Why You Didn’t Fail As A Mother

I have to tell you this. You didn’t fail. Not even a little.

You are not a horrible mother.

You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just happened. To you. Despite your begging, pleading, praying, hoping against all hope that it would not. Even though everything within you was screaming, no no no no no.

God didn’t do this to you to punish you, smite you, or to teach you a lesson. That is not God’s way. You could not have prevented this if you tried harder, prayed harder, or if you were a “better” person. Nor if you ate better, loved harder, yoga-ed more, did x, y, z to the nth degree– fill in the blank with any other lie your mind devises. You could not have prevented this even if you could have predicted the future like no one can.

No, there is nothing more you could have done. You did everything you possibly could have. And you are the best mother there is because you would have done absolutely anything to keep your child alive. To breathe your last breath instead. To choose the pain all over again just to spend one more minute together. That is the ultimate kind of love. You are the ultimate kind of mother.

So wash your hands of any naysayers, betrayers, or those who sprinted in the other direction when you needed them most. Wash your hands of the people who may have falsely judged you, ostracized you, or stigmatized you because of what happened to you. Wash your hands of anyone who has made you feel less than by questioning everything you did or didn’t do. Anyone whose words or looks have implied this was somehow your fault.

This was not your fault.  This will never be your fault, no matter how many different ways someone tries to tell you it was.

Especially if that someone happens to be you. Sometimes it’s not what others are saying that keeps us shackled in shame. Sometimes you adopt others’ misguided opinions and assumptions. Sometimes it’s your own inner voice that shoves you into the darkest corner of despair, like an abuser, telling you over and over and over again you failed as a mother. Convincing you if only this and what if that, it would never have happened. Saying you coulda, shoulda done this or that so your child would not have died.

That is a lie of the sickest kind. Do not believe it, not even for a second. Do not let it sink into your bones. Do not let it smother that beautiful, beautiful light of yours.

Instead, breathe in this truth with every part of yourself:  You are the best damn mother in the entire world. 

No one else could do what you do. No one else could ever mother your child as well as you can, as well as you are. No one else could let your child’s love and light shine through the way you do. No one else could mother your dead child as well as bravely. No one else could carry this unrelenting burden as courageously. It is the heaviest, most torturous burden there is.

There is no one, no one, no one who could ever, ever replace you. No one. You were chosen to be your child’s mother. Yes– chosen. And no one could parent your child better in life or in death than you do. You have within you a sacred strength.

You are the mother of all mothers.

So breathe mama, keep breathing. Believe mama, keep believing. Fight mama, keep fighting, for this truth to uproot the lies in your heart— you didn’t fail. Not even a little.

For whatever it’s worth, I see you. I hear your guttural sobs. I feel your ache deep inside my bones. And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to put my fingers as a makeshift Band-Aid over the gaping hole in your heart until the scabs come, if and when they do.

It takes invincible strength to mother a child you can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. You are a superhero mama. I see you fall down and get up, fall down and get up, over and over again. I notice the grit and guts it takes to pry yourself out of bed every single day and force your bloodied feet to stand up and keep walking. I see you walking this path of life you’ve been given where every breath and step apart from your child is a physical, emotional and spiritual battleground. A fight for your own survival. A fight to quiet the insidious lies.

But the truth is, you haven’t failed at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

You are the mother of all mothers.

Truly the most inspiring, courageous, loving mother there is– a warrior mama through and through.

For even in death, you lovingly mother your precious child still.

. . .

This life-changing essay is now a gorgeous gift book for loss moms. Buy it here.

10264003_275794179258155_1069660018459734824_o

. . .

Excerpt from “You Are the Mother of All Mothers: A Message of Hope for the Grieving Heart” by Angela Miller. Copyright © 2014 Angela Miller. Excerpt by permission of Wise Ink Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.


Print Friendly, PDF & Email



  • Comment through Facebook

    comments

    Angela Miller

    Angela Miller

    Angela Miller is a writer, speaker and grief advocate who provides support and solace to those who are grieving the loss of a child. She is the author of You Are the Mother Of All Mothers: A Message Of Hope For the Grieving Heart , founder of the award-winning online community A Bed For My Heart, writer for the Open to Hope Foundation and Still Standing Magazine. Angela writes candidly about child loss and grief without sugar coating the reality of life after loss. Her writing and her book have been featured in Forbes, Psychology Today, MPR, BlogTalk Radio, Open to Hope Radio and Writerly, among others. When she’s not writing, traveling, or healing hearts, you can find Angela making every moment count with her two beautiful, blue-eyed boys. Join Angela's compassionate village at A Bed For My Heart.

    June 26, 2013

    RELATED POSTS

    6 Comments

    1. Reply

      Rhonda Moorehous

      November 16, 2015

      I love this I have suffered in silence for two years I love my Angel Shawn and I miss him terribly.

    2. Reply

      Jen Krieger

      August 1, 2016

      Your words offered my great comfort in the torture I call my life now without my daughter Tiffany. She is forever 26. I didn’t just lose a daughter, I lost my best friend, my reason for living and the light in my soul. My life is lonely and empty without her. It was the two of us against the world. Now I am alone. Thank you for acknowledging our pain of loss. But most of all thank your for your healing words. They really have helped.

      Yours Truly,

      Jen

    3. Reply

      Sherry

      August 4, 2016

      I lost my youngest son 6 yrs ago, and then in June lost my youngest grandson… know I did the best I could, but some of these thoughts still cross my mind…

    LEAVE A COMMENT