"Two moms sitting at a picnic table eating lunch together and talking about something that no mother should ever have to discuss." That is what I continued to think today as I sat across the table from another mother.
If others passed by us, I am sure they would have figured we were just eating lunch while discussing topics such as family and our children. Which we were. But not the way others would discuss their family and children. No, we were not discussing feeding or nap times, formula or diapers, smiles or first steps. We were not discussing family trips or fun family times.
We were laughing and crying, and sharing our stories. But not the stories typical mothers would share with one another.
No, we were sharing our BLM stories. The stories that live in our hearts, changed who we were, and made us stronger.
Two mothers who had dreams of becoming pregnant, had hopes for their unborn babies, and quickly without warning had all hopes and dreams shattered.
Just two mothers sitting at the picnic table, telling each other how they lost their babies. Relating to the hurt and the pain. Laughing at moments and crying at others. Talking about memories, strength, and life.
We were two mothers discussing the pain of losing our children, which we shouldn't have to do, but we were just sharing our stories, as any mother would do.