I am the mother whose body swelled with pregnancy.
I am the mother who dreamed and wanted and planned.
I am the mother who left my heart in a small and curtained alcove room.
I am the mother who screamed and cried and begged.
I am the mother who loves to hear my child’s name.
I am the mother who cries sometimes.
I am the mother who laughs.
I am the mother who understands the beauty mixed inside the pain.
I am the mother who treasures the memories, sweet and painful and sad.
I am the mother whose second pregnancy was terrifying and also affirming.
I am the mother of a living child, with her own unique identity.
I am the mother who values connection informed by authenticity.
I am the mother who knows better than to count based on what I see.
I am the mother of a living child, and one living in an urn.
I am the mother of memorial candles and the sweetest of slobbery toddler kisses.
I am the mother who fights to be present both Today and also Then.
I am the mother to BOTH of my children, now and for always.
I am the mother who died that day and somehow keeps on moving.
I am the mother who connects and nurtures and loves.
I am the mother who carries my experience unapologetically.
I am the mother of life and death in all its messy forms.