Hey baby, I’m writing you this letter because I can’t talk to you face to face. It’s been a year since I last felt you with me. I want you to know I remember you, I still miss you. I’m so sorry your daddy and I didn't get to keep you with us longer. We both miss you, so much. Sometimes I forget that he thinks about you just like I do, I need to be better about that. I’m so sorry, honey, that I don’t talk about you more often or openly. It’s been a year; I need to stop acting like I’m alone in this. I may not talk about you a lot - but I promise, I promise we won’t forget you. I promise your siblings will know about you, the big sister they’ll meet someday in Heaven. We never got to find out what gender you were, but I always think of you as my baby girl. I love you, honey. I love you so much. I’m thankful for the few weeks we had you, I will always love you. I keep you with me in my heart, always. Sometimes I blame myself for not pushing harder against the doctors, maybe there’s something we could have done to keep you with us. I don’t know, only God knows why he took you so soon. I like to think it’s because you were too perfect for this world. I can’t say I’m happy that I never got to hold you in my arms, or see you grow up. I’m not happy, but sometimes I’m confused. I’m confused because there are days when I think that maybe it was better you’ll never need to suffer in this life. You got to go straight into His arms, and I know you’re happy and whole and at peace. And isn't that what all parents want? To know their babies are happy and safe. But I’m selfish, baby, I’m selfish and I want you here with me. It is now one year later and time hasn't taken that away. I love you. Your daddy loves you, too. I hope you didn't hurt, I hope you were just peacefully born into Heaven.
Not many people knew about you, you were so little – and we were never really sure until it was too late. Your grandparents, aunts, and uncles didn't know about you until after, so they didn't know you like I did. We kept it quiet; I didn't trust others with my grief. Your daddy knew you first, actually. I didn't realize how right he was until later. But I felt you, my little girl. I knew you. I know you didn't like cheese quesadillas, even though I love them! You definitely were not okay with them! I know you gave me quite the sweet tooth, but you were nice enough to not make me too sick. Do you remember how out-of-whack you made me? I cried at cute/sad/funny commercials all the time. Heaven forbid an ASPCA commercial came on, I’d totally lose it! You were so obviously telling me you were there and your daddy and I heard you.
I’m sorry I don’t tell more people about you. I won’t lie; it’s hard because a lot of people wouldn't consider me a mother. I haven’t given birth; I don’t have a dependent to claim on a tax form. Maybe you wouldn't call me a “mom,” but in my heart I’m a mother. I’m your mother, and I’m so proud of that fact. I won’t let the world take that from me anymore, I won’t let anyone stop me from loving you. I believe I became a mother the moment I loved you. And I loved you the moment you were here. So baby girl, know that I love you and will always love you.
Forever and always,