I wrote this poem in honor of today, May 2nd 2021, Bereaved Mother’s Day.
Please read it. I hope it will reach someone.
“Not My First Mother’s Day”
May 9th, 2021. Believe it or not, this won’t be my first, or even second Mother’s Day. And that’s okay. You might not realize it, but I became a mother from the first moment of that first conception day.
January 2019, a cold month in more than one way, both bitter cold and bittersweet.
The first and last time I’d get to experience naivety. The naivety of finding out you’re expecting for the first time, expecting that a living baby would be the result of that second positive line.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
It doesn’t always happen that way. You go to sleep pregnant, then wake up the next day not feeling okay.
Because you’re not.
Just like that, my pregnancy was over. One day before we were supposed to celebrate Valentine’s Day. The day of love, the day I would spend recognizing the love I shared with my husband and my unborn child.
The child that we would not get to hold in our arms, the child we had so many hopes and dreams for, became a burden we had bore. “Fly baby, soar.”
For our sweet baby was in heaven now, singing with Jesus, up in the clouds.
Our baby was with all the other babies and children born too soon. Taken from us so swiftly, the pain of their absence doesn’t go so quickly. Not as quick as most would expect.
But our story didn’t end there.
We conceived again, this time a baby girl, but her life was too beautiful for this earth. She was the second child, but the first time I had given birth.
So beautiful, just beautiful. Had she been born on time, our hearts would’ve been so full.
What I would give to have been able to hear her first cries. “Fly baby, fly.” She’s now up in the sky, with her savior, Jesus Christ.
People don’t know at first glance that our son isn’t our firstborn. I felt we weren’t given adequate time to mourn. Our firstborn Aaliyah, gone too soon.
May 12th, 2019 came and went, my first Mother’s Day.
Our story still doesn’t end there.
Not everyone has experienced recurrent pregnancy loss, but I’ve had my fair share.
We conceived again in October 2019, for the 3rd time. Surely we’ve experienced enough loss to last us a lifetime.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
This pregnancy ended in loss too. At the end of this one, you can bet I was through.
Or, so I thought.
I was over it. Tired. Sick of losing baby after baby, tired of wondering “maybe, just maybe.” Maybe. . . Maybe. . .
Maybe had I done this or that. Here I am, spending sleepless nights, awake on my back.
Tossing and turning, torturing myself with the “would’ve,” “should’ve,” “could’ve.”
Really though, what could I have done differently? What would have changed the outcome? What should I have done to keep my babies alive?
“God, where are you? Why have you let this happen to me? Don’t you see? How broken and bruised I am, have you not heard my plea?”
Needless to say, I blamed God. How could He allow me to experience so much loss.
Was I being punished? What had I done to deserve this?
It was during this time that I actually grew closer to God. Leaned on His Word, which became my sword.
My weapon to fight my way through this seemingly never ending battle.
I fell pregnant once again in February 2020. I could hardly believe it. It wasn’t our first rodeo, not even our second or third. All I could think was “Am I finally being heard?”
Had God finally heard my prayer? Will we finally become parents to a healthy, living baby?
May 10th, 2020 came and went, my second Mother’s Day.
Fast forward through all of the details no one has time to read, but it was true, God had finally, truly, blessed THIS seed.
Planted with lots of love, lots of prayers, and lots of tears. “God, please, calm my fears.”
A precious baby boy, a pure bundle of joy.
Born at 36 weeks in October, Samuel Elijah Watson Jr screamed his way into this world.
Beautiful, just beautiful. I stared at my son with such awe and amazement. Such gratitude. Never knew I could love to such a magnitude.
All 3 babies, gone too soon. This is why I tell people to never assume.
At first glance a woman’s life can look so perfect. But what you don’t know is that her world could’ve just come crashing down. But you’ll never see her frown, she’ll just keep fixing that broken crown.
The crown she wears on her head, keeps you from knowing every tear she’s shed.
Tears she’s shed because of the children she’s lost, or because she struggles with infertility.
The pieces of her crown, pieces, the results of her crown being shattered. With the help of God, she put the pieces back together.
Her crown was once broken. But I promise you one thing: you’ll never know it.
So many modern day Sarah’s, Hannah’s, Rebekah’s, and Rachel’s. Each of them remaining faithful. Faithful to God, in spite of.
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”
Contrary to what many might believe, Elijah did not make me a “real” mother. The very first baby we had lost, made me a “real” mother.
I will always carry those three babies in my heart. They’re just Heaven’s length apart.
I know in my heart I will see them again someday. But for now, on May 9th, 2021, I will very happily celebrate my third Mother’s Day.