I Still Need Your Support

By |2019-01-10T19:37:41+00:00January 13th, 2017|Emotional Health, Parenting After Loss|2 Comments

Dear friend,

You. Yes, you.

Don’t be afraid to talk about my children – all of them. Every time you say my son’s name confirms that he was here, he existed. As his mother, he is a constant presence in my mind. Sometimes it all feels like a dream, especially as time increases the distance between me and him. I can’t explain the relief when I get the OK to talk about him out loud with you. Even for just a minute.

My boy was here, and I’m not the only one who remembers him.

When you tell me that you thought of him, my heart warms. Something as simple as a text message or an e-mail can brighten my day. Someone else thought of my baby today, and I have proof.

My boy is loved, and not just by me.

If you want to do something more than a message, that’s great! Any act of kindness done because of my baby is special. Whether it’s something I’ve asked for in the past or something you’ve come up with on your own – it doesn’t matter.

My boy makes a difference, and not just because of me.

Things have changed from the first few days, weeks, and months since my child died. I don’t need much help with day-to-day existence anymore. That said, I am keenly aware just how little it would take to send me back to that place. And there are some days when I just can’t engage beyond the bare minimum.

I may seem like I’m doing OK, but I am still profoundly broken. I’m still a mom whose baby died. I’m still the mom who cries more easily than before, who has lost whole aspects of her personality from before. I’m still grieving.

Even if I can’t ask you directly, your support means a lot to me.  Please don’t stop now.


Heartbroken Mother


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About the Author:

Elizabeth Thoma
Elizabeth Thoma lives in the Bay Area, California, with her husband, Chris, and two cats, JJ and Pepper. She found out she was expecting their first child Mother’s Day weekend, 2014. With mild symptoms and no significant early warning signs, they adjusted to pregnancy and eagerly planned for their growing family. At the second trimester anatomy scan, they found out they were having a son and that he had an abdominal wall defect, an omphalocele. Ever the planners, Elizabeth and Chris prepared themselves and their families for what the omphalocele meant in a best-case scenario, and some of the possibilities that couldn’t be diagnosed in utero. Their son, Oberon, was born six weeks early and had his omphalocele surgery within his first twelve hours of life. The surgery went well, but Obie was having trouble breathing. At first, the doctors thought it was related to his large tongue, one of the many indicators that he had Beckwith-Wiedemann Syndrome. When Obie was one week old, the doctors told Chris and Elizabeth that somewhere along the line, Obie’s brain stopped developing. While they could control his seizures somewhat with heavy medication, Obie’s brain would never develop and he would not be able to walk, talk, or even communicate. At this point, they decided to switch Obie to comfort care and try to take him home from the NICU. They successfully broke out of the NICU and Obie rode home in an ambulance. Bringing their son home brought much comfort to their family. Obie passed away at home in his daddy’s arms at 33 days old. Elizabeth found out she was pregnant with their second child a week after Mother’s Day, 2015. Her second son, Everett, was born January 7, 2016. Elizabeth and Chris blog at about their family at Our Little Beastie.


  1. Mel January 14, 2017 at 9:09 am - Reply

    Profoundly perfectly written

  2. Megan January 23, 2017 at 3:28 am - Reply

    Thank you for this. x

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