A few weeks ago, one of the mama’s I follow on Instagram had a picture of her little boy up, with a caption underneath of how she missed him and “wished heaven had visiting hours”.
It was so simple and so incredibly profound, because it wasn’t sad. It didn’t seem like anything about loss. I had to read it twice, because the first time I didn’t understand he was gone. Her status was so motherly and normal that it shook me. Instead of grieving for us all, I felt this need to write back in that same manner.
“Me too. Let’s make a promise that when we get to heaven, we’ll sit side by side in rocking chairs with our babies in our arms.”
For a moment, I felt something about this journey that I’ve never felt before.
I felt proud. Proud to be a part of this community and of women who fiercely love their children from this side of heaven.
It was as if we were two moms with living kids, talking about being away and how much we missed them. In daycare, at home, with grandparents. Just not with us. And we’d see them soon, but until then we’d put their little chubby cheeked pictures up and talk about how we longed to be with them.
Just like other moms.
There is a huge longing for normalcy in my life. I often miss the casual mom talk of before, when it didn’t turn to hospitals and death. When my babies pictures weren’t full of my heartache and bring tears streaming down my face. I don’t have a lot of that anymore. Everything is so wrapped up in loss right now. It’s simply life for the time being, as months pass we find our own way in this. But the second time around of having normal motherhood ripped away from me is a pretty heavy burden for my heart to bear.
My soul desperately wishes for innocent talk of babies, diapers, slings, late nights, colic, and milestones.
Her words made me realize that we are indeed just mama’s waiting for our babies. With our own normal, and sometimes it doesn’t have to be sad or heavy. Sometimes it might be just a few words about heaven’s visiting hours.
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