This Sunday, August 3rd, marks your due date and four weeks since we learned you would not be coming home with us. My whole world stopped in that moment and I have been trying to find a way to move forward. I have found that writing to you helps especially on my bad days. Today, I was thinking about how I should be holding you in my... arms and how you would be 3 weeks old on Monday if everything had gone as planned. Instead, I sit here and type through blurry, tear filled eyes and wonder why, how and what if.
Ever since I knew of your existence, I have dreamed about you. I dreamed about what you would look like and what your personality would be like. I imagined how you and your brother would have so much fun together going to Daddy’s shop and working on cars. I was excited to see how your sisters and brother would react to you, especially Lydon. I couldn’t wait to feed you, dress you, bathe you, kiss you, snuggle you. You were going to be my forever baby.
Now, all I have is those dreams and wishes for you. I bet you would have been a Momma’s boy with a gentle soul. I bet you would have followed Lydon around mimicking his every move. I bet you would have loved hugs and kisses from your big sisters. I bet you would have loved movie nights and popcorn. I wish I could have seen these things as you grew into a young man. I wish I could have held you longer. I wish I could touch your hair one more time. I wish I could kiss your sweet face again and whisper ‘I love you’ in your ear. I wish I was tired from having a newborn at home and not from trouble sleeping knowing the weight of our new reality. I wish things were the way they should have been.
Our time in the hospital is such a blur. I was living in a sea of emotions, medication and exhaustion. The anesthetist said a quiet prayer with Mommy before Daddy came into the operating room. I then silently prayed that the nurses and doctor were wrong and we would hear you cry when you were born, that you would be a miracle baby, my miracle. My prayers went unanswered. Instead, the room was silent except for the sound of the doctors working. I remember looking at you for the first time and seeing how perfect you were, how alive you looked. Yet, no cries came from your mouth and I knew then my life would never be the same.
I am no longer the woman I was before. A piece of my heart now resides in Heaven and the hole is replaced with the heavy feeling that something will always be missing. Brynly told me the other day that I was the saddest person in the house because I cry all the time. I try to be strong but in the quiet moments of the day, I feel the weight of our new life and my emotions overflow. However, I know it will get better. I have seen other Mommas who have been to the same Hell and back. I have seen them use their loss as a way to help others and bring awareness to something that has been silent for too long. I have seen them hold you in their arms and relive their nightmares. I have had them reach out with their heart breaking stories after 5, 10, even 20+ years of keeping quiet. I have seen the pain in their eyes that only other Angel Mommas would recognize. It is a group that you do not want to be a part of but I am so thankful for each and every one of them. They have reminded me that it is okay to not be okay and that healing is very different for everyone.
I am trying to embrace this new normal as I know you would want us to move forward and find happiness again but it sure is hard. I know we are blessed and have so much love surrounding us but it would be a lot better if you were here. I made a promise to myself that I will speak of you often and keep your memory alive. If I can help just one person by speaking of you then I know I am doing the right thing. I know you are watching and I want to make you proud because I am so very proud to be your Mommy.
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