You have lost a child, or maybe even children. You may have been 6 weeks pregnant, maybe even 20. Or maybe you delivered a baby that died shortly after. Maybe you lost a 5 year old or maybe even a 30 year old. No matter how old, you lost a child. You lost part of you.
There are a few things I want you to know.
I want you to know I love you. I want to hug you. I want to cry with you.
You are loved. You have people. You have friends and family. You have me.
I want you to know that I want to talk about it, when you want to talk about.
Talking can be very cathartic. I will be there. I will listen. I will comfort you.
I want you to know that I want to hear every detail that you want to discuss.
Let it out. Let out the darkness. Let it all out. I will be there. I will be there to understand. I want you to release all the emotions that you are feeling. I can take it.
I want you to know that I will be your biggest cheerleader, your sounding board, the person you call when you can’t sleep.
I will be there to tell you that you will survive, that you have reasons to smile, that you have something to celebrate. I know you are going to have days where you have a few moments of silence. I know that your mind may go to dark places — call me, drive to my house, whatever you need. I am here for you.
I want everyone with whom you will come into contact to know why they shouldn’t interrogate you about the size of your family.
No woman wants to be asked the dreaded, “why doesn’t so and so have a sibling??” OR “when will you have another?” I know you will come up with a witty one-liner that will leave them stunned and feeling awkward, but I know you will be saddened to have to admit why there’s a void in your family. I know you will be able to cover your sadness with a smile for a second, yet you may walk away with tears streaming down your face. The questions will eventually end. Keep your head up.
I want you to grieve fully and deeply. I want you to find that person you can connect with and heal.
If you need someone more qualified than me to talk to, I will help you find someone. I will drive you there. I will be there.
Your strength has inspired me.
Life is hard. We are all fighting our own battles. You have shown me how to keep my head up and keep going no matter the battle.
After losing a part of you, I hope that you are able to smile and love.
I hope that you are able to see the good in life.
I hope you can enjoy the silent moments.
I hope that you can hug the twin that is now a solo child. I want you to enjoy every minute you have with them.
I hope that you will be able to laugh with me, with your spouse, with your other children, with your family.
I hope that your smile returns with meaning.
I hope you can have faith that everything happens for a reason.
I hope you know I care so deeply for you.