I’ve wanted to say this for a while now, but I wasn’t sure the words would come out right. Even right this minute I’m not sure, but I’m hopeful. I’m hopeful you’ll see my heart.
I’ve always been an odd sort of person, I guess, when it came to sensitive issues. I’m a sensitive soul myself, and I spend a lot of time with my heart on my sleeve. Despite my tendency to take things the wrong way I often get frustrated with a society that seems on the verge of running home crying to their Momma. Most issues just make me want to shake my head, and wonder, what are they getting so upset and offended about?!
But then there’s you. You’re not being too sensitive, but are in fact handling it far better than I ever could. And I get it.
No, I don’t get it like you get it, but I try. And when I do I feel like my heart may fracture right down the middle. I look at the most amazing thing that’s happened in my life, and then I try and imagine what it would be like if I couldn’t have that.
That’s when I understand. And that’s when I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.
I’m sorry I didn’t see it in your eyes when I told you I was pregnant again. A month after trying. I’m not apologizing for being happy that I had conceived, but rather am regretful for not being more sensitive to the pain you felt at that moment. I know you were happy for me, and you wanted to be happy too, but your own negative test at home overshadowed all else. I can understand that.
Oh God, I’m sorry I complained so much about morning sickness and swollen feet. How did you not stab me in the eye?! But seriously, I couldn’t see my ankles.
I’m sorry that I complain about my kids so much, and although motherhood is so damn hard; I’m sorry if my grievances make it seem like I don’t appreciate the opportunity in my hands to care for my sweet babies. It’s not fair to you or them.
And even though I know I’m human, and sleep deprivation gets old, I do realize my comments are sometimes like lemon juice to your paper cut. I’m sorry for that.
I apologize that I make flippant comments about having another like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. I don’t say it to hurt you. I guess sometimes I just don’t think.
I suppose aside from my sincere apology to you during a time that is more difficult than I can fathom, I want you to know that I’m thinking of you. I really am. I know that in your loss people may remain silent, as if commenting on miscarriage or infertility is too taboo of a subject to speak out loud, but just know that even if I don’t say anything that I’m still praying for you.
You want to be a mommy, and rightfully so, but I’ll tell you this. I think you already are. I think God has placed the desire in your heart for a reason, and I believe He will fulfill it. You’re a mother already, and I can see your glow, even if you cannot. You’re just waiting for your child, and whatever miracle avenue that God will use to bring it to pass. Keep the faith Mommy.
Just remember that even when I mess up, because I know I will, or other people also step on your feelings, even if unaware; know that Jesus sees your heart. He sees your pain, and He catches every tear. Hang in their Momma. You are loved.