I See You

I see you, mama.

You have lost your child — you have lost a part of your heart. Every day it’s a struggle to get out of the bed. Maybe there are days when you don’t. Days when you need to pull the cover over your head and just be. You have days when you are disappointed that you even woke up at all.

I see you.

You wear a mask in public, maybe even in front of your family. You do it for them. You know they are suffering, too and you don’t want to add to that. I know. I get it. I also know how exhausting that is — to be “on,” when you feel the world crumbling beneath your feet.

I see you.

When day to day life comes at you with persistence, fast and furious, it’s overwhelming. You wonder how you can keep going. You take deep breaths — in and out — to gain perspective and calm. And you do it — day after day.

I see you.

Your heart races and pounds inside your chest. Your anxiety is palpable. You wonder if everyone knows. I hear you when you say no one understands. I do, mama. I do.

I see you.

Your friends have abandoned you, and you feel so alone, yet you keep trying to build new relationships. And that is hard. You wonder if it’s even possible to have friendships any more. Or if you even care.

I see you.

You see the world moving on just as before and think, “how can it be?” Don’t they know my child has died? My baby is no longer walking this earth beside me. Don’t they know? Don’t they see?

I see you.

Keep it up, mama. I see you trying so hard. You feel lost and alone and you wonder if anyone really sees you.

I do. I see you.