My dear Jonah,
For the last 6 months, my purpose in life has been to carry you, protect you, nurture you, and do everything in my power to keep you alive. On January 21st, the doctor said the words that changed my life forever: “I’m sorry, but I’m not seeing any cardiac activity.” You had gained your wings.
For the next couple days, my purpose shifted. I had to deliver your body into the world so that we could finally meet you and say goodbye.
My sweet Jonah, the pain of leaving the hospital without you was devastating, and 3 weeks later, it remains just as hard.
What is my purpose now? I feel empty and broken, wandering purposeless through these days and weeks after losing you. This isn’t how this was supposed to go – my purpose after delivering you was supposed to be taking care of you and watching you grow. Having that purpose ripped away from me has left me confused and unsure.
What do I do now? There is no old normal to go back to. In old normal, there was no Jonah. In new normal, there’s angel Jonah. I say “new normal,” but really there’s nothing normal about it – I gave birth to a baby, yet he’s not here.
Everyone says that I’ll figure out life without you as time goes on. While I look forward to that time when days feel meaningful again, I also don’t want it to happen. I don’t want life without you to be normal or figured out.
I just want you here.
That’s not possible, though, so I’m forced to go the route of figuring it out. I’m not sure how all the shattered pieces of me can be fit back together into something that resembles Joli, but I promise to try. I want so badly to learn how to shine for you – to take the beauty of you and wear it on my face for others to see. I’ll try my best, Jonah, I promise.
In the mail today, I got such a wonderful box of gifts that are helping me to grieve for you. One of those gifts is a journal for self-exploration. On the second page, it asked me to name 10 big dreams of mine that haven’t happened yet. I had to dig deep into my thoughts and soul, but I found them…10 dreams that haven’t happened yet. I’m still confused about my purpose without you, but listing out those dreams really helped me remember who I am.
Every day is a long journey of grieving, Everything I do feels trivial, because it doesn’t compare to mothering you.
You might not be here physically, but I am a mother, first and foremost – a mother learning how to live without her precious son.