Empty Arms No More – Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day 2020

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Today, as we celebrate Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, and throughout the month of October, I honour the memory of the babies I once carried. I honour their reason, their purpose, their existence. It took some time to get here, but I can now say their names without feeling the emptiness, shame, and sorrow of losing them. I can now say their name with joy, and love. I take pride in their name. Like any mama would. 

Anyone who has followed our journey could easily assume it’s because I now have my Rainbow Baby, I’m too busy to grieve, and my family and life is now complete. While all of these things may be true to some degree, the reality is, my arms, once empty upon embarking our journey of infertility, is now filled. It is filled with two of the most heart-healing tiny humans my heart could ever ask for. It is filled daily with rolling-on-the-ground-laughter from my clown of a husband. It is filled with the ongoing chaos of mom life. All of these things, a million times over, are a huge part of why my heart is no longer feeling the heaviness and emptiness it once did.

But there is more.

What has also filled my cup, my heart, and my arms – is the love I have received from those who went through this journey with us; our extended family, and our friends who inadvertently became our family – both families of loss themselves, and those who knew nothing of loss.

From a mama friend who held me in her arms and didn’t say a word as her own eyes welled up with compassion, to my low-key baker friend who dropped off treats and ran away so I focused more on the sweets than who made them for me, to my amazing friend who took my daughter in before school as I spent morning after morning seeing specialists and going in for blood work, to my dear friend who stocked our fridge with containers of food and hot dinners on our table, to my long distant friend that sent care packages packed with journals and teas and all the comforts of self care, to my sweet mama friend who was unfamiliar with loss of this nature, yet somehow knew that flowers, ramen soup, and a book celebrating self love and compassion was exactly what I needed, to the friend who dropped off a beautiful candle holder of custom made angel wings to represent the losses in our lives, to my besties who would let me text my novellas in one message essentially using them as human diary pages – with no judgement, to my beloved friend who, in the midst of her own health issues, supported us with resources, a support group, and a hand to hold throughout the 5 years of loss and grief, and of course, to my fellow mamas and families of loss who just got it. We were all part of this club that no one wanted to be a part of – and yet, the most beautiful of bonds were created out of such profound loss. One particular bond emerged from the most selfless act of love, when another mama of recurrent loss gave a piece of herself to make our dreams of adding to our family, a reality.  Just thinking about the love that surrounded us throughout this entire journey brings tears to my eyes, because if it weren’t for the loving embrace and support of others, there would be no way we would be able to find our way to healing.

I look back at these years, and there was one phrase that I would hear on repeat. Because I survived what I went through, I was told that I was ONE. BRAVE. MAMA. But, I  felt far from brave at the time.

I felt deflated.

Ashamed.

Angry.

Useless.

How could I have been brave, when I couldn’t even carry my own children, multiple times over, safely to term? I couldn’t save them. Even my firstborn, at age three – prepared her own breakfasts because I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. She asked for a sibling, and all I could give her was false hope. And the worst part, is that even though I was told I was brave for not giving up, I was starting to believe I was actually selfish for not giving up. I felt like I was the most terrible mother to my living child. Where was the bravery in that? 

But going through the entire process and looking back now…I realized this self doubt and shame was just part of the journey. I was, in fact, brave for not giving up. I see that now. I was brave for eventually getting out of bed and making sure I told my daughter I loved her 100 times a day, even if I couldn’t muster the energy to love myself. But where I was truly brave… was in my vulnerability. I was brave enough to ask for and to receive help. I was brave enough to know I couldn’t have done this alone. 

So this Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, I not only honour our beautiful babies (both earthside and beyond), I honour how they brought so many beautiful people into our lives. We chose not to keep silent, and we respect and also honour those who do. But our willingness to open ourselves up to others, has allowed us to find healing in friendships, sisterhood, and community. My arms, once empty, have been filled with such love and light, that I can now see my 9 little loves beyond the memory of sadness, trauma, and loss. I now see them as the core to which my life has been made complete. 

Gentle love and hope to those suffering the immense pain of grief and loss, in all facets. Today and everyday, we hold space for you. Through the love, compassion and understanding of others surrounding you, there is hope for happiness once again. 

How can my arms be empty, when my heart is so full?