Hope
The end of October and Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month
As we conclude October and Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, I was thinking back on my own journey. And I wanted to leave anyone know that might be in that painful, aching, unknowing stage of becoming a mom, that there is always hope. And it’s okay to hold on to it.
It wasn’t a special day.
No anniversary. No holiday. Just a Tuesday, maybe. Or a Thursday.
The house was chilly, the kind of fresh spring chill that settles into the bones as winter leaves the scene.
But there was a spot of sun on the floor.
Just a small patch, pooling in through the window like a soft invitation.
She sat down in it. Cross-legged on the hard, cold, dated tile.
No one was home. Just her. And her thoughts. The silence wasn’t sharp anymore. Just still. Silent.
It had been a few months since the last goodbye. The third one.
Her body had stopped aching.
Her days had found a rhythm again.
She was smiling in photos. Mostly.
But she hadn’t thought about trying again.
Not seriously. Not with hope.
Not until that moment.
There was no big realization. No voice from above.
The way the light touched her face. The warmth of it. The way it reached her without asking.
And something in her — quietly, gently — whispered:
Maybe it’s time.
Not because she was healed.
Not because she was ready in every way.
But because, somehow, she was ready enough.
She closed her eyes and let the sun hold her for just a moment longer.
That was all it was.
And the beginning of hope, again.
