In honor of Mother’s Day, I want to write a letter I’ve been carrying in my heart for a long time. A letter to my oldest. The one who called me mom first. The one who came after loss and changed absolutely everything.

Not everyone knows this part of my story. But if you’ve been here a while, you know I believe in being real, so here it is.

Before you, there was loss. There was grief that didn’t have a name yet, a sadness I didn’t know how to hold. There were negative pregnancy tests and quiet tears and the kind of hope that keeps flickering even when you’re not sure it should.

I know what it feels like to want something so desperately and wonder if it will ever come.

And then, you did. When I found out I was pregnant with you, I felt two things at once: pure, overwhelming joy and a fear so deep I didn’t know what to do with it. That’s what pregnancy after loss feels like. You’re overjoyed and terrified in the same breath. As the anniversary of the loss passed, anxiety allowed me to feel glimpses of joy.

Your birth is a whole other story, but you were my first. My trial run. The one who got the most anxious, most over-researched, most well-intentioned version of me; especially during a pandemic. I second-guessed everything. I googled everything.

But here’s what I know now: you didn’t need me to be perfect. You just needed me to show up. Now that is what I do with you, and your two brothers.

You taught me how to be a mother. And I am still learning from you every single day.

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If you’re in the thick of loss right now, I see you. I was you.

If you’re pregnant after loss and holding your breath, I see you too.

And if you’re holding your rainbow baby right now, in your arms or in your heart; happy Mother’s Day. Your story matters. Your loss matters. And your love is one of the most powerful things. To all of those who are on the path to motherhood or who have walked along it time and time again, Happy Mother’s Day!

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