My Favorite Cup

Let me tell you about this cup.

Let me tell you how long I’ve looked at this cup. I contemplated for a long time whether I was worthy of drinking from such a cup. Making my morning coffee has been hard sometimes. I have shuffled past this cup many times simply because for a long time I didn’t consider myself a mother. I drink my coffee with you every day. But, something didn’t feel right about drinking from this.

Am I still a mommy?

I carried you for 9 months. I quickly became familiar with all of the postpartum remedies. My body went through a war zone, but I could not obtain the victory I was promised. The trophy I was supposed to get was stolen from me. My heart has never hurt so bad until the moment I had to lay you back down for the last time. My last kiss to you, I didn’t want to let you go. I’m sorry my tears fell onto you, but I didn’t want to give you away. The nurse placed a blanket over you, it wasn’t fair. You were too cold.

You were supposed to come with me.

I was supposed to place you in your car seat that day. What a silent ride home.

Am I still a mommy?

My body hurt. My belly was saggy. I was bleeding. I was stitched up. I made milk for you. Lots of it. I took on postpartum without the reward. I was numb at the thought that I was sitting here with all of the motherly repercussions and I couldn’t hold you.

I thought my role of mommy ended after the strike of silence came into the room when you were born. I remember it all too vividly. I didn’t hear you. I could see you, but I didn’t hear you. My heart stopped the day yours did. I didn’t think I could do it.

Am I still a mommy?

I came home empty handed. Or, what I thought was empty handed. Little did I know you gave me more than a physical touch. I learned far more from you and you weren’t even able to speak. The silence from that room was so loud. You made me strong. I want you here, but you need to be there.

You’ve taught me so much, River.

I see the positivity you’ve radiated onto every single person you’ve come into contact with. You’ve touched people all over the world. You’ve amazed us with the impact you’ve created. My little man, you’ve dried our eyes on our weakest of days. You’ve allowed other people to not feel so alone. My promise to you is to honor you until my last breath here earthside. The most comforting part of life is knowing that my last breath on earth will be the first breath I take with you. Our infinite love for each other will never be dimmed by your absence, as you’re never far away. I think of you constantly and hear your encouragement to get me through every single moment I question.

You made me a mommy.

River, I ask you to continue to lead me. Show me strength and wisdom. Allow me to guide others through you. Keep showing me the signs that you’re listening to me. Our conversations together allow me to heal. I’ll forever miss you while I’m here, but I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. Life on the physical realm is nothing compared to the paradise you’re in. Enjoy yourself, but don’t forget about me. I miss you.

I am still a mommy.

So today, I will drink from this cup proudly. I want you to smile. I have my angel baby. I will make my favorite coffee in my favorite cup and drink it with my boy.

Happy Infant Loss Awareness Day to all of my angel parents. We are the wisest of mommies and daddies. They want to see us smile because of them. Now, let’s go drink that coffee.

I love you to infinity and beyond, River James. Thank you for making me your mommy.

Love, Mommy