That Word "Strong"
After clicking the baby carrier into my car parked in the HyVee lot, I collapsed the stroller and bent down to get a good grip on it. As I hauled and shifted it into my trunk, a voice behind me said, 'you have to be strong to be a mother these days!' I turned to see a smiling older woman walking by, observing my baby-equipment-lugging skills. I laughed with her, but as I got in the car, looking back at my safely strapped-in daughter, the woman's words echoed in my mind. You have to be strong to be a mother these days. How big and true those words are.
Moments prior to that comment, I'd been perusing the grocery aisles. Pushing the stroller ahead of me and pulling the small cart behind me, my heart swelled with so much joy that I had to share it.
I'm just so happy , I said to my mom on the phone, as I walked through the aisle and watched my sweet, napping baby's full, fluttering lashes rest on her plump cheeks. I'm so happy to be a mom with her baby here with her at the grocery store. I'm so happy to have Hope here with me. She makes everything better.
My mom understood and shared in my joy. It wasn't all that long ago that I'd called her from the grocery store to express very different feelings. I'm just so sad, I'd said on the verge of tears, as I passed yet another mom pushing a baby in her car seat. I'm so sad that Eva can't be here with me. Everywhere I turn, moms have their babies with them. I should have that, too. I should have Eva here with me.
Since that call, over a year ago now, missing Eva is a part of our evolving journey that remains constant. Hope- perfectly named as our beautiful second daughter, Eva's little sister, and her own awesome person- brings so much joy. She does make our lives better, fuller, richer. She is amazing. She is Hope. She is not Eva. We continue to live physically apart from our first daughter, and we continue to miss her in all aspects of our lives.
Carrying on in this life with Eva requires some strength, yes. That word 'strength' is often used to recognize the unimaginable journey that follows the loss of a child, and I- and any other bereaved parent- will say: I don't want to be 'strong.' I want my child back. But as the plaque on the NICU wall states (which I hated), 'you don't know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.'
I've been a mother for twenty-eight months, counting from the time I learned I was pregnant with Eva. In the course of twenty-eight months, we have truly experienced some of life's greatest ups and downs. The ups give me hope and joy. But the downs leave me feeling so far from strong; strength implies a toughness and resilience that drastically contrast so many withered, broken and treacherous days. These downs and these feelings of brokenness lead me to resent the iniquity of life and fear the unimaginable happening more than once.
I'd like to one day reach a point in our journey where I can embody the Dalai Lama's true sentiment: 'We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us, and make us kinder.'
I want to get there. I want to get to 'kinder.' But to get there requires a unique kind of strength, and I often feel far from this good kind of strong.
But you do have to be strong to be a mother these days. I look around at countless strong mothers: those who are nurturing their babies day in and day out; those who are caring for sick children and facing unknowns; those who are grieving the devastating loss of their little ones; those who have the dream of motherhood in their hearts but are waiting for their babies. Indeed, you have to be strong to be a mother these days. Moreover, you have to be strong to help one another these days. Reaching out, beyond yourself, to support someone else shows a nurturing strength. Nurturing is a key component in motherhood but obviously not something that only mothers do. You have to be strong to nurture, and 'mother,' those who need you.
Pat and I have been incredibly nurtured by countless people in the past twenty-eight months. The influence of Eva extends far and wide, as we've been the recipients of nurturing love that stems from her impact. As registrations pour in for this year's Life-Giving Memorial Walk, I feel the nurture of very strong people. People who are what I long to be: so very, very kind. Whether they (you) are reading these essays and learning more about our exceptionally strong, sweet Eva and our journey with her; sending us prayers, texts, notes, or positive thoughts as she comes to mind; donating to the Meningitis Foundation through Eva's Walk; showing up to walk with us in the heat of August; volunteering time to help us prepare; wearing last year's shirt or bracelet around to honor our girl; dedicating a marathon mile to her; giving her a shout-out on social media; including her in a sermon; writing or saying her name; or finding reminders of Eva- rainbows, flowers, skies, butterflies, etc.- in this great big world... these are all real examples of ways we have been nurtured by the strong people in our corner: a mighty corner on the expansive wings of our angel.
We are made strong by the people around us who never forget Eva Kay Ackerman. You have to be strong these days- whether the heavy load you carry is made of car seats and strollers, a grief in your heart, or a longing to one day have a baby of your own in your arms. You have to be strong to be a nurturer- mother to your own babies, or not. We are very lucky to have a wide circle of people who loves us- who love Eva- and share their nurturing strength. Truly, my two beautiful girls, their daddy, and many loved ones and supporters give me strength when I need it. It is with them- you- that this journey with Eva, and now Hope, moves blessedly, and somehow strongly, on.
