I used to cry in anticipation of bringing you home
Now I cry because I never will.
I used to think I had felt true heartache and knew deep sorrow
Now I know I had only glimpsed the surface of real pain.
I used to look at other children with joy, smile and imagine you
Now I have to look away from them, a painful reminder of what I lost.
I used to imagine what you would look like, if you would have your father’s eyes or my smile
Now I wonder if I will recognize you when we meet in Heaven.
I used to say “I’m sorry,” when I heard of someone else’s loss, not fully understanding their grief
Now I share it and truly feel the depth of their pain.
I used to enjoy telling people about you, sharing our joy with others who already loved you
Now I share what happened, try to express what you mean to me, but words are not enough.
I used to think we were close
Now I fear I will never forgive them for what they said or did not say, for how little they understood.
I used to complain about the things I had to give up to be pregnant
Now I would give everything I have to hold you in my arms, even for a moment.
I used to wonder what happened when we died, if we really went to Heaven
Now I have to believe you’re there and that we will meet, or else I could not go on.
I used to have a smile that reached my eyes
Now it is tempered with the sadness of missing you.
I used to think that time healed all wounds
Now I know it only makes them easier to hide.
I used to fear I was weak because I had never been tested
Now I know how strong I really am.
I used to hold my belly and speak softly to you
Now I close my eyes and pray that you can still hear me.
I used to think my wedding day was the happiest day of my life
Now I know that I have never felt more joy than the day I found out I was your mother.
I used to know my mother loved me
Now I understand how intensely and miraculously deep that love really is.