Thank You For Bringing Me Back To Life.
To my one and only daughter, Gabriella Rose:
You may or may not know that you brought me back to life.
Twice. We talk about this sometimes, you and I - late at night, in the middle of the night, early in the morning, throughout the day. Usually you’re the one to bring it up,
Mom, why were you in the hospital after you had me?
Why did you have to stay so long?
Why did you have to go back so many times?
Why didn't you stay that long when you had Oliver?
Your questions, my love, I’m pretty sure, are questions that deep down you know the answers to. But you like to talk about it. And so do I.
At first discussing it was painful. Unbelievably painful. And hearing your little voice ask about it opened wounds that I thought I’d never want to feel again.
Thank you for helping me through that pain so we could find the beauty in it. Had I not worked through the pain, the beauty would still feel like a distant dream.
I remember giving birth to you.
I remember you came earlier and quicker than anyone expected. My water broke at 35.6 weeks - on Mother’s Day, 2014. And even though they didn’t think you’d actually be born on Mother’s Day - you certainly were. When they heard your heartbeat down low, I was instructed to start pushing immediately.
The epidural made my lower body numb. But my mental and emotional numbness came from what was about to happen to me. I think you knew. You laid on me - skin to skin like we were supposed to - and I think you knew.
You made my heart beat for what felt like the first time. But then it stopped. I was hemorrhaging so much and so fast that my heart couldn’t beat any more.
The doctors would say the machines brought me back to life. But I know it was you.
Twelve days went by.
I’m not going to lie - I felt awful. Every second of every minute of every day.
I couldn’t feed you the way society thought I should.
I couldn’t care for you the way my family thought I should.
I couldn’t love you the way I thought I should.
On the thirteenth day, I hemorrhaged again. Taken quickly to the emergency room, the doctors and anesthesia team planned their procedure within minutes. I begged them to allow me to pump my breastmilk for you before they rolled me to the Operating Room so I could at least provide food for you, since I couldn’t hold you. You were newly human and you needed me and you were at home in someone else’s arms.
That broke my heart. It broke it so much it stopped working again.
The operation went horribly wrong. And one by one, my organs began shutting down. This - in some alternate world - I remember. I can’t explain it, because I was clearly not awake or conscious. But I remember it.
And I remember you guiding me back to myself - back to my body - back to my path.
Your work’s not done here.
You have to be my mom.
I love you.
Don’t leave me.
Stay for me. Stay with me.
I stayed, my love. I stayed. It was a long, painful, miserable recovery. But I stayed.
That was not my last hospital trip. It was not my last sickness. And it was not the last time I felt like a horrible mom abandoning her first baby. But it was the last time you brought me back to life. I hope it will be the last time you ever have to bring me back to life.
Our work together is unfolding in ways I had no idea it would.
Sometimes it feels so beautiful and perfect that fairytales pale in comparison. And other times, I’m not gonna lie, it feels like a confusing nightmare. And I’m here for both the fairytales and the nightmares and everything in between. I’m here for it. And I have you to thank for it.
So, to my amazing daughter - the one who made me a mom:
Thank you for bringing me back to life. And for making this life far more valuable than I could have ever dreamed.