Dear Baby Never meant to be

May 3 is Bereaved Mothers Day. I am one of the those mothers. On November 8, 2017 I miscarried what would have been our 3^rd child at that time. I wrote this letter a few short weeks after our loss; before I became pregnant with our 4^th pregnancy, our little spunky Adaline. Writing a letter was suggested to me as a way to grieve and start the healing process. I share this today to hopefully provide solidarity to other mothers who have lost a baby, as well as raise awareness. 1 in 4 women will experience a loss This letter was not intended to be shared.  It is raw, rough, and probably has some grammatical errors.  It was written through tears. To all the mothers out there who are missing a baby from their arms…I see you. I feel your pain. You are not alone.

Dear baby never meant to be,

I don’t know where to begin with this, so I guess I’ll just start at the beginning.  I was in shock when those two pink lines appeared.  I didn’t think it was possible.  The first possible month  we could have conceived after a vasectomy reversal and there you were.  I was sure you were my special miracle. I was convinced from the moment that line appeared that you were God’s special gift to us. I worried so much about miscarriage with my first two pregnancies, but not with you. This time I felt certain that I had nothing to fear. 

I was still in shock when I told your daddy.  It was the first time he was in the house when I got a positive pregnancy test.  I got to show him the test right after I took it.  It was a really special moment for us. 

I started planning for you immediately.  Where you would sleep, what baby items we needed or didn’t need.  Your due date was perfect.  Everything lined up.  Ellyana was ecstatic.  She couldn’t wait to have another baby around.  Every time I talked about you she would tell me that you were two babies.  Boys.  Her brothers.  As scary as twins sounded, I started to daydream about two little boys who looked just like their daddy. I decided I didn’t want to find out your sex.  I wanted to be surprised.  I thought it would be fun to have the doctor tell us once you arrived.  I could picture the moment holding your daddy’s hand when they would say “it’s a ____.” And we would smile.  Daddy and I would decide on the final name after looking at you.  

I dreamed about your sisters coming to meet you.  Emeilia would probably flip out like Elly did at her age.  But Elly would want to hold you.  She would ask questions and tell Emmy not to cry.  And we would be complete.  Our family of five.  I could picture us leaving the hospital with daddy carrying you in your carrier and me holding the girls’ hands.  Knowing I probably was not going to sleep for weeks. Having done this twice now, I already had a plan for everything.  Our lives were going to be crazy busy.  But so full of love.  I felt so thankful for the opportunity to be your mommy too.  

I didn’t feel as sick, so I started to wonder if you really were a boy.  I had redownloaded all my baby aps and found a few new ones.  I loved reading the updates on your progress.  It amazes me how fast everything develops.  I already talked to you all the time, even though I knew you didn’t even have ears yet.  You were right there with me all the time.  I know that some people think 3 kids is too much, but I wanted nothing more.  I had faith that it would all be okay.  We could cut costs and corners and be okay.  I knew daddy was terrified and stressed about money, but I wasn’t.  I figured it would all fall into place.  

I had already started a list of names.  Boys and girls.  Strong meanings.  Beautiful girl names.  Mark in your name if you were a boy after your grandpas.  You were so loved right away.  Elly would rub my belly and say hi and give you a kiss.  Everything was great, until our first ultrasound.  You were measuring two weeks behind.  There wasn’t a heartbeat to see yet.  They said maybe I ovulated late.

I knew you were there.  Maybe your body wasn’t strong enough, but you were there.  You were a part of me.  I loved you.  I always will.  I still had hope.  I had hope that you were just little and were still growing.  That I was still going to get to hold you. I would just have to wait a few weeks longer than I thought. My due date would just be different.   As the days passed, I waited for that next ultrasound. But before it I started spotting as I was leaving work.  It was a little worse the next morning.  I thought I was losing you.  The tests came back okay but you still hadn’t grown. 

I still prayed.  I prayed every night.  I prayed every morning.  You had a giant prayer team of people who already loved you.  I will never understand why it wasn’t enough to save you.  I don’t know why you were not allowed to stay here with me.  I don’t think it will ever make sense to me.  I was so certain you were meant to be.  I can’t understand things beyond this world.  I am here in this one.  Why your soul had such a short stay I don’t know. 

But I do know that I am your mother regardless of how long or short your earthy life was.  I will always be your mother.  My visions of you being a little boy tormenting your sisters or a little girl wanting to be just like them will never materialize.  I won’t be coming home from the hospital with you in June.  I have to pack those maternity clothes back up.  I’ll never get to read to you or sing you songs in my terrible singing voice.  I will never get to watch your daddy hold you.  I will never get to see that amazing vision I dreamed of with you being held by your sisters.  

Instead of a beautiful story, your life ended abruptly in trauma for me.  It was one of the scariest moments of my life.  I know that God kept me safe and be made sure I got home to my two girls.  He saw me through the first step.  But I feel like there is a giant flight of stairs in front of me that I don’t even know how to start up the first step.  My heart is broken.  I feel empty.  One minute I was pregnant with you and the next you were gone.  I don’t have a picture of you.  I never got to hold you in my arms.  All I have left that you ever existed at all is two pregnancy tests with two pink lines.  Over time those pink lines fade and I will have nothing at all but the missing piece of my heart that went to heaven with you.  

I am comforted by the fact that one day I believe I will hold you in heaven.  I believe that once this life is over I will be reunited with you.  

People try to say nice things.  They want to comfort me and make me feel better.  They don’t understand that I need to cry.  They don’t understand that I am fully aware that I can try to get pregnant again.  But I wanted you.  I loved you.  Another baby is not going to negate you.  I know with time I may be able to think about you and not just burst into tears.  But for now, every newborn baby, every pregnant woman, every baby announcement, is just one more reminder that you are gone.  There was nothing I could do to save you.  If love would have kept you here, you would have lived forever.  I won’t forget you.  You were my baby, my child, a part of me.  

And I pray that you look down from heaven and you know how much I love you.  I pray that you know that there will always be a hole in our family where you were supposed to be. And if one day God does bless us with another child, that you know you were not replaced.  For me you will always be my baby, even if your place is in heaven and not here on this earth.  I will always remember November 8 as the day my baby became an angel.  Your short life left forever imprints on my heart. 

Love,

Your mama