Mama Bear

Yesterday I was talking with one of my administrators and she used the term Mama Bear. I said yes, I understand about that, and she laughed and said, oh no you don't. Wait until the day that you get that first teacher email that your child has done something wrong.

I know she's right. That the first time I get the bad school report, or a boy breaks L's heart, or she doesn't get the job she wants, that it will be a whole new level of Mama Bear, but part of me was shouting on the inside, "No, you don't get it! NO ONE gets it!" It's absolutely nothing against her or anyone else, but bereaved parents just see the world differently. 

Let me tell you about Mama Bear:

Mama Bear is trying to parent a child who has died. Protecting her memory, making sure people don't forget her or ignore her. Learning to create a life that the child is still a part of, and then hating yourself when it feels like you're forgetting anyway.

Mama Bear is having your Rainbow Baby. Hearing that first cry and knowing that she is your life. That giving her life, love, and happiness is all you need in this world. Protecting her to make sure that nothing hurts her and that your heart will never be shattered again like it was before.

That is Mama Bear.

So future teachers, boyfriends, and bosses, I've got you. I have already survived the unimaginable and me and my girls will be just fine.

Mama Bear level, pro.

Sharing OUR Story

It's been quiet around here lately, especially with posts related to my journey in grief. In fact, I have stopped and started so many posts that I have a huge collection of drafts. I have found that the words do not pour out of me like they did so early on. Sometimes I wish they would. In some ways I wish a piece of that raw grief would return. That may be hard for you to understand, but that raw grief is what let me feel Emma's presence so strongly. Now she feels so far away. Like another lifetime, and as if I was another person. It feels like forgetting and that is oh so hard. Sometimes I think I let this happen. That remembering and feeling is too hard, so I don't. It's moments like this that I am so strongly reminded that grieving the loss of a child is a life long journey. Some days it feels like I am in a constant battle with grief. It has changed it's shape but it still haunts me.

In a few weeks I will be participating as part of a parent panel at a Perinatal Bereavement Conference. The conference attendees will be professionals such as doctors, nurses, doulas, and social workers. The purpose of the panel is for participants to share what worked and what didn't before, during, and after the loss of their child. I am so nervous and afraid for this experience, but I know that it is something I need to do. I need to speak up, to share my story, and to help the mother that will be in my shoes have the best care possible. This is a chance for me and Emma to make a difference in someone's life. It almost feels like a chance to answer a calling. I ask for you to send me your well wishes and prayers. I will be sure to share my experience here after the conference. Sending you love and light. xo