A Letter

Little One,

I didn't know it was possible to miss someone I've never met, until you. 

January 5th, 2017. The day I should be meeting you is fast approaching. Yes, I know, babies are not often born on their due dates, but it's the only birthday I know to give you.

It kind of sneaked up on me, not because I'd forgotten you, but because grief comes in waves and sometimes waves are low and steady, or far away in the distance. And sometimes, waves loom high and pick up speed and crash onto the shore so hard it makes my head hurt. 

My head hurts.

I still don't know why. Why I am the only one who would ever be able to hold you. I have no photo of your face, nothing I can point to and say, "See? This is the child I lost." All I have are symbols, and memories, and shadows of who you were to us. Photos of our faces, your dad's and mine, filled with happiness at the news of your existence. Then later, fear that we might be losing you. 

But you were real. And we did lose you.

I know a lot of people who care so much about protecting life in the womb. They share images and describe the horrors and pain caused by choosing to terminate a young life, even one that's only been growing for a few weeks. I didn't choose to terminate yours - it happened, and I couldn't stop it. I've read that the most likely cause is a "chromosomal abnormality." 

I wondered then, and I still wonder...did you hurt? 

When you died inside me?

Your father and I prayed so hard for God to spare your little life. Why didn't He do it? Why did He give you just to take you away before your first breath?

I can imagine some reasons and make some guesses, but the truth is I will likely never know. And so, January 5th will come and go in the blink of an eye, just like you did. 

But I'll still remember you.

And I hope that remembering you helps me to remember life as much as death. I hope, if you ever have a brother or sister, that the joy of them is as near as the heartache that your loss still brings. That as soon as the delight over his or her new life melts away into exhaustion or routine, another wave builds steady in the distance and crashes down on us, covering us in gratitude again.

Thank you for helping me to remember that life is precious and should be celebrated - including the ones that require us to celebrate through our sorrow. 

Little One, you are loved. 

You are missed. 

You are treasured. 

Love,

Your mom