...to the woman who is bringing life into the world while mourning the loss of a loved one—I see you. I feel you. I am you.
You never really know when grief will hit you. One minute, you’re fine—going about your day, checking off to-do lists, maybe even laughing at something lighthearted. Then, out of nowhere, a wave of sadness washes over you. There’s no warning, no clear trigger. Your conscious mind wasn’t focused on the thing that brings you grief, but somewhere in the depths of your subconscious, it was there, waiting.
That’s how it’s been for me these past few weeks. A constant back-and-forth between excitement and sorrow, between preparing for new life and mourning a life that was taken. I’m supposed to be getting ready. I’m supposed to be overjoyed. I’m supposed to be soaking in every moment of carrying this precious little one inside me.
But instead, my mind has been consumed with a different reality. The reality that I’m finally bringing life into the world, and I’m missing half of the duo responsible for bringing me into the world.
For a woman, bringing a baby into the world without her father has to be one of the hardest things she will ever do. I don’t say that lightly. I feel the weight of it every single day. Every milestone, every doctor’s appointment, every flutter of tiny kicks inside my belly—it all reminds me of what could have been. It reminds me that my father, the man who raised me, loved me, protected me, and shaped so much of who I am, isn’t here to see this moment.
Not a single night has passed where I haven’t thought about him. I close my eyes and picture his big, cheesy grin, the way it would have stretched across his face knowing I’m about to birth a child who would likely act just like him. I can almost hear the jokes he would have cracked, the over-the-top predictions about my baby’s personality, the way he would have marveled at this new chapter of my life.
But he’s not here. And the weight of that absence is unbearable.
I wish I could find the words to explain this kind of grief to someone who hasn’t lost a father, but there aren’t enough words in the world. I see it in my husband’s eyes every day—the silent question, the concern, the wondering. He wants to understand, to help, to fix it somehow. But I can’t even articulate it to him. It’s a wound too deep, a pain too heavy.
I don’t have the remedy for coping. I don’t have a list of steps to make it easier. I don’t have a way to tell you how to get through it if you’re in this place, too. I wish I did.
All I can do is share my truth.
It has been 28 weeks and six days since grief started trying to steal my joy, and every single day, I’m fighting like hell not to let it win.
I don’t want to live in my sorrow. I don’t want to lose the beauty of this moment to the ache of what’s missing. But some days, the fight is harder than others.
So, to the woman who is bringing life into the world while mourning the loss of a loved one—I see you. I feel you. I am you.
And even though I don’t have all the answers, I do know this: We will make it through. One moment, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.
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