Makes Me Stronger ...
February is a bittersweet month for me ...
10 Things I Hate About You ... You’ve Got Mail ... Love and Basketball ... Down to You ... Cinderella ... Anastasia ... Pretty Woman (yes I know she was a hooker!) ...
For some reason the sentiments of finding true love, being identified as worthy, needed by someone for simply being who you are ...
I blame my father.
Growing up, he showed us what it was like to truly love and be loved. He always took the time, no matter how hard it was, to make us feel important, to value what we liked, and to teach us in moments where it would be easier I’m sure to do it for us. He showed up to surprise us, he made us know we were important. I remember for Valentine’s Day we woke up to three bouquets in the kitchen - one for Mom, one for Belle and one for me. He took the time to do the little stuff that really was the big stuff for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I am sure my parents argued. I know my father and I argued - man we had some doozies - but he always loved. That is what I remember growing up - that he loved.
Adam would say this left me with unrealistic expectations of what love and life were like. I say it gave me expectations of what life and love should be and that it is possible.
Instead, Madison was silently born on November 5, 2012, straight into Jesus’s welcoming embrace. Madison would not be born in February. Madison would not be born screaming or laughing into this world. Rather, Madison had a greater calling. Madison, our daughter, forever will be an angel.
I am proud of Madison. She is my daughter. I will not shrink back and pretend she never existed. I will not refuse to say her name because it makes someone else uncomfortable. I will not not love her.
As much as I loved February, I had grown to dread it. And then, in February of 2013, the same month Madison was suppose to be born, Adam and I were blessed with a tremendous gift. We discovered we were pregnant again.
The weight of that news had the equal measure of fear, joy, despair and celebration.
Fear of having another loss. Joy at new life. Despair at dishonoring Madison’s memory. Celebration at making her a big sister.
There is no road map for child loss. There are books to guide you but really no one can walk the road with you. Even mothers who have lost before, their journey is different just as every child is different. No mother parents the same, just as no parent grieves the same. However, we all love. And we are all heartbroken. It is that bond, the shared heartache, that joins us in a club no one ever wants to join. And once you’re in, there is no going back - you cannot rescind your membership.
However, losing a child does not have to make you a weak person. Losing a child can make you a stronger, better, more beautiful version of yourself if you let it. Through loss and grief, tears and heartache, you can find your way to smile again. Find your way to celebrate life again. Find you again. You will never be the same, but you can find yourself and maybe, just maybe, you will like this version better.
In everything I do, in everything I am, Madison is with me and is a part of me. There is no end to our grief in losing our daughter. Every day there is something she will never experience - the first snow, the first time swimming, her first, fifth, tenth birthdays ... we will never know her laugh or her cry, we will never have her excitedly shout for one of us to show off the fact that she can tie her shoe, we will never have to hold her as she cries over the first boy to break her heart. There are so many things that Madison will never have - but the one thing I can promise you is she will never be forgotten, or dismissed, or not recognized as ours.
So while February is bittersweet for me, and today February 18, will always crumble my heart, February will always belong to Madison. Madison was the embodiment of everything we could be and to honor Madison, we will always be the best versions of ourselves. She deserves that and so much more.
Happy due date Madison ~ Your father and I love you very much.
