If you'd like a little bit if our backstory, click here. It's far from the full story, but I can't sleep and I think it's because this is weighing so heavily on my heart.
An Open Letter to the Children I Never Met
Hello, sweet angel. You probably don't know who I am, as we never really met. I never carried you inside of me. But I know you. I knew you came into the world on March 12th, 2015. You were the only one who made it. I'll admit. I was scared for you. Because you were it! THE one. Of 6 potential babies, you were the only one who made it. But I was also hopeful for you. I felt in my heart you were a fighter. I loved you from the moment I found out you existed. You want to know your nickname? It was Nemo. You were our Nemo. Before I even knew you existed, I started making plans for you. Your nursery was going to be Peanuts themed, with an emphasis on Snoopy. I bought a Snoopy special for your room and secretly pinned Snoopy-themed bedding, mobiles and other items on a Pinterest board only I could see. Your daddy and I were already discussing names. I was giving your daddy a hard time about what I pictured you would look like - his beautiful bright blue eyes, my thick, black hair. A perfect mixture of the two of us.
I imagined in my head the ways we would surprise your sister. True, by blood, she would be your half sister, but a sister nonetheless. She knew of our plans for you. She wanted you, too. We couldn't wait to include her in the plans, discussing which appointment she could come to where she could meet the doctor that helped make the miracle of you possible. An appointment for her to hear your heartbeat and see you the first time. Shopping trips together to help pick out clothes for you.
On your third day in this world, I found out you were still fighting. You were our bright star, just as I was my parent's bright star. Your daddy and I waited with baited breath at the church in my hometown while your cousin was getting baptized. I got the call just before the service started and broke down in tears of joy. I told your daddy, MiMi and Papa, Aunts, great aunts, great grandmas, and other important people in your life that you were fighting, and that in just two short days I would be carrying you in my belly.
On March 17th, 2015, I was preparing for you to be transferred to me - my first contact with you. But I got a call from the nurse. A call I wasn't expecting. You stopped growing. You were what they called "arrested". In that moment, sitting in my car in the parking lot while your daddy was working until it was time to transfer you to me, I broke down in tears. As much as I wanted to believe you were maybe just delayed a bit, I knew deep down God had already called you home.
For months, I thought of you. I still think of you. Every milestone we would have had together - every trimester, the time we had expected to hold you in our arms... I mourned. I cried. I loved you