Mothering

Sometimes I forget that I really am mother. That I had a child here on earth, and that I have a child now in Heaven.

I know I'm a mother. Deep down, I feel like I am.

But there are moments when I see other mamas rocking their crying babies, chasing after their uncontrollable 2 year olds, or trying to manage a herd of kids, when I realize that I don't have a person to console or run after.

My child doesn't cry. He doesn't run. He doesn't need his diaper changed. He doesn't need a bottle in the middle of the night. He doesn't need anything from me anymore.

And isn't the very definition of a mother, a person who provides and cares for a child?

I have a child, but I don't take care of him. I gave birth to a baby, but I didn't take him home with me. I bought a baby blanket, but it's stored in a memory box, instead of wrapped around my baby.

So what does that make me? A mother with a dead baby? A mother with no baby? A crazy woman who tries to mother her baby even though he's not here?

I talk to Gabriel all the time. I pray for him. I write to him. I remember him. I search for him. I talk about him. I touch the angel baby figurine that contains his sacred ashes. I buy things for him. I cry for him. I think about him all the time. I watch the sunset and feel closer to him. I love him.

I know he is in a beautiful place and that he is in the care of God the Father, and that he is happy and that all of his needs have been met.

But I can't help it.

I still want to care for him. I still want to mother him.

I still want him to know that I'm always here for him. That I'll always be his mommy. And that no matter where he is, he'll always be my child.