Dear baby,
Today would have been your first birthday. When I woke up this morning, I thought about you. I probably should have taken the day off of work because all I did at work was think about you.
Were you a boy, or a girl?
I would have planned the best birthday party for you. If you were a boy, maybe we would have had a dinosaur theme! Or maybe you would have liked fire trucks, and dad could have taken you to his work so you could see the big red truck with the neat lights and loud horn.
If you were a girl, maybe we could have had a princess party. Or maybe a zoo party. The weather has been so nice. We could have gone to the park and had a nice picnic and looked at all the animals.
I wonder what your favorite food would have been. Would you have liked popsicles? Maybe you would have liked strawberries and carrots. Maybe you would have liked peas. Or hated them. If you took after me, you would have hated them, because I hate them.
I wonder what your favorite toy would have been. Maybe you would have had a favorite stuffed animal, or a favorite blankie. Would you have liked sleeping on your tummy or your back? Would you have had freckles? Ticklish feet?
Would you have had long hair, or short hair? I wonder how many teeth you would have had by now. I wonder what words you would have been able to say. I wonder if you would have hated taking medicine.
Today, I thought of you.
A few other people thought of you too. They told me. They asked how I was. I said I was fine. But that wasn't true. Lying isn't okay - but this time I felt like it was. Because it's hard to talk about you when you aren't here. It makes me sad. When people ask about you and I have a lot to say about you, I can tell it makes them feel weird. Because unless people know first hand what it feels like to lose a baby that you've never met, never got to know, they don't really know what to say to make you feel better. But it makes me feel good knowing that those few people thought of you, and told me that they thought of you.
Over time, people will forget your birthday. And that's okay. But I won't. As the years go on, I will think of you and wonder what could have been. Because regardless of what people think, you were a baby. You had a heart beat. I saw it. It was 137 bpm. You had two little paddle hands, and little bumps for each of the 10 fingers that were in the process of growing. You had two eyes, but you just couldn't use them yet. You had little dots where your ears were forming. And you had a big funny shaped head. You had little bumps where your feet were forming, and you had a teeny little tail that would have gone away if you had the opportunity to get bigger. I saw the curvature of your spine that was developing.
You would have had a name, a personality, and a favorite color.
All questions. No answers. Just what-if thoughts of what could have been. That's what I have when I think about you. And I'll never understand in this lifetime why things had to happen this way.
But I'll still think of you, even when everyone else has forgotten. I loved you for the short time I had the privilege of keeping you warm in my tummy. I still love you, and I always will.
Love,
Mommy.
