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The Yearly Anniversary Every Mother Would Dread

If you’re a mother who has lost a child, you understand what this anniversary is. It’s the reminder that on this date, you lost something so precious that it ripped out a little of your heart. A piece of you is now missing. And no matter how much time passes, on this date, you relive it all.



I wasn’t sure if I should write this post. Before I lost my daughter, I thought people who still mourned years and years later were just vying for attention and living in the past. That was BEFORE I lost my child. Now I understand. 363 days of the year, I’m fine and can tell you that I’ve lost a child with no outward signs of sorrow. But on those 2 important dates, I’m a basket case. January 15 is her birthday and today, March 10th, is the day that she died.

This year, it has been 14 years since I had Jocelyn. Most days, I just wonder what it would be like if she were still here; Amber, Jocelyn and Kiara are all almost exactly 18 months apart; so right now, Amber is 12, Jocelyn would be 14 and Kiara is 15. And then of course, the other three kids are 7, 10 and 19. I think life would definitely be even more interesting than it is. 🙂

And then I mourn the fact that she isn’t here.

I am missing a person in my family.

My third born daughter.

And it hurts.

Even as I’m typing this, my face is dripping tears. And I feel like an idiot for still hurting this badly after 14 years. It should be more like a dull ache by now, I think. I shouldn’t still be bawling like a baby this many years later. And most the time it is.

But every year, on March 10, I remember.

I remember finding my 2 month old baby in her cradle, no longer with us.

I remember the guilt.

Why the guilt? Because I always slept with my babies. ALWAYS. The night Jocelyn died, however, I put her in her cradle because my back was hurting.

So the one night I was not there, with my baby, was the night that she died.

I fought with that guilt for a long time.

So now, 14 years later, I relive it all. And I cry.

But tomorrow I will be back to normal.

That’s why every year, on March 10th, I avoid seeing people. I don’t want to have to explain why I burst into tears at the most stupid and inopportune times. I don’t want to have to explain why I cry at the sight of small babies and pregnant women. And I don’t want to explain why my eyes are puffy and my nose is red.

So, to those of you who know me, know that today I am remembering and mourning. But tomorrow, I will be the same old effervescent me.