To the Mother in the Next Room Over

Do you ever feel like you are a glutton for self-inflicted emotional suffering? Normally, I am most certainly not one those women. I hide so many posts on my Facebook newsfeed simply because they bring tears to my eyes. However, I am going to be completely honest with you about something that I shouldn’t even know.

I’ll just start and, hopefully, you can follow along.

You don’t know my name, but I know yours. You don’t know how many times you cross my mind, how often I cry for you, and I’m glad for that. I couldn’t imagine being in the shoes you were forced into, but it’s important for you to know that, although I have not suffered the same pain, yours stays fresh in my mind.

I spent 18 hours at the hospital the January day my son was born. As I walked the circle to try and move forward in my labor just a little more, I crossed paths with your husband and oldest daughter multiple times. I knew him from my middle school days of bedroom-bands, but he didn’t remember me. I smiled so many times because she looks just like him. I wondered if my son would look like his daddy too.

As they day went on, I forgot about them as I became understandably self-centered, then 100% centered about the tiny, squirming boy I was handed.

The day my son was born, your daughter was born in the next room over. While I posted happy, bright things on social media for all to see, you were saying goodbye to your beautiful girl.

As the next couple of days went on, I saw more and more of you popping up. You see, we aren’t “friends” on Facebook, but you are with so many people I know and, as they gave their condolences, I silently sent you my love.

I cried for every picture and held my son a little tighter. I wondered if I should reach out, or if that would just be worse. Would my son only serve as a slap in the face?

I wished and still do that I could tell you how I admire your bravery, how I’m so proud of a stranger for keeping that ethereal, perfect face so boldly posted for all to see. I am so glad you won’t let anyone forget her.

Now, my son is nearly nine months old. Almost a year has passed and your family never ceases to cross my mind on occasion. I sit and I cry, thanking God for blessing me with what I’ve been given, also praying that you have found comfort. Above all, I hope you’ve found comfort.

Some part of me hopes that this letter finds you, but a larger part doesn’t. While the urge to speak with you is still strong, I hold back. Re-opening that wound is not something I would force onto anyone. This writing is strictly to inform the universe know that someone unimportant knows and although I am unimportant, I just a bit more loudly send you the same love.

Photo credit goes to a DeviantArtist whose name I could not find, the picture was found via Google search.

#PersonalStories