For a long time after Nicolas was born and died, I could not separate the love I felt for my son from the pain I felt at his death. I was consumed equally with these emotions, making it impossible to understand whether I was mourning the life Nicolas lost or celebrating the life he had. Love and grief did not exist as separate but equal entities in me, like oil and water, but were one and the same. They did not compete with each other for space but subsisted as one being. Like any new parent, I fell so deeply in love with Nicolas the moment I saw him and held his still warm body in my arms. Yes, I loved Nicolas before he was born, but that love solidified into form in Nicolas. Knowing he was already dead, knowing I would go home without him, did not undermine my love for Nicolas. The grief and pain simply joined the love and joy to become one powerful, crushing emotion.

More than a year after my little boy died — with much of the hard work of fresh grief behind me, I realized I was afraid to let go of the pain for fear of losing Nicolas entirely. All I had known of Nicolas since his birth was grief and hurt. I did not see him open his eyes; I did not hear his first breath or newborn cry. I did not have the chance to create joyful memories with Nicolas because he was dead before I first held him in my arms. If I put the grief away, if I lay down the burden I carried for so long, would I also let go of the love? It was a long struggle, a tedious effort, to unravel the pain from the love, the grief from the joy. I came to understand that, despite his unexpected death, despite the trauma of birthing a full-term, dead baby, despite the pain of outliving my child — Nicolas was still the first, great blessing of my life. While I will always wish Nicolas had lived, while I will always mourn the life he should have had, I will forever be grateful to have known him at all — to have been his mother for even a short time.

I read today a letter another mama wrote about her first-born son, who died two days after his birth from labor complications. She said she tries to hold her babe in love rather than in grief. Such a beautiful and wise sentiment. Three years after Nicolas’ death, I am able to process the pain and joy as independent emotions — I am finally able to hold my sweet son in a love unburdened by grief.