I See You: To All the Mamas Who Carry the Weight of Loss

I see you.

To all the mamas who still celebrated their child’s birthday, even though there were no little hands to clap in delight or messy faces smeared with frosting—I see you. You celebrated because their life mattered, no matter how short it was. You honored them in the quietest, yet most profound way, keeping their memory alive when the world didn’t pause to remember with you.

To all the mamas who sit in the stillness of their child’s room, holding onto the remnants of what was supposed to be—reading bedtime stories to an empty crib or rocking in a chair meant for midnight feedings—I see you. You’re nurturing in a way that defies logic, proving that love knows no boundaries, not even the boundary of death.

To all the mamas who packed up baby clothes, not because your child outgrew them, but because they were no longer needed—I see you. With every fold and every tear, you packed away dreams of first steps, first words, and first days of school. It’s an act of both heartbreak and love, a testament to the life you prepared for and the life that was taken too soon.

To the mamas who’ve answered the dreaded question, “How many kids do you have?” with hesitation, wondering if today you’ll say the truth or protect yourself from the pain—I see you. Every choice you make in those moments is brave, whether you speak their name or keep their memory tucked safely in your heart.

To the mamas who find joy and feel guilt in the same breath, who laugh at a joke or celebrate a milestone and then feel the sting of “I shouldn’t be happy without them”—I see you. Your grief doesn’t cancel out your right to smile, and your joy doesn’t diminish your love for the one you lost.

To the mamas who scroll past milestones on social media, feeling the ache of “that should’ve been us,” and to the ones who still hit “like” because your heart wants to celebrate others despite your pain—I see you. You are strong in ways you never imagined you’d need to be.

To the mamas who mark the anniversaries no one else remembers, who light candles on due dates and create rituals that hold your baby close in spirit—I see you. You’ve built a bridge between the life you imagined and the reality you now live, finding ways to keep them present even in their absence.

To all the mamas who carry invisible scars, who’ve faced insensitive comments, awkward silences, or the isolation that comes with a loss no one else fully understands—I see you. Your pain is valid, your grief is real, and your love is eternal.

You are a mama, and nothing—not time, not distance, not death—can take that away. You mother through your grief, through your tears, through the way you carry your child’s memory in every breath you take.

I see you. I honor you. And I hold space for your grief, your love, and your strength. You are not alone.