Love Without Rest

Part 4 of I Carried You, I Hold You Beyond Loss. If you missed the previous parts of this series, you can read them here.

Nobody tells you that love can keep you awake.

Before becoming a mother, I thought sleepless nights were simply part of caring for a newborn. I imagined the usual exhaustion that comes with feeding schedules, interrupted sleep and the many adjustments that accompany the arrival of a baby. What I did not know was that there is a different kind of sleeplessness altogether, the kind that is driven by fear, uncertainty and a love so deep that rest begins to feel like a luxury you can no longer afford.

After your birth, our lives became a journey of learning. We were no longer simply navigating the joys and challenges of new parenthood, we were trying to understand your health, your needs and the realities that lay ahead. As we moved from one doctor to another, searching for answers, each consultation seemed to bring new questions. We hoped for reassurance, but often found ourselves facing more uncertainty.

Caring for a Child with Health Challenges

Your breathing quickly became one of our greatest concerns. There were days when everything seemed stable and manageable and there were days when every breath felt significant. I became intensely aware of the smallest changes. I learned to notice things that other people might not have seen. I listened carefully to your breathing and paid attention to every sound, every movement and every signal your little body gave me.

Without realizing it, I was living in a constant state of alertness. People often talk about a mother’s instinct and perhaps that is part of it. But I also believe that what people call instinct is often love paying close attention. And I paid attention to everything.

For thirteen months, sleep became something I could never fully surrender to. Even when I lay down, my mind remained awake. Even when my eyes closed, part of me was still listening. Listening for movement. Listening for changes in your breathing. Listening for any sign that you needed me.

There were countless nights when I would wake repeatedly just to check on you. Sometimes I would gently place my hand on your chest, seeking reassurance in the rise and fall of your breathing. Other times, I would sit beside you long after everyone else had gone to sleep, watching over you in silence. It was not because anyone expected me to. It was not because I thought I was particularly strong. It was simply because I was your mother and loving you made vigilance feel natural.

The Hidden Weight Mothers Carry

Looking back now, I understand that I was carrying far more than I realized. I was caring for a child with significant health challenges while trying to recover from a difficult pregnancy and a difficult birth. At the same time, I was navigating a depression that had begun before you were born. Yet because all attention was focused on you and rightly so I rarely stopped to consider what was happening to me.

People asked how you were doing. They wanted updates on your health. They prayed for your recovery and celebrated every sign of progress. I appreciated every act of kindness and every prayer offered on your behalf. Yet very few people asked how I was coping. Very few people asked what it felt like to carry fear every day or what happens to a mother’s mind when she spends months living in survival mode.

It is only now that I understand how many women carry similar burdens in silence. Many mothers find themselves caring for children with health challenges while battling anxiety, depression and exhaustion. They continue showing up every day because they have no other choice. They become experts at functioning while hurting, smiling while afraid and carrying more than anyone realizes.

Finding Hope Through Difficult Times

Despite everything, hope remained. Hope lived in the smallest moments. It lived in your smile, in your laughter and in every milestone you achieved. Every sign of progress felt like a victory. Every moment of growth felt like a gift. Every day that ended with you safely in my arms felt like a blessing.

The doctors spoke about limitations, but you kept teaching me something different. You continued to fight. You continued to grow. You continued to show a resilience that inspired everyone around you. Through you, I learned that strength is not always loud. Sometimes strength is found in a child who continues smiling despite discomfort. Sometimes it is found in a mother who continues showing up despite exhaustion. Sometimes it is simply the decision to hope again after every difficult day.

And so I hoped.

I hoped through every hospital visit. I hoped through every sleepless night. I hoped through every setback and every challenge. Hope did not erase my fear and fear did not erase my hope. The two existed side by side within me, each taking turns to become stronger depending on the day.

What remained constant, however, was love.

A love that listened carefully. A love that watched closely. A love that worried constantly. A love that stayed present. A love that refused to give up.

A love without rest.

And if I had to live those thirteen months again, I would still choose every sleepless night, every hospital visit and every moment of uncertainty. Because every moment meant one more moment with you.

And that was enough.