what it means to be a dbm

I was asked the other day what it means to me to be a dead baby mama. (This is legit, and no, it didn't cause me extreme grief. Safe person.)

Initially all I could come up with was all of the lost hopes and dreams for this little bundle of cells that fights against all odds to survive. About how I'm so very aware of the milestones I am missing...the holidays, gatherings; just how much I am missing.

The more I think about the question, the more I have to say about it. Being a DBM means I will never have the same thoughts about a pregnancy for anyone. It is not possible to be naive. I will always think in the back of my mind about the support I would offer someone if their baby died.

I will always have to find a way to keep my daughter's memory alive, even though she isn't. Any siblings Maddie may have will know about her. But will Maddie know about them? Will she love them or will she wonder why they were lucky and she wasn't?

I will always think about my lost baby. No matter how old I am, she will forever have a piece of my heart. I will be that old lady on her deathbed who isn't afraid...she knows her baby is waiting to be held.

Life is incomplete and often sad. It always will be. Being a DBM means I do have a guardian angel, and there is comfort in remembering that in tough times.


Oh, how I wish it didn't have to be that way for anyone.