Mother

I had prepared this post that seemed really thoughtful and intelligent. I did it right before I was going to the ultrasound that would tell me if I was carrying a son or a daughter. Right on the cusp of such important information, I was struck by how many differences I anticipated between the two. You see, if it was to be a daughter my concerns were raising a girl that could excel in a man’s world, who could be confident and strong and with the grace and dignity that makes a woman such a fascinating and wonderful dichotomy. But if I were raising a son, I thought it would be important to stress the ability to be tender and emotionally intelligent. I wanted to raise a son that would be a good husband and father; who could recognize the gift of the circumstances of his birth as a white, upper-middle class, male – the trifecta of important social determiners that are not within our control – and who would appreciate and respect that that kind of social privilege requires of him a certain amount of social responsibility.
We found out at that sonogram that I was having a daughter. Already the light of my world, she was all that mattered. She was the result of years of infertility treatments, All of our hopes and years of dreams. We were beyond ecstatic. Now all of that is moot. All the world has changed. I was unprepared for the terrible third option that lurked like the devil himself mere hours away. We would never get to raise this child. This past Saturday, just three days after that sonogram, my water broke, 4 weeks before my sweet little girl would have lungs that could sustain her. I was in labor for nineteen hours, all the time knowing that my child would never draw breath. It was at unimaginable, crushing grief. We held each other and cried and begged God for a miracle that the doctors told us would never come. My sweet, beautiful girl was born on Sunday, but she died the night before.
Her birth is, at once, the most heartbreaking, devastating hours of my life, and somehow still the most profound, and life changing, and miraculous. I became a mother in those hours. That is arguably the most completely feminine thing in the world. I am still her mother. If I weren’t my heart wouldn’t be breaking like this. I will never be the same. I will never stop missing her – this amazing, tiny little girl who got cheated out of a life and a family where she is so loved and wanted. I will never stop being proud of her - of how she fought to survive for hours even with her little world inside me coming down around her. And I love her without end and without exception. If that is not a mother, I don’t know what is.