When I was a little girl I had a short run with softball. Well, it was t-ball if we want to get technical and I didn’t have any idea why I was there. There’s a cute little story my foster family used to tell everyone about how I didn’t know what to do when I ran around the bases so I just hugged whoever was standing there.

If we’re being honest, I never felt like I got the “team” experience everyone talked about. I didn’t make friends easily, if at all; who wants to be friends with the girl drawing in the dirt? I never felt like I belonged there, that I was “one of them”.

I think most people at one time or another can remember a moment in their life where they felt left out. No matter the reason, it really does a number on your self-esteem. It’s lonely on the outside or worse in the gray area that doesn’t really have a definition, no real confirmation of belonging, just floating around, merely existing.

While you’re reading this I want you to take a moment to close your eyes and think of the moment you felt most unwelcome, out of place, vulnerable, and confused.  Think of a time where your identity was stripped from you. When you lost the single thing that gave you hope, purpose, and made sense of your life. Where everything you once thought your life would be, suddenly wasn’t. I know it’s a scary place to go back to – no one likes revelling in their most uncomfortable moments, but for me, just take a second and breathe, and remember when life violated you on a primal level.

You got it?

That’s what life as a Mother with no living children feels like. Every. Single. Day.

See, you make all these plans, and you have all these dreams from the moment you learn that in your very body a new life is budding. Your baby is on its way, you’re going to be a Mother. It’s so exciting you can hardly stand it. You find reasons to tell anyone the news. “We’re expecting!” you nearly shout through the world’s widest grin. You start analyzing every little change in your body. You’ve never been so thrilled to outgrow your jeans and to go to the doctor. A baby, we’re having a sweet, perfect little baby of our very own to love and watch grow. Is there really any greater blessing on this earth than the one of parenthood?

But what happens when your baby dies? What happens when you’ve been robbed? Who are you now that you have nothing to show for yourself? Mothers have children. Where are our children?

As women struggling to show that world that we are Still Mothers we have a constant internal conflict. Some days it’s too much to bear, explaining to yet another person that YES I HAD A BABY, SHE EXISTED! Yet you can’t stop yourself from honoring them as your child. You can’t just pretend like everyone else seems to so easily.

How cruel the world became when it kept spinning as ours crashed into a million tiny bits. So we take every sad look, and sideways glance at the mention of our child’s name. We swallow the silence that follows when we join in to the pregnancy conversation. We dig deep for some courage every time some asks, “Do you have children?”, and we answer honestly, knowing the awkwardness and pain that will follow. Because we do have children.  We accept this life as a Mother that’s like none of the other Mothers because what choice do we have? We are Still Mothers.

The memory of my daughter is burned into my soul. My love for her is as steady as my heart beat, it’s as real as the blood we share. The legendary bond of Mother and child doesn’t just break over something like death. In fact, I can’t think of a greater test – how many things can surpass the grave? Love. Love can, and it does every day that I am here and she is not. I fight for her, I defend her memory, and I make sure I’m becoming the kind of woman she deserves to have as a Mother.

While I find comfort and hope and a sense of self with the work that I do in her honor, I’m still the little girl stuck in the outfield in most social situations. The ball never comes my way, and I’m overwhelmed with empty time. I find meeting people has become something I dread because I can’t fit into the categories people expect of me.

We naturally gravitate to people like us, so what do you do when you’re not like anyone anymore? I’m in a fertile age group and all of my friends have kids. I can’t relate to them, especially those with little girls, my heart just can’t take the gravity of being around their babies. My friends who don’t have children also lead a different life than I do. I’m not the carefree girl that used to go out all night with them. Sometimes I feel like I really bring them down just by mentioning my daughter or pregnancy. Suddenly you have nothing in common with anyone around you.

Childless not by choice, bereaved Mom in her mid 20s with no future pregnancy in sight. That’s me. I can’t offer much but if you’re in need of a sad story people get tired of hearing, then I’m your girl. Just stuck over here in this tragic case of missing identity and trying to figure out how to live again. Where are those other left fielders?

Well, at Still Mothers I’ve found that fellowship I needed. I found all the others wandering around in the gray space looking for some light. I found my safe haven to unload all the things the general public can’t swallow. I found hope among what most people consider, “the worst cases”, the nightmares even the babyloss community often hides from. The women living with no living baby, and no chance or plans for another child. We’re a small group of women, but we’re finding each other and we’re powerful when we speak our stories. We’re our own little team of misfits, but we have each other and some days, that’s all we need to survive.

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Jessica Green

Bereavement Photographer at Addison's Army

Jessica is a 25 year old Marketer and Graphic Designer by day, baby loss warrior by night. She was catapulted into this world when her baby received a fatal diagnosis of Trisomy 13 during pregnancy. She carried Addison until preeclampsia threatened their heath, little Addie was born at 30 weeks and lived 2 ½ sweet hours. Jessica lives in northeast Ohio where she spends most of her free time administrating groups like, Still Mothers Support, doing volunteer work making comfort baskets and memory boxes for local hospitals with the group, Sweet Pea Angels. She’s also a bereavement photographer for local grieving families through her non-profit Addison's Army.

To learn more about Jessica or inquire about free photography and retouching services, reach out to: https://www.facebook.com/armyaddisonquinn

Latest posts by Jessica Green (see all)

• Dear Me, I Have So Much To Tell You - October 21, 2016
• The Girl With The Camera - September 12, 2016
• Tips for Dating a Still Mother - March 7, 2016