After a womb fills for the first time, a woman is always a mother, child born or child lost or child given back.

Maybe only a mother knows.

So maybe next time, I will name her Hope from the minute the strip turns pink, and I will speak her into my world whether she breathes herself into it or not. 

And maybe no matter how many more almosts the future holds, I will speak my own motherhood into my world and call each of my children by name whether they call me by mine or not.

Maybe it’s healing, maybe it’s shattering, maybe it’s both.

Maybe when your heart breaks, your spirit gets a little bit stronger.