Reaching Out

Tonight I am going to sit down a write a letter to a woman I have never met - but in a way I still kind of know her. You see she recently became a member of the dead baby club. I am still clinging to that yucky name - it is such a yucky club. For almost a month I have been thinking about what I am going to say to her. There is so much I want to tell her, but I know none of it will make her feel better. I have been stressing about choosing the right words to express to her how sorry I am for her lost. I just hope she will find some comfort in some snippet of my letter.

Writing that first paragraph made me think back to THIS post from last March. It is about I letter I got from a mom whose baby had died 23 years before. I read the post and cried. . .

I actually sent a letter in January to a woman who had lost her baby and included a Willow Tree Angel in the package. I went to high school with her and because of this didn't feel pressure to write anything profound or inspiring. I just let a little bit of my heart pour out.

After receiving the letter and angel, the woman I went to high school with messaged me, "Your card brought tears to my eyes with your kind words." She went on to say, "it made me feel better knowing I was not crazy because I did not want to face people or leave the house for a while after and that you had similar fears and emotions."


Just like I had connected to the letter I have received last March, she connected to mine.

Here are some of the Willow Tree Angels I received after Tripp died.

Rereading that post from last March and the words from my former classmate reminded me of what's important. Connecting with people is important. Showing people compassion is important. Being honest and true to yourself is important.


I am going to have a cry tonight as I reach out to a woman who is hurting. I am going to cry because I know a lot of what she is feeling. I am going to cry because it isn't fair. Her daughter didn't get a chance to grow into a squirmy toddler, independent pre-teen, or rebellious teenager (because weren't we all). I am going to cry because Tripp didn't get to do any of those things either. 


When I am done I am going to wipe my tears and sit-up a bit straighter, because I am surviving. I am really doing it. I am going to feel good about having written that letter and contented by being able to show someone who is deeply hurting compassion. I am proud of the person sitting here tonight.