After clicking the baby carrier into my car parked in the HyVee lot, I collapsed the stroller and bent down to get a good grip on it. As I hauled and shifted it into my trunk, a voice behind me said, 'you have to be strong to be a mother these days!' I turned to see a smiling older woman walking by, observing my baby-equipment-lugging skills. I laughed with her, but as I got in the car, looking back at my safely strapped-in daughter, the woman's words echoed in my mind. You have to be strong to be a mother these days. How big and true those words are.
Moments prior to that comment, I'd been perusing the grocery aisles. Pushing the stroller ahead of me and pulling the small cart behind me, my heart swelled with so much joy that I had to share it.
I'm just so happy , I said to my mom on the phone, as I walked through the aisle and watched my sweet, napping baby's full, fluttering lashes rest on her plump cheeks. I'm so happy to be a mom with her baby here with her at the grocery store. I'm so happy to have Hope here with me. She makes everything better.
My mom understood and shared in my joy. It wasn't all that long ago that I'd called her from the grocery store to express very different feelings. I'm just so sad, I'd said on the verge of tears, as I passed yet another mom pushing a baby in her car seat. I'm so sad that Eva can't be here with me. Everywhere I turn, moms have their babies with them. I should have that, too. I should have Eva here with me.
Since that call, over a year ago now, missing Eva is a part of our evolving journey that remains constant. Hope- perfectly named as our beautiful second daughter, Eva's little sister, and her own awesome person- brings so much joy. She does make our lives better, fuller, richer. She is amazing. She is Hope. She is not Eva. We continue to live physically apart from our first daughter, and we continue to miss her in all aspects of our lives.
Carrying on in this life with Eva requires some strength, yes. That word 'strength' is often used to recognize the unimaginable journey that follows the loss of a child, and I- and any other bereaved parent- will say: I don't want to be 'strong.' I want my child back. But as the plaque on the NICU wall states (which I hated), 'you don't know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice.'
I've been a mother for twenty-eight months, counting from the time I learned I was pregnant with Eva. In the course of twenty-eight months, we have truly experienced some of life's greatest ups and downs. The ups give me hope and joy. But the downs leave me feeling so far from strong; strength implies a toughness and resilience that drastically contrast so many withered, broken and treacherous days. These downs and these feelings of brokenness lead me to resent the iniquity of life and fear the unimaginable happening more than once.
I'd like to one day reach a point in our journey where I can embody the Dalai Lama's true sentiment: 'We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us so that we become increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us, and make us kinder.'
I want to get there. I want to get to 'kinder.' But to get there requires a unique kind of strength, and I often feel far from this good kind of strong.
But you do have to be strong to be a mother these days. I look around at countless strong mothers: those who are nurturing their babies day in and day out; those who are caring for sick children and facing unknowns; those who are grieving the devastating loss of their little ones; those who have the dream of motherhood in their hearts but are waiting for their babies. Indeed, you have to be strong to be a mother these days. Moreover, you have to be strong to help one another these days. Reaching out, beyond yourself, to support someone else shows a nurturing strength. Nurturing is a key component in motherhood but obviously not something that only mothers do. You have to be strong to nurture, and 'mother,' those who need you.
Pat and I have been incredibly nurtured by countless people in the past twenty-eight months. The influence of Eva extends far and wide, as we've been the recipients of nurturing love that stems from her impact. As registrations pour in for this year's Life-Giving Memorial Walk, I feel the nurture of very strong people. People who are what I long to be: so very, very kind. Whether they (you) are reading these essays and learning more about our exceptionally strong, sweet Eva and our journey with her; sending us prayers, texts, notes, or positive thoughts as she comes to mind; donating to the Meningitis Foundation through Eva's Walk; showing up to walk with us in the heat of August; volunteering time to help us prepare; wearing last year's shirt or bracelet around to honor our girl; dedicating a marathon mile to her; giving her a shout-out on social media; including her in a sermon; writing or saying her name; or finding reminders of Eva- rainbows, flowers, skies, butterflies, etc.- in this great big world... these are all real examples of ways we have been nurtured by the strong people in our corner: a mighty corner on the expansive wings of our angel.
We are made strong by the people around us who never forget Eva Kay Ackerman. You have to be strong these days- whether the heavy load you carry is made of car seats and strollers, a grief in your heart, or a longing to one day have a baby of your own in your arms. You have to be strong to be a nurturer- mother to your own babies, or not. We are very lucky to have a wide circle of people who loves us- who love Eva- and share their nurturing strength. Truly, my two beautiful girls, their daddy, and many loved ones and supporters give me strength when I need it. It is with them- you- that this journey with Eva, and now Hope, moves blessedly, and somehow strongly, on.