Every mother’s heart nearly comes to a standstill, breath caught in her throat, at the mere thought of losing a child. In fact, you probably want to stop reading this post right now, yes?

But, WAIT.

For the mother who has suffered the death of a child, it’s essential that we’re open about this, that we don’t sweep away the topic, that she’s able to acknowledge her pain.

It’s just as essential for those who have not lost a child to learn how to talk to, listen, and be there for the mother who has. On that note, scroll down to the poem below by bereaved mama, Angela.

Angela also started a group called Bereaved Mamas: Mamas of Children Gone Too Soon. The group hosts weekly events throughout the Twin Cities, including a once-a-month grief support group at Blooma. (The next one is June 24, 2 p.m.)

Please contact Angela through her Bereaved Mamas Meetup page for times and locations. Check out the group’s Facebook page, too.

More from Angela:

It’s my hope that my group can reach all bereaved mamas in the Twin Cities so that no one will have to feel as though they are walking alone on their grief journey.

I try to offer a variety of activities for mamas and their children: play dates at local libraries and parks, potlucks, family events, Moms Night Out, yoga, grief support meetings, etc. … On the calendar this month is: Strawberry Picking at a local farm for mamas and their kiddos, Mom’s Night Out at Paint Your Plate, three morning meetups at the Caponi Art Park & Learning Center, Mamas Night Out (picnic + concert in the park), and our monthly Bereaved Mamas Grief Circle at Blooma, June 24 at 2 p.m.

My world grew impossible to want almost 4 years ago when my son died. I felt so helpless and alone. My life lacked purpose without him. I just wanted to die. Though there is nothing that can take away the life-long suffering of child loss, having the support of compassionate people saved my life.

Bereaved Mamas is the group I’ve been looking to join since my son died 4 years ago. Since it didn’t exist, I created it… It’s difficult to find other bereaved moms in normal day-to-day life because often times, moms don’t feel comfortable mentioning their loss in normal social settings (especially settings with other mamas who are not bereaved). I hope to connect hundreds of amazing bereaved mamas through this group so that we can offer each other unending support, strength, compassion, peace and HOPE for the road ahead.

We thank Angela for sharing her story and for beginning such an important network to weave together mamas who need each other most. Below, we share Angela’s poem, “Let Me Tell You Who I Am Now.”

Love,

Alisa, Sarah & the women of Blooma

___

Let Me Tell You Who I Am Now

{by Angela Miller}

I am

Still a person, like you

With a life like yours,

Yet not.

I am

Still a mother like you,

Yet not at all

Like you

All at the same time.

I wish there was some way

You could understand me

Without becoming

Who

I am now.

You see, there’s a pain

I carry,

Unlike any pain

You carry

Unless you are a

Bereaved mother too.

This pain I carry is

Always there.

It doesn’t nap during the day, or get

Safely tucked into bed at night.

It follows me everywhere,

It never leaves my side.

Like my son used to do,

Only grief is not cuddly,

Nor sweet.

No,

A mother’s grief is a

Torturous

Life sentence

That no one wants to live.

It’s bargaining for a different ending,

Over and over again,

One where

No one

Dies.

It’s the panic of it happening

Again

Any time, anywhere…

It’s the toxic self-blame that

Never turns it’s finger

Around to blame

Itself.

It’s the spiraling of obsessive thoughts,

What if… If only…?

Seeping its poison through every

Crevice of my mind.

It’s the regret, so convincing that

I failed as a mother,

Powerless to protect my child from

Death.

Yes, grief’s emotions are as

Unpredictable

As the ocean tide,

Crashing down on me to

Drown me

Alive.

I have 3 kids, not 2.

My first son

Died.

There, I said it.

I know you may not want to hear it.

Neither do I

Yet

I have to say it

Over and over and over

Again

To slowly wrap my mind around

The incomprehensible

Truth.

My son is

Dead.

It might make you uncomfortable for a

Moment

Yet

I am

Uncomfortable for a

Lifetime.

Either I pretend he never existed,

for your comfort

Or, to my discomfort

This new life of mine,

Comes with dreaded and sometimes

Hostile reactions.

Blank stares

Awkward silences

Big eyes bugging out of shocked faces

Or worse

Looks of despair, pity, shame,

Judgment,

Even

Turning of backs,

That walk away, leaving me

In mid-sentence of my pain

Or worst of all,

Altogether ceasing to be my friend,

Upon discovering that,

I am

A bereaved mother.

Please

Do not judge me by circumstances

Beyond my control.

Do not think you are more powerful than God,

That this could

Never happen to

You.

Do not imply by your words

Or your looks

That I am a bad mother because

My child

Died.

Do not think I didn’t try

Everything

Humanly possible to save my son from

Death.

Let me tell you something,

If a mother’s love was enough to

Protect her children

From all harm

Then children

Would

NEVER

Die.

Please remember,

I did not

Choose

This version of my life.

I am

Living yet dying,

Breathing yet suffocating,

Laughing yet crying.

I am

A mother like you yet

A bereaved mother

All at the same time.

I am

A mother’s worst nightmare

Only it’s

Not a

Dream.

It’s my

Life.

While you

Complain about your kids spilling milk

Or painting on the wall

I swallow my grief whole

Silently choking

On my wish for my problems to be

Just. Like. Yours.

Paint splattered all over my walls

Milk spilled, covering my kitchen floor.

I am

Aching for the signs of my toddler

Living

Breathing

Playing

Alive 

In my home.

I am

Longing for the iterations of

What could have been.

Instead, I have an empty chair

at every meal,

The contents of my son’s entire life

Neatly stacked in sharpie-marked boxes

In storage

That now smells more like

Mildew and dust

Than of

My son.

Instead, my lap seems full

But it is always one-third

Empty.

I’m left with a math equation

that never equates.

No matter how many times

I count,

My children

Never add up to

Three.

One is always missing.

And a million more

Could never replace

Or erase the pain of missing

The one

Who now

Lives only in the

Confines of my

Memory.

There is

An eternal hole

In my heart,

In my life,

The size and shape of him

And only him

That no one and

Nothing

Will ever be able to fill.

I am

A bereaved mother,

A grieving

Quasi-supermom

I straddle time and space.

You might feel pulled in two directions,

But let me tell you

How it feels to be pulled

Between

Heaven and Earth

As a mother to an angel and

A mother to two living, breathing, laughing

Little boys.

A mother to the

Living

and the

Dead.

Let me tell you how it feels

To have my son

Deleted,

His existence denied because

It makes people uncomfortable

To hear he lived

And he died.

He is as real to me now

As he was in life.

He is not some

Inconvenient truth,

He is my son.

He will always be my son, just as

I will always be his

Mother,

Because

Love never dies.

Next time you see me

In the grocery store,

At the playground,

Or across the street,

Please remember:

I am

Still a person, like you

With a life like yours,

Yet not.

I am

Still a mother like you

Yet not at all

Like you

All at the same time.

I am

A bereaved mother

A grieving

Quasi-supermom

I straddle time and space.

I wish there was some way

You could understand me

Without becoming

Who

I am now,

A bereaved mother.