I was 5 weeks and one day pregnant. It was devastating and heartbreaking and although I am writing this post, it is immensely difficult to articulate my thoughts. But these are my feelings and this is my journey. Below is a letter I wrote to my baby during the miscarriage. Once I knew in my heart what was happening, I grabbed a pen and started writing. Writing is my therapy.
Dear my sweet baby,
I had to write this letter to you when all the emotions were still fresh, while they were still raw. I have written letters to your brothers when I found out I was pregnant with them. My heart breaks that you will never get to read this letter. You are slipping away from me faster than I imagined.
I have only known about you for eight days but oh, how I love you. I loved you as soon as I saw that extra blue line on that piece of plastic. You were my miracle. After explaining your conception story to my doctor, she described you as “meant to be.” That is exactly how I pictured you and what you are to me. In eight days, I dreamed of what you would bring to our family. This baby, who was meant to be mine…who defied the statistical odds. I thought, what a wonderful statistic to be a part of. Now, what I wouldn’t give to not be lumped into the group of heartbroken mothers I now find myself in. In just eight days I imagined the excitement, joy and love you would add to our family. As you know, I already have two beautiful baby boys who have brought me more happiness and enriched my life forever. I knew that in a matter of time, eight more months precisely, you would do the same; how overjoyed I was.
I know eight days seems like nothing at all, but in that time I thought of you every waking moment. I even dreamed of you. What would you look like? Would you jump right in and play with your big brothers, or would they be your protectors? Would you be another boy to steal my heart or would you be that daughter I have dreamed of? Would you make it to your due date and share a birthday with daddy? I’ll never know the answers.
I am so sorry I will never get to hold you. I will never get to hear your heartbeat. I will never get to kiss your sweet face. I will never get to smell your baby’s breath. I will never get to nurse you. I am sorry you will never get to play with your big brothers, and I am sorry they will never get to play with you. I am sorry you will never get to hear your daddy read a Dr. Seuss book. I am sorry my body failed you and that I could not protect you.
My sweet sweet baby, I want you know that for those eight days and for the rest of my life, I love you. I am thankful for the one week I got to hold you inside of my body. Even if it will never be enough. I love you, always and forever.