Motherhood (Archives)

Motherhood

Motherhood comes in so many forms

Motherhood

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.

Adrian's Elephant and a flower arrangement from his birthday (Miranda Hernandez)

Adrian’s First Birthday

Although I had a funeral for Adrian, I also wanted to do something special to celebrate his life on what would have been his first birthday. I wanted something not so much focused on grief, but more on his impact; a type of celebration. I had already decided to build this website, and so it seemed natural to have a party and document both its launch and my son’s short but beautiful life.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant

Perspective

We are all living in uncertainty. We are all scared. We are all doing the very best we can. And you have every right to your feelings, even if they seem silly.

Close-up black and white image of Miranda's pregnant belly in a field of wildflowers. The view is focused on the right side of Miranda's belly, and Adrian's footprint tattoo is visible at the top left of the photo. (Two Little Starfish)

Echoes; Reminders & Memories in Pregnancy After Loss

My son had a favorite place to kick me when I was pregnant. After he died, I documented this place with a tattoo of his footprints. Pregnant with my daughter now, she kicks in the same place, and it stimulates so many memories.

Virginsbower flowers in Hatley Park, Victoria, British Columbia. The flowers take up the bottom left of the image, and there are out-of-focus trees in the background (Miranda Hernandez)

It’s Not About the Sunscreen

Sometimes the minutiae of life is overwhelming, and sometimes when we try to share about how it’s difficult, people get sidetracked on the details instead of the bigger picture. It’s not about the sunscreen, though; it’s so much harder than that.

Easter Lily flower (Miranda Hernandez)

Claddagh Ring

I wore a Claddagh ring facing inwards for a long time after the death of my son. I wanted to send the message that my heart was already taken, even if it was “taken” in a different way than those rings normally represent.

The first blanket and baby toy Miranda purchased for Peanut (Miranda Hernandez)

29 Oct 2018 – Baby Things

When my son was stillborn at 41 weeks, I came home to a complete nursery. All of his clothes were washed and sorted, his diapers laid out next to wipes and creams. And maybe it sounds counterintuitive, but I was thankful.

Amy's collar (Miranda Hernandez)

12 Sep 2018 – Three Dishes

I never had to face this choice with Adrian. I never had to hold him, breathing; weigh impossible odds. I didn’t have to look into eyes gone soft and full of hurting. I didn’t get to hold his living body in my arms.

Sunlight through the trees, North Lake Tahoe, California (Miranda Hernandez)

25 Aug 2018 – Amy Anne

I fed her shredded chicken with my fingers this morning. The vet prescribed her steroids. She actually has an appetite. I gave her a piece of my blueberry scone. I guess it doesn’t matter now what’s good for her in the long run.

Miranda on the California coast (Synch Media)

21 Jun 2018 – The After

After he died, after that scream, I shattered. It wasn’t that time flowed differently. It was a completely different life.

Adrian's Elephant at Anini Beach, Kaua'i, Hawai'i (Miranda Hernandez)

Adrian’s Guestbook

I didn’t have a guest book at Adrian’s funeral. I wish I had thought of it. The space serves that purpose for everyone touched by Adrian’s life.

Miranda on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

28 May 2018 – Planet Miranda

I didn’t ask to live here. I loved Sunshine. I had so many plans. I built my peaceful house there. But my key doesn’t fit.

Seagulls on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

27 May 2018 – Fairytales

I should know better. Because life is not a fairytale. I should know better, because you’re a person, just like me. And I realize I put the weight of my expectations on something that was only fleeting. And now it’s too heavy. I’m sorry it got heavy.

Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, Big Sur, California (Miranda Hernandez)

22 May 2018 – I only write to ghosts. You must be one of them.

You were more than pain. You swept into my life and your presence promised happiness. And I hated that, because happiness wasn’t something I wanted to know. And I hate it more now, standing here, awake and oh so lonely. And this pain isn’t comforting. And this new life feels broken.

Chalk drawings on the sidewalk (Miranda Hernandez)

18 Mar 2018 – Someone Else’s Birthday

I feel your absence in my breathing. I wait for footsteps just around the bend. I hug your ashes and I think, “None of this is real. When I have paid my penance, I will hold you.” I will never get to hold you. Today is someone else’s birthday. Yours will never come.

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