Māmā doesn’t know right now whether to share about you or not. I want to scream from the rooftops so everyone knows of your presence but at the same time I want nobody to know because of the fear that it is somehow my fault, that I’ve somehow done something wrong for you to not be here with us, that somehow I wasn’t good enough for you, that the people saying “it wasn’t meant to be” were right and they meant I wasn’t meant to be your mum. It feels selfish to keep you as ours, but it feels as though I am asking for pity if I share. It feels selfish to share too because it’s so so hard to hear of other people’s joyous announcements and to share our sadness feels like we are dampening their excitement. As much as I want to be happy for all of those people it kills me each time I am reminded because that should be you. It should be us. Each time people ask “when will you have another?” I just want to scream at them “we have!” But instead I sink inside and jokingly say “we’re working on it”, because it’s more of a distraction from the painful conversation that could go in its place if I told the real truth about you.
I know in my heart I am meant to be your mum, I am your mum and I always will be, I’m sad that I can’t have you here with us and your brother because it felt so perfect and right that you were growing. I feel like I will always be sad and empty without you which feels ungrateful because we have your brother. Every time I tell someone or come close to telling someone I pause, because it doesn’t feel right. I don’t have the right words, or the right feelings. The few people I have told it’s taken days of building up to the conversation and I’ve played out the conversation several times in my head first. I feel so vulnerable like people are judging my worth and yours based on your passing. I can’t help but think about the reactions of anyone who had an inkling of dislike for me and what they would think or say. It can’t be worse than what I’ve told myself in my head that they must be saying about us.
It feels like I shouldn’t want to move on and be happy again because it feels like that means forgetting you but remembering you feels impossibly sad. You gave māmā a second shot at labour and birth, without the happy ending of welcoming a healthy pēpi, but you still had such a beautiful birth.
The physical healing felt like it took forever and as much as I wanted it to end I knew it meant we wouldn’t have a physical connection anymore so I am grateful you chose to drag out your entrance. When I jumped on the scales not long after your birth and saw the figure I was sad at what was staring back at me, you had really gone and you hadn’t left me with much of anything.
The feelings still flow in at all times of the day and I shed tears for you most days. Some days I don’t want to eat, some days I want to eat everything. Some days I don’t want to go to work, some days I need the distraction. Some days I feel angry like haven’t we dealt with enough shit?!? Other days I feel blessed to have been able to carry you for the time I did. Some days my grief for you is intense and overwhelming, other days it is just there in the background and pops in to say hi between thoughts. Most days are a mixture of emotions, I’m beginning to have more “good” to my days but that makes “the sad” even harder because it feels like you’re fading more and more with each day. I don’t know why you can’t be with us, “why?” feels like the wrong question because there isn’t an answer, there’ll never be an answer but it doesn’t stop me constantly asking.
There will never be the perfect words for you our perfect girl, I could go on forever but I’ll finish with this...
Māmā loves you forever and always, our puti girl 🌸🤍💗