"So hard to move on // still loving what's gone // they say life carries on // carries on and on and on and on..."
Dear You,
I will always think of you during this month,particularly the later, warmer days. I will always wonder which day you would have chosen for your arrival into this world, which day would forever be ingrained in my heart along with May 1, March 14, and October6 (your siblings' birthdays). One year ago, you would've been due in two days. Had I still been awaiting your arrival, I would've been miserable--of that I'm certain. Sweaty, uncomfortable, exhausted, tired of all things even remotely related to pregnancy. Maybe I wouldn't have appreciated the experience. Perhaps I would've been so grateful for the end drawing near that I would've lost sight of the miracle that was you,alive, breathing, screaming, and ready to greet the big, new world before you.
People have said "it was for the best", "something was wrong", and the like. Good intentioned--they all have been as they usually are. But in the end, I didn't care if "something was wrong". The day I found out you were gone...it was the hardest day of my life. I've struggled since then--what could I have done better? How could I have saved you? How could I, as your mother, have failed you so?
Shit. I'm crying now.
The truth is that there are no concrete answers. There's nothing I could've done or should've done any differently. There's nothing that would've kept you here with me, in me,alive. It was out of my hands. And it wasn't your fault either. Not that I ever blamed you, of course.The only one I ever hated for failing you was myself. And I'm learning to accept that maybe, just maybe, I've been a little to hard on myself during a time when I needed to cut myself the most slack. It's still processing, but I'm working on it.
Overall, I'm doing a lot better now. I still think of you (and I always will) and I still wish more than anything else in this entire world that your absence didn't have to be something I carry every single day. In moments of blind sorrow, I've often wished that pregnancy would've escaped me, that I could've chalked months of fertility failure up to random chance or insignificant circumstance, that you and I--that our paths--would have never crossed. On the surface, life would be so much easier for me. There's no denying that. The loss of you is something almost tangible to me. But in the end, no matter how short our time together, I could never (and would never) wish you away. No matter how many buckets of tears I have cried--and tears I still sometimes cry--I'm still so grateful you were with me, no matter how brief the span of time. You've built a lot for me, you know--one amazing friendship in particular with someone who helped me navigate my loss and create a life beyond it, and you also bridged me to your sweet baby sister, Little Flower. I'd say how much you would've adored her had you met her (and your other siblings, for that matter), but I know you already know. I know you already *do* adore them. And in some ways, it comforts me to know that they have (and I have, and your daddy has) a guardian angel watching over them. You are my angel. Maybe even the first one I've ever had, but if not the first...definitely the best.
In the darkest of moments, I wonder if you ever ache for me as I do for you. I have a confession to make to you now and it's something I've never told anyone. On nights I can't sleep, the nights I breathe your loss in and out (it still happens), I picture you someplace beautiful and warm with two amazing women I've never met. I see you in my mind as I always picture you--soft blonde hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks. And I see these two women who I never had to privilege to meet...I see them holding you and caring for you, providing you with what I'm unable to give you. It's never the same--for them or for you or for any of us down here--but it comforts me so, so, so very much. It makes me feel as though you are less alone out there, and that I can rest a bit easier knowing you are under the wings of angels.
Is that stupid? Maybe. Naive? Perhaps. But it comforts me to see three smiles when I close my eyes. I can't explain it. Maybe it's just a way of coping...I don't know. But it helps. God, does it ever help. It just really, really helps.
While I wish more than anything you'd be getting ready to tear into your smash cake or open a gift or nap or play with your brother and sisters,I know you're okay. And as much as I hate the distance between us (also more than anything), I'm okay too. It's not easy, but I'm okay. One day, I'll see you around and then I'll get to hold you and love on you as much as I'd like--endlessly, in fact. And we'll make up for lost time together.
