Fiercely, Brokenly Proud

February 18, 2014

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.

Fiercely, Brokenly ProudLove this? Have my dear friend and loss mama Amanda and her friend Melanie Rodriguez from BabiiLove Graphics make you one for your child(ren). Look for the open offers on their page.


  • Bart Sarah Cape

    March 13, 2014 at 4:07 pm


  • Alyson Roth

    March 13, 2014 at 7:09 am

    8 Years old? Wow. It seems like it was just yesterday. I'm sure he's dancing, playing, stomping through the trees, splashing through mud puddles, and praising Jesus. You are loved.

  • Mary Anne Morgan

    March 13, 2014 at 6:37 am

    I love this. My baby boy would be 8 next month and my heart aches so. I wonder if he is 8 in heaven and what he is doing. Thank you for your authenticity and beauty in your writing.

  • Jessica

    March 7, 2014 at 9:01 pm

    So beautiful. Love this. And though I don’t know you, I hope to sit right there beside you while I hold my sweet girl and you hold your baby boys.

  • anna whiston-donaldson

    February 25, 2014 at 11:56 am

    I want to be “beamed up” in the words of Pink. Great post!

  • Lea

    February 22, 2014 at 10:01 pm

    So beautiful and really tugged at my heart.

  • Kristin

    February 20, 2014 at 7:10 am

    Crying over here. You are such a beautiful and evocative writer.

  • Jamie T

    February 19, 2014 at 12:17 am

    I love this. I sometimes think I can’t wait to get to heaven and hold my babies there. I’m quite sure God has the sweetest nursery full of rocking chairs for all of us mommas with angels already there.

  • Grace Cho

    February 18, 2014 at 10:26 pm

    this was beautiful.

  • Amanda B

    February 18, 2014 at 9:14 pm

    This reminds of a song by Pink called “Beam Me Up.” It makes me think of you, Diana, and I bawl my way through it just about every time. The lyrics to the chorus are:
    Could you beam me up?
    Give me a minute,I don’t know what I’d say in it.
    I’d probably just stare,
    Happy just to be there holding your face.
    Beam me up.
    Let me be lighter, tired of being a fighter.
    I think, a minutes enough.
    Just beam me up.

    It is such a beautiful song. I know you wrote a post about music a few days ago, but I’m not sure if you’ve heard this one – or even if you really would want to – but since you mentioned again how it’s comforting to know you’re not alone, and that someone else is struggling with loss, too, I thought I would share it with you.

    The last time I left a comment, I mentioned that I hoped that you had a future worth hoping for that won’t break your heart. I’ve thought about it, and I’ve decided that I hope for even more than that. I hope that you have a future that not only won’t break your heart again, but that will be able to stitch the pieces of your broken heart together into a beautiful tapestry. Not so that you can forget, but so that you can remember the love and the joy without shattering all over again. So much love and so many prayers are coming your way. Thank you, again, for sharing your journey. <3

    1. Kira

      February 18, 2014 at 9:23 pm

      Oh goodness, Amanda. Every time I hear that song, it makes me think of the baby I lost between my boys. It’s just such a loving song and a hopeful one, too, I think. <3
      Diana, I love the sentiment of loving on your babies when you get to Heaven. I'd never thought of it like that, before, so thank you.

  • Anne-Marie

    February 18, 2014 at 7:22 am

    When we brought Walter to see my aunt and uncle who lost a baby girl to SIDS, I could see this in their faces. Decorations from Christmas were up (it was January 2), and hers were right there, along with her siblings’ personalized ornaments. They loved playing with our baby, and sharing their kids’ twenty-year-old blocks with him. When he left a sock there, they kept it out for a month, they told me. Somehow, we acknowledged the loss of my cousin, whose birthday fell on the very day Kaden passed, by the way. She was there. It was normal. It wasn’t about death–it was about life, our lives. I still haven’t met two of their children, because my dad estranged himself from his family. My uncle (Dad’s brother) and I have exchanged letters grieving over the time I did not get to spend with his children. To paraphrase Ina May Gaskin, it’s really unhealthy to pretend that death does not touch life, even if it hurts so much to think of death touching a birth or an infant or a laboring mother. I hope this makes sense. Your heart seems to get me, so I’m going to trust that it does. <3

  • Beccy Jane Beresic

    February 18, 2014 at 2:13 pm

    Beautiful! As one of those mums who has to love her children from this side of heaven, I love this perspective!

  • Abi S.

    February 18, 2014 at 6:59 am

    Sometimes I wish for even just a phone line to heaven. Just to hear my loved one’s voice just one more time… Thinking of you Diana and as always, hoping you find a little extra peace and comfort today.

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