This photograph was taken about a year ago, during a painful time in my life. I had just lost my daughter, Mayah, who was stillborn at 36 weeks. Mayah means “close to God”. The entire pregnancy was challenging, stained with so many negative experiences during my hospital appointments. I was told she would face a challenging life if she pulled through, and it would be in my best interest to terminate the pregnancy. Every time I went for an appointment, I watched intensely to see her heartbeat and tiny fingers. Her heartbeat gave me hope. My Mayah fought on. I knew I had to do everything to fight for her, as if my life depended on it.
Truly, my life did depend on it, because I was walking around with high blood pressure and dangerously high blood sugar levels that were detected late in the pregnancy. The doctors feared I might suffer a stroke, so I was admitted into the hospital so I could be closely monitored.
In September 2018, Mayah passed on. I was devastated. I’d hoped so much she would make it. Still, she’ll forever be a part of me.
After my visitors had come and gone, I was left alone with my thoughts. I looked for ways to maintain my mental and emotional health. I found gazing out of the window at the sun was therapeutic for me. The sunlight reminded me of the presence of God, even in my grief. I felt most comforted when I was listened to. Silence was therapy.
This is part of my story, and my grief. I am evolving and deepening my commitment to motherhood through Global Sororitas by holding space for diverse voices.
Healing is a process, not a destination.
In loving Memory of Mayah