This is for you, the one I never got to meet.

I could see your bright smile long before I ever saw your face.

I could hear your cries and sobs because you needed a diaper change.

I could feel your warm hugs when you needed my comforting embrace.

I could imagine all the memories we’d create through the years.

I could picture you reaching all your milestones.

I could. I could. But I didn’t get to.

I love you even though I never got to meet you, and I always will.

I’ll tell those that come after you how special you are to me.

A piece of you will always be in my heart, and I will never forget you.

When I give my last breath, we will finally meet.

In paradise, I promise to make up for all lost time.

I will hold you, make you smile and laugh.

Because that’s what mommies are supposed to do.

I wish I could say life is a bed of roses without thorns, but this would be a lie. My older sister was in her second trimester when she lost her twin daughters. My friend was just five weeks pregnant when she had her first miscarriage.

Besides being a mom to a kid with four paws, I have no children of my own. I’ve never experienced life growing in my womb, but I still feel a sense of loss. I can imagine my two eight-year-old nieces pleading for me to make them another tea party. I can picture their poor drawn color penciled Happy Birthday and Valentines Day cards, which would say I was their greatest aunt, or maybe even their best friend. Those cards would mean the world to me more than any beautifully crafted Hallmark card.

For all the moms who’ve lived this nightmare, I cannot say that I know what you are going through. I cannot say that I know exactly how it feels, but I do know that you aren’t alone. The world might feel a little more broken, but your family and friends are there to help you through it all.

Life is a bed of roses filled with painful thorns, but it’s still beautiful. Roses are wonderful, and need someone to tend to them. Let those who love you be your gardeners to help put yourself back together again.

Death.

As I attempt to organize and free up space on my laptop, I stumbled upon this. I wrote it right after my grandfather’s passing, and the words ring true right now more than ever. This month is the 8th anniversary of my grandfather’s death, and in a few days, it will be two-months since my grandmother passed away. Continue reading

Monday Reflections: Life and Death

Red

Life begins with an inhale and ends with an exhale, and at both moments, tears are shed. Happy tears welcome the newborn baby. Melancholy tears bid a loved one farewell. While we look forward to the former and dread the coming of the latter, we can’t deny that both hold lovely memories.

The beginning brings out hope in the gloomiest of places. The smile on a baby’s face shows us a future full of dreams and laughter. The conclusion offers a sense of reflection where we realize how our strength through pain isn’t all that miserable, but rewarding.

From the start to the finish, there is beauty throughout. Love is the glue for the happy and the sad. One without the other, simply wouldn’t work. Things don’t always turn out as expected, but love remains the same. In that love, we can find happiness despite anything.

I can’t deny that it deeply hurts when those we love come to pass. As I write this, I remember the pearlized, pink coffin. Surrounded by calla lilies and red roses, she looked lovely dressed in her favorite red, silk dress. I see her pleasant smile and porcelain doll reflection. I miss her now and forever will, but I will never forget her. My love for her then and now remains the same. It is my love, which will keep her memories alive.

We inhale and exhale. We are young and get old. Life is meant to have a beginning and an end, and today I reflect on that.