My little one. Today is your due date.
How can such a small group of numbers bring so much weight?
No one is calling to congratulate me.
No one is offering condolences.
Even the few that knew about you don’t remember this day.
No one knows what today was and now, is...
Except you and me.
And I can’t help but wonder.
What if?
What if you were here?
How would you change our lives?
Would you be a squishy little brother that your sisters couldn’t get enough of?
Would you be another sweet baby girl and have us wrapped around your finger?
Would you be born early? Late? Right on this date?
How would my labor with you go? What would those first moments with your skin on mine be like?
I didn’t think I was ready to have another child.
But despite my feelings of inadequacy and doubts, I knew I wanted you.
I wanted to feel your kicks and watch my belly grow.
I wanted the ultrasound pictures.
I wanted to announce you proudly on Christmas Day.
To spend a ridiculous amount of hours preparing your nursery.
And washing and folding all those itty bitty clothes.
Oh sweet baby.. for a few precious weeks, this day meant a whole other life for us.
A completely different path that would have undoubtedly been a blessing.
We were going to have a baby.
You were there! I remember it.
I saw you on the ultrasound.. so tiny.
And before the nurse could reach over and place her hand on my shoulder and say, “I’m so sorry,” I already knew.
I knew your little heart was not beating.
I was alone. Because of the pandemic I had to be alone.
But there was a profound emptiness and loneliness that encompassed me knowing that you were gone.
I experienced the death of my baby. Alone.
I called Daddy. Sobbing.
Then I drove myself home and took my daughter to music class—just like every Wednesday.
And I watched. I watched as everyone else’s world continue to spin.. and my own seemed to stop.
I wanted to yell out! And let the universe know you were there. That you were mine.
We were going to have a baby, but that reality was ripped away.
It was an existence that now feels like a distant dream.
You didn’t get the life that I hoped for you, but maybe you get one far greater than my earthly eyes imagine.
I trust in that.. it’s all I can do. That, and I can treasure your life that was and cannot be replaced.
Sometimes the most beautiful things are quiet and subtle.
The things that no one else can see or feel. The small things that can only be felt by a heart. A mother heart.
We were going to have a baby. My baby.
A new life of possibilities. A new road for a family.
One that will never come to be, but will always be cherished silently.
