I’m usually a quick writer. Open WordPress, add new post and I’m off.
This month, I’ve stared at the empty WordPress box for several moments. Willing words to come. When they do, they don’t fit here. They’re dark and not uplifting.
The past few weeks, I haven’t been standing. I haven’t even been crawling, and not because I broke my leg six weeks or so ago (thankfully I never had to be non-weight bearing).
So instead of coming here to offer up strength and the rawness that comes with the good that grief can bring, I come here to draw my strength.
I think of all of you.
The thousands of moms just like me that happen on our little corner of the web.
I think about those of you that would love to write about your babies and your feelings, but choke on the words when they come. I write for you, and you help me write.
When I can’t stand, you help me. You’re much better than the walker we borrowed from my husband’s uncle.
You help me so much more than the crutches we took too.
No removable cast can help me walk again.
But you can. You are. I see all of you strong moms and dads and know that I’ll get back to my own feet soon. You keep me propped up until then.
I’ve said a form of this line to so many other loss moms too many times to count, but it’s so true, “I wish I didn’t know you at all. I wish our babies were here instead, but since they aren’t, I’m so glad I know you.”