Dear Baby,

It’s very quiet in the house right now. Your daddy and sister are asleep, and I was, but I can’t sleep any longer. I cannot stop thinking about you, and wondering. I am too sad to sleep.

Four weeks ago, I took a pregnancy test and the reading came back positive. Your daddy and I were so happy. Scared, but happy. We wanted so badly to add on to our blessed family and you came at just the right time. I slowly started to tell friends and family, who I’m sure told their friends and family. Your arrival was much anticipated.

But yesterday, in the middle of one of the worst ice storms I can remember in Louisville, our doctor gave me an ultrasound, and you weren’t there anymore. (Part of me wants to explain what the big words I’m writing—like ‘ultrasound’—mean, but another part of me thinks that where you are, you are most certainly wiser than me. Earthly explanations like that are probably not necessary.) You were supposed to be eight weeks old, but your little sack only measured five weeks, and there was nothing inside it but a little yolk. A yolk that you were supposed to be attached to, and weren’t.

How can I explain to you, my Baby, how devastated I was and am? How can I put into words the sorrow I feel in my marrow, that my loss feels like my heart has ripped in two? Did you know, Baby, that when people say their hearts are broken, they can actually FEEL that heartbreak? I can. My hearts hurts.

I don’t know you, since you never were. I don’t know what kind of person you would have become, whether you would have preferred to play quietly or bounce around the room like the Tigger your sister loves so much. I don’t know how long it would have taken for your teeth to come in, or whether you would have been a good sleeper, or whether you would have liked to cuddle. I would have loved you with all that I have and tried so hard to be a good Mommy to you, just like I’ve tried with your sister. I didn’t even know your name.

I know there are people in this life who try in vain to have children of their own and never can, and I count myself so blessed that I have your big sister, Emery. You guys would have loved each other. She’s so smart and empathetic and thoughtful and helpful. She would have played with you and brought you bottles and, when you guys got older, she would have driven you to the mall and shared secrets with you that I would have never known about. She’s only two now, and I’m not sure she understood that you were in my belly, but she said something funny last night. I was on the computer looking up some baby information to help me understand what happened to you, and she pointed to the baby on the screen. “Yook, Mommy. Baby in the belly. BAby in the BElly!” She patted her own stomach and somehow, I knew she knew about you.

There was an ice storm yesterday, Baby—I mentioned that, right? It was fitting. The skies were gray and the roads were slick with invisible slipperiness, and it all matched my mood so perfectly. You just never know when a dark cloud will form, and you never know what icy threat lies in wait for you on the road ahead. I counted my chicken, Baby. I counted on you too early. You were not ready for me to add you into our family tree, and you were called back home to our Heavenly Father, instead of here to your Earthly one.

Your Daddy and I are not done trying. We want to have more children, but I don’t know how the next part works. I don’t know if YOU will come back to be with us, or if my one shot to meet the future you is now gone. I don’t know if now you’re a little angel, and maybe we’ll be visited by another little soul who needs our love and attention. I don’t know if we’ll be visited at all, by you or anyone.

One of the baby books I was reading last night said that miscarriage does not mean that the mother cannot have children in the future; on the contrary, it means the mother is capable of conceiving and has a higher likelihood of conception shortly thereafter. But it also said that with a miscarriage comes a kind of loss of innocence. Now the parents know that not every pregnancy leads to a baby. In the next pregnancy, they will be that much wiser for it.

It’s your innocence I miss, Baby. We didn’t have a name for you, we didn’t have a room yet. But we had prepared our hearts for you. We had talked and dreamed and held each other, hoping and praying for health and prosperity. Not all prayers are answered, though. Ours weren’t this time. You were called Home, and I am left here to try and figure out what went wrong. To try and make a place for another little angel, or maybe you, to come back and fill our hearts all over again.

You are already so missed, Baby. I didn’t know you, but I love you just the same. If you get bored up there with the Heavenly Hosts, come back down and see us. Daddy will teach you how to kick a ball, and I will cook with you and make crafts, and Emery will share her toys and give you the sweetest hugs and kisses. Even Denver will love on you, in her special puppy dog way.
We love you, Baby. We miss you, too. Take care up there in Heaven, and I will think of you every day. Give Jesus a big hug for me.

All my love,
Mommy