know this woman.
But what I do know is that I'm a mom.
And later I was getting dinner at a takeout restaurant, and one of
the employees was on the phone in the restroom. She was struggling to
find a babysitter for her child while she finished her late shift. She
was frantic. She was upset. She was mad. My heart skipped another beat,
and the tears welled up in my eyes once again.
I know, I'm a mom.
As I went back to my mom's house, heartbroken over my friend's loss,
my mother was trying to comfort me. Asking if I was OK. Me! She was the
one going through radiation, I should be comforting her. And then it
dawned on me as to why she was so worried about how I was doing.
She knows, she's a mom.
And on the plane on the ride home there was a new mom standing with
her infant son nearly the whole four-and-a-half-hour flight because if
she attempted to sit down, he wailed. She looked exhausted and
frustrated. She checked her watch frequently, but she also kept on task
all while kissing on his little bald head.
I know, I'm a mom.
See, it's a thread that unites us all. Helicopter moms. Free-range
moms. Breastfeeding moms. Formula-feeding moms. Rich moms. Poor moms.
Moms of sick kids. Moms of healthy kids. Moms. The crazy, heart-stopping
love that we feel for our children runs deep through each and every one
of us as moms.
And this knowledge is painful at times. It's why every sappy
commercial brings us to tears. It's why we can't watch the news. It's
why we get in the car and cry after we drop our kids off to their first
day of school. It's why food allergies are terrifying. It's why our
hearts ache when we hear about miscarriage or fertility problems. It's
why we are up at night worrying about our teens. It's why the thought of
our children eventually leaving the nest makes us weep into our coffee.
It's why the death of another mother's child is so utterly
heartbreaking . . .
It's also why we should always provide a blanket of support to all
fellow moms. Not only to those who are suffering through the
unimaginable pain of losing a child, but also to those mamas going
through plain ol' rough times . . . and even those moms who are just
having one of those days. Hug her, and if you are struggling to find the
right words, all you may really need to say is, "I know, I'm a mom."
But you probably already know this. After all, you're a mom.
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Thank you for your comments, I truly appreciate it! Have a fabulous day. xoxo E