Dear Ellen

This post is the longer version of a request I emailed to the Ellen show earlier this year.

Dear Ellen,

I’m gathering that most of the requests you get are for show ideas. I’m writing to tell you about an amazing opportunity for an audience. Ok, here’s my sales pitch. Every year you put on an amazing Mother’s Day show and you have a lot of mothers-to-be in your audience. When I was pregnant with my first son, Chase, I watched your show and had fun along with all of the moms in your audience (new baby excitement, combined with lots of hormones, make for a very enthusiastic studio, I’m sure). Six months after having my son, the unimaginable happened. I received a phone call at work, from my husband, that Chase had passed away. My husband, Marcus, had gone to pick-up our son at daycare and was met at the door by a local sheriff. Our son had a couple of heart defects that had been undetected and he had passed away peacefully during nap time. I should say right now that we love our daycare provider and on that day all of our lives were changed forever. We are still close to this family and will forever be grateful that they were there for our son when we couldn’t afford to be.

The minutes, months and years that have followed have been a journey filled with many emotions. There have been many blessings since that day, two of which are our rainbow babies (children born after the loss of a child), Bree and Matthew. Being pregnant with our rainbows was so much different than being pregnant with our angel. Going into a pregnancy already feeling like you’ve had some failures as a mommy, doesn’t feel good. I was angry that I’d already lost my baby, sad at the possibility that I could lose another one and extremely detached, just in case it did happen again. I didn’t want to talk about my pregnancy. I was met with questions which shouldn’t be problematic. “Are you excited?” “How many other children do you have?”. I tried answering in different ways. Other people get to talk about their living children, why shouldn’t I be able to talk about my one in heaven? Being that I was pregnant again with a girl, if I told people I already have a son, I’d be met with how I had the “perfect scenario” – a boy and a girl. I must feel so lucky. I’d smile and nod. These conversations would normally happen in places like the grocery store produce section or in the kitchen at work, with a new coworker. I’d be forced to get through the day with a lump in my throat or an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I’d wait until I got home to let the tears out and talk with my husband (the other person who I knew would understand me even if our steps through grief weren’t always in sync). Other pregnant moms would feel a comradery the minute they saw my bump. My old self would have felt it too. I wasn’t possibly going to spread my sadness to a mom who is still like the “old me”. They’d talk to me about their fears of child birth and if they’d have the nursery ready in time. I didn’t want to share my fears. I’m pretty sure I’d start to be known as the local dream crusher (not a nickname you typically strive for).

The minutes after giving birth to my daughter, I remember how silent my husband and I were. There was a silent joy and sadness. A part of our heart was healed the minute we saw our little girl. The sadness was for our son who wasn’t here to meet his little sister. There was also sadness at the mere fact that we were sad. The sadness was less at the arrival of our youngest son, but again, not without its own set of emotions, being that we were having another baby boy. Earlier on I mentioned to you that I’ve had many blessings since Chase passed away. Another blessing has been finding my mom’s group. We are moms joined together by our grief. We have all lost a child. In these past few years, we have been there for each other, to tackle these emotions of pregnancy after loss, to try and find our way around the never once expected awkward questions like “How many children do you have?”, to navigate the birthdays and angelversaries, and also to enjoy the fun times of “normal” mommy groups, like venting and drinking wine. Wait, that’s normal, right?

I’d like to make a suggestion for your Mother’s Day show, to have an audience reserved for mom’s pregnant with a rainbow baby. Not just a section, but the whole audience. They need to take some time to celebrate, as hard as it might be. I think it would be a whole lot easier to celebrate, knowing that you’re in a room with mommies that are a part of your same club. A time to not pretend you’re happy, only because the pregnant woman sitting next to you will think you’re just being a Dream Crusher if you aren’t. A time to be able to look around the room and realize you’re not alone, even if 90% of the time you feel like you are. A time to be distracted by, or reminded of, the hope in life. I think it would be great if the invite were extended to the dads too. They’re going through it all too and are a much needed support system for their partners. My husband has cried the same tears, but has had the added stress of being the strong one, solely because he’s a man. We haven’t lost our sense of humor. In fact, I think we’ve found a deeper one. It really is true that laughter can be the best medicine and misery does love company…at least once in a while…and especially for these moms on Mother’s Day. I’ll never know all of the moms in this “moms group”, but I know that they’re all amazing. It’s a club none of us ever wanted to be in, but one that has shown us just how strong a mom can truly be. Thank you Ellen for your continued laughter, support and distraction from life’s complications. Keep Dancing!

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