A Weeping Christian: When Faith and Grief Collide

A blog by Kimberly Crumby

To the One Who First Called Me Mommy

My sweet girl,

I vividly remember the moment I found out you were on your way. I was beyond thrilled, a little surprised, and a lot scared. As the months slowly drifted by, I became less and less sure that, at age 25, I was really grown up enough to have my own baby. I so wanted to be a good mom to you. It didn’t take long to realize I was going to have mom-fail moments; the 1st time I put you in your crib after several months in our room, I unwittingly didn’t turn the baby monitor up loud enough to hear it (I am a fan addict- like, I need a 12 step program). I woke up the next morning just sure something terrible happened to you because you hadn’t woken me up to nurse. You were in your crib crying as loud as your little voice could, and I cried with you as I realized what happened. The idea of being the perfect mom didn’t last long.

You were such an easy baby- happy…content…a sleeper. As you approached the year and a half mark, your personality became a lot more strong willed. There were times I would stand there looking at you as you threw a fit on the floor over putting a jacket on, and I would wonder just what I was supposed to do with this raging toddler. It was made apparent again and again I didn’t have all the answers- like the time you spit on another little girl at church, and it took me 45 minutes to get you to apologize. You had your own idea about how things should work, and I knew if we could just help you learn to control your feisty spirit, you would be the neatest, most independent adult.

Somewhere between three and four years old, you became a little easier to manage. We could reason with you, and while you still had your moments, you were a fun, imaginative little girl. We loved watching you dance your “ballet” routines up and down the hall and having tea parties. You loved books and preschool and all things Disney.

Our beautiful, unique, rough and tumble princess…I felt so helpless when I couldn’t protect you from cancer and its horrible complications. I didn’t realize cancer cells were invading your blood, and no one knew you had suffered a stroke. Even though you won’t have the chance to be a mom yourself, I hope you knew somewhere in your four year old heart that I would have taken it all for you if I had been given the choice. Even though I wasn’t a perfect mom (and still am not), I hope you knew how much you were loved.

Because it’s not perfection that matters- it’s love. In all things.

I am beyond blessed that God saw fit to send you to make me a momma. I would never wish it otherwise even though the pain of losing you has sometimes been almost unbearable. The harder we love, the harder it hurts. I will see you again, my beautiful Hannah. I know I will get to hear your sweet little voice calling out to me again…the first one who called me mommy.

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