One Month

Dear Maddie,

We lost you one month ago this morning. We miss you so much and wish with all our hearts that you were here. My arms have ached for you today, and I’ve felt hollow inside in the space where you should be. I still don’t quite know how to go on without you. I remember feeling you kick, seeing your little face on the ultrasound, and hearing your heart beat filling up the exam room. I still think sometimes that I feel you moving around in there. Remember the day I wore a very loose dress? I thought you’d invited friends over! Now, one month later, the stillness inside me is suffocating. I miss you every second of every day.

Have you found your brother wherever you are? I try to have faith that the two of you are safe and happy. Can you see me? I worry sometimes that you feel grief just as I do. Is there a way that you can see me and not feel sad? I really hope you can. The selfish part of me wants to know for certain that you and Andy are together watching me and all of us who still love you so much. The protector in me knows that, if seeing me makes you sad, I’d rather you be completely oblivious. Actually, I’d rather you were here. Both of you. My beautiful children, people tell me I just have to have faith that you are safe. What those people think I can place my faith in is beyond me, though.

My sweet baby, I wish I could feel you still. I wish I had more than just a sense of your presence. I wish so, so much that you were tucked safely inside of me again, waiting for that day when you would make your appearance. We were looking forward to hearing your cries, feeling those warm little fingers, and watching you grow. Now, all we can do is look at the box that holds your ashes and dream about who you could have been. Please be well and happy wherever you are.

All my love,

Mommy

To My Daughter

Dear Maddie,
I love you so much, and I would give anything to hold you in my arms. Even though you’ll never get the chance to smile, I’ve seen your smile a thousand times. I’ve heard your baby giggle, watched you take your first glimpse at this world, and felt the warmth of you growing heavier as you fell asleep in my arms. I lived these things over and over in our brief time together. I imagined you as a toddler. M and I were in awe simply thinking of you as a teenager.

We’ll never get to see or know these things about you. One thing I’m sure of, though, is that you were meant to be in our lives. I’ll never understand why you danced through our lives so quickly, but you gave us such hopes and dreams. You brought so much happiness as we imagined our lives with you as part of them. T, who would have been like a grandmother to you, already had you decked out in princess gear. M was already thinking about the fun you would have had. And I was dreaming of all the possibilities that would have been laid out before you. You definitely would have been a star in our lives.

Now, as I tell you goodbye before I get a chance to tell you hello, I want you to know how proud I am of you for the difference you made and the dreams you inspired. We love you so much and hope that you are surrounded by happiness and peace. My beautiful daughter, I miss the child you would have become, the teen who would have brought both grey hair and laughter, and the strong, courageous woman you would surely have grown up to be. I miss the very thought of you.

Now there’s nothing left to say except goodbye, my beautiful baby girl. You will always be a part of me, and no matter what variety of time and space separates us, a part of me will be there to guide and protect you. We will be bonded by the love that can only be shared between a mother and a daughter, and you will always be the beautiful little star who twinkled so briefly in our lives but changed them forever.

All my love, dear child, is with you.

Love, Mommy

Ashes to Ashes

This morning, I picked up my baby’s ashes. I feel like someone has ripped open my very soul. I want to scream at the universe and ask why my children were taken away. I feel so robbed, but most of all, I know with certainty how much *they* were robbed. Instead of bringing home a new cradle, I’m bringing home an urn with the remains of my beautiful daughter who never even got a chance to live. The ultimate in unfair. My heart aches for my children, and this loss is one I’m not sure I can survive. Losing my son was the worst thing that ever happened to me, and I thought it always would be. Now, both of my children are gone. I will never attempt to have another child. I can’t go through this loss a third time.

Thank You

To Heather and everyone who came by from the group. I’m sorry I stopped answering individual comments– please don’t be offended by that. At the moment, I’m a bit too overwhelmed to stay awake for long. As all of you know, sleep, when you can get it, is merciful at this time. Please know that you are all greatly appreciated. I’ll be in touch.

Lightning Strikes

At 3:17 AM yesterday (Dec. 27), my beautiful daughter was stillborn. For the week before that, I had been experiencing severe cramps and minor bleeding. Nothing showed up on ultrasounds, though, so the OB decided we should just monitor it carefully. The cramps were really bad on Christmas day, so much so that I dragged my best friend from his family’s holiday get-together earlier than planned. Late in the evening of the 26th, I started developing what felt like contractions and bleeding heavily. I went to the emergency room, where they found a placental abruption. They induced labor at 12:30 AM on the 27th, and Maddie was born almost three hours later. Tomorrow, I will be going to pick out an urn for her. I should be picking out a cradle. We’re trying to decide on an appropriate memorial service, but for now, my head is spinning too much to think about anything other than the fact that both of my children are now gone.