I am your mother. I carried you for eight months inside of me and I mothered you during those months in ways which helped you grow into the beautiful strong baby you were. I held you in these very hands and kissed you goodbye. I mother you now but not in the way I ever imagined. I mother your memory and I mother the significance of your life. This is not the way I hoped to mother you, nor is it what I how I want to or need to but this is all I have so I treasure it and take care of it as best I can.
But there will always be something missing in my personal motherhood and that is that special bond which exists between a mother and her daughter. It is something I can only imagine now. I realised this over these months and I was reminded of it today when reading a line about that by a bereaved father relating to his relationship with his son who was also stillborn. I am reminded that I too, can only imagine what it would be like to be a mother to you, to do your hair and nails, to pick out pretty pink dresses and to watch you grow from baby to toddler, to adolescence to the lady I imagine you to be.
There is so much I would have liked to teach you and experience with you. There is so much I am sure I would have learnt from you. So much I have to offer you Zia but you’re not here to accept any of it and that breaks my heart into a million pieces every day.