I miss you and I love you so, so much. Nothing will ever change that--no amount of distance between us or time that goes by,
Your mama <3
I will always think of you during this month,particularly the later, warmer days. I will always wonder which day you would have chosen for your arrival into this world, which day would forever be ingrained in my heart along with May 1, March 14, and October6 (your siblings' birthdays). One year ago, you would've been due in two days. Had I still been awaiting your arrival, I would've been miserable--of that I'm certain. Sweaty, uncomfortable, exhausted, tired of all things even remotely related to pregnancy. Maybe I wouldn't have appreciated the experience. Perhaps I would've been so grateful for the end drawing near that I would've lost sight of the miracle that was you,alive, breathing, screaming, and ready to greet the big, new world before you.
People have said "it was for the best", "something was wrong", and the like. Good intentioned--they all have been as they usually are. But in the end, I didn't care if "something was wrong". The day I found out you were gone...it was the hardest day of my life. I've struggled since then--what could I have done better? How could I have saved you? How could I, as your mother, have failed you so?
Shit. I'm crying now.
The truth is that there are no concrete answers. There's nothing I could've done or should've done any differently. There's nothing that would've kept you here with me, in me,alive. It was out of my hands. And it wasn't your fault either. Not that I ever blamed you, of course.The only one I ever hated for failing you was myself. And I'm learning to accept that maybe, just maybe, I've been a little to hard on myself during a time when I needed to cut myself the most slack. It's still processing, but I'm working on it.
Overall, I'm doing a lot better now. I still think of you (and I always will) and I still wish more than anything else in this entire world that your absence didn't have to be something I carry every single day. In moments of blind sorrow, I've often wished that pregnancy would've escaped me, that I could've chalked months of fertility failure up to random chance or insignificant circumstance, that you and I--that our paths--would have never crossed. On the surface, life would be so much easier for me. There's no denying that. The loss of you is something almost tangible to me. But in the end, no matter how short our time together, I could never (and would never) wish you away. No matter how many buckets of tears I have cried--and tears I still sometimes cry--I'm still so grateful you were with me, no matter how brief the span of time. You've built a lot for me, you know--one amazing friendship in particular with someone who helped me navigate my loss and create a life beyond it, and you also bridged me to your sweet baby sister, Little Flower. I'd say how much you would've adored her had you met her (and your other siblings, for that matter), but I know you already know. I know you already *do* adore them. And in some ways, it comforts me to know that they have (and I have, and your daddy has) a guardian angel watching over them. You are my angel. Maybe even the first one I've ever had, but if not the first...definitely the best.
In the darkest of moments, I wonder if you ever ache for me as I do for you. I have a confession to make to you now and it's something I've never told anyone. On nights I can't sleep, the nights I breathe your loss in and out (it still happens), I picture you someplace beautiful and warm with two amazing women I've never met. I see you in my mind as I always picture you--soft blonde hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks. And I see these two women who I never had to privilege to meet...I see them holding you and caring for you, providing you with what I'm unable to give you. It's never the same--for them or for you or for any of us down here--but it comforts me so, so, so very much. It makes me feel as though you are less alone out there, and that I can rest a bit easier knowing you are under the wings of angels.
Is that stupid? Maybe. Naive? Perhaps. But it comforts me to see three smiles when I close my eyes. I can't explain it. Maybe it's just a way of coping...I don't know. But it helps. God, does it ever help. It just really, really helps.
While I wish more than anything you'd be getting ready to tear into your smash cake or open a gift or nap or play with your brother and sisters,I know you're okay. And as much as I hate the distance between us (also more than anything), I'm okay too. It's not easy, but I'm okay. One day, I'll see you around and then I'll get to hold you and love on you as much as I'd like--endlessly, in fact. And we'll make up for lost time together.
I miss you and I love you so, so much. Nothing will ever change that--no amount of distance between us or time that goes by,
Your mama <3
Posted by courtney at 8/20/2010 4:49 PM 
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: letters anniversary loss grief miscarriage love august
Categories: uncategorized
Tags: letters anniversary loss grief miscarriage love august
My heart aches for you, my sweet daughter. I know just how much this little one meant to you. If there was some way I could take all your pain away, I would have a year ago and also today. I love you honey.
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