Letters to Eva

Dear Eva,

I’m missing you, as always. I’m thinking about you, as always. I’m wishing you were here, as always. Yesterday was hard, as always. I don’t think Mother’s Day will ever get much easier. It’s a hard day for me to process, I think especially because you are my only child. I feel caught in a limbo, I’m a mom, but sometimes it really doesn’t feel like it. It’s a mess. It probably will be for a very long time.

Tonight I want to do something a little different here on the blog. I found another prompt that I’ve been considering writing for a while now. It’s a very heavy one though and this could get ugly. I have had lots of anxiety over whether I should write about it or not. I tell myself it will be too deep for others to handle. I tell myself I’m not ready to write this down. I tell myself I’m not strong enough. I tell myself I’ll just break down. Well, tonight, I told myself, enough is enough. It’s time to get it out.

A Letter to Yourself in a Past Difficult Time. I’m already crying.

To the mom standing in that tiny hospital meeting room,

This is scary and it’s not okay. It’s not going to ever be okay. Let out what you need to let out. Breathe. Breathe, mama, breathe. Be with your baby. I know it’s scary but you will thank yourself later. Eva needs her mommy now more than ever. Hold her, kiss her, be with her. You can handle this, your baby girl taught you how to be strong.

Right now you can’t see past those hospital walls and those isolation gowns the nurses are wearing. One day you will. One day you will see the beauty in all they did for your baby girl. One day you will see the respect they gave you while she took her last breath. One day you will be closer to forgiving the neurosurgeon who you found so blunt and cold. One day you will be thankful Eva was in your arms and not on an operating table when that last breath came. One day you will know just how strong and brave you were that day.

You are a fighter, Mama. You’ve got this. Lean on your hubby and your own Mama. They will hold you up. Just breathe. You know in your heart that you did everything you could. You were exactly what Eva needed and you are enough. You did enough. Don’t give into the guilt. Don’t blame yourself. Be kind to yourself. Just breathe.

This is not your fault. This is not your fault. Listen to the doctors, the nurses, your mom, when they tell you that on repeat. It’s true. You are a great Mama who is being dealt a terrible hand. In the coming days so many people are going to say so many things to you and you aren’t going to remember much. That being said, listen to what they say, because somewhere between the word vomit somebody will say some very profound things. Those words are what will get you through this. Lean on your support system. Let them love you. Let them hold you. You’ve got this.

Eva loves you and she knows you love her. She knows you would have traded places with her. You need to know, Mama, she wouldn’t have wanted that. Eva had her mommy for every single day of her life and that’s all she wanted. Let that be a blessing in this pain. It’s hard and backwards, but seek out the Joy. It won’t come as easily now but it’s very important to feel that Joy.

To the Mama in that tiny hospital meeting room, I know this is hell. I also know that you are stronger than this hell and you and Jordon will survive. Every single day you did your best and Eva knows it. Breathe Mama. One single breath at a time and you will go on. Soon you will be facing down the one year mark with the courage of a lion and you will make it. Love yourself and be kind to yourself.

Love, Eva’s Mommy, 13 months after Heaven called.

I did it. It’s amazing how much better I feel after the words hit the page. Like a boulder lifted from my shoulders. The weight of the world melts away. I love you forever and ever my Turkey Bird. You will always be my sunshine.

Love and Kisses,

Your Mama.