To My Unnamed Child

 

Dear Little One, 

Today or a day very near this one, you would have been two years old. It's hard to imagine that we could have a toddler running about, that we could be trying to potty-train you, and that you would probably try to be helpful with your little sister.

I don't know if you are a boy or a girl. You went away from us too early to know. We hadn't even grown used to the idea of you yet, and then you were gone. You did exist though, I know it. On two different occasions I saw your little heart beating via ultrasound. I have pictures somewhere, filed away to prove it.

Some, at the point in which we lost you, would say that you weren't a person - just a clump of cells, but that isn't true. I saw your heart beating. I couldn't feel you move yet, but I was aware that you were there, and I just remember the horrible emptiness I felt once you were gone -how your dad and I really already knew you were gone before we saw that empty ultrasound.

Your dad and I talk about you more now that we have Firecracker. She didn't replace you, but her being here does make it easier. I've learned that talking about you is good. Even though over two years have passed since we lost you, I've started attending a grief share group with a friend, and even now it still helps to talk with others who have similar experiences.

We're taught to hide early pregnancy to make it easier if miscarriage happens. The problem with that is that when that happens, few people talk with you about your loss. I don't know how many times people didn't tell me things I wanted to know about, because they thought they were protecting me. People withholding their good news for fear of hurting me only hurt more in the long run.

Since we lost you, I had to make some changes in my life. I had to decide to go after what I wanted, which was and is a family with children, rather than just allow life to happen. I had to cut off unhealthy relationships, some very close, because I realized that I was never going to have my own family and really life I was too busy being sucked dry by others. I stopped taking (pardon my language) crap from anyone, especially those closest to me. I finished growing up when I lost you. I lost what was left of my innocence along with you that bitter, cold January.

I have had this dream since at least high school of a particular Christmas morning. I always loved Christmas as a kid. I loved the magical, warmness of Christmas. Then your grand-dad died when I was ten. Christmas suddenly became a holiday about wanting and trying and never obtaining. When I was younger, I thought possibly it was because I wanted certain gifts, didn't get them, and had to live with disappointment. As I grew older, I realized that I didn't want things, I wanted that warm, magical feeling of when my family was whole. Then the dream started.

There was this dream of Christmas morning with a happy husband and two tow-headed kids running down the stairs to see what was under the tree. Three years ago at Christmas, I thought that dream was coming true, because I had you. Then you were gone, and Christmas suddenly became that much harder. Even last year when your sister was on her way, it was still so difficult at times. I'll never be able to listen to "Silent Night" without thinking of you. This year will be easier and happier, because your sister is here, but knowing that dream could have come true this year.... Knowing that you're not with us will always be with me.

As your sister reaches milestones, I can't help but wonder how you would be the same and also different. Would you have blue eyes too? Would you also have reddish-blond hair that sticks up straight no matter how much we brush it? Would you be a squealer like your sister or maybe a chuckler? Would your first word have been, "Momma?" Your sister's is "Da Da." Would you like carrots and squash too? Would you spend your days chasing Lucy and Dory? Would Mickey Mouse Clubhouse be your favorite TV show also, or would you prefer something more like Jake and the Neverland Pirates?

By now, you would probably be talking nonstop, asking millions of questions daily, reciting stories from memory, and just being a crazy, crazy kid. I wish I could read you a story and sing silly songs with you. Time is both my friend and enemy in regard to missing you.  The pain hurts a little less with time, but with every day, every week, month, season, year that passes since you were here with us carries us further apart the emptiness of your not being here is sometimes more evident. 

I wish that I could hold you, hug you, kiss your sweet head, and let you hear how very much I love you - will always love you. I miss you, dear Little One, but I know you're in a wonderful place and will never know pain or sorrow. Someday, I'll meet you there. We'll know each other, and it will be like no time has passed at all. You will always be my first baby. You will always be in my heart - the child of my heart.

 

I love and miss you Little One, 

 

Mom

 

 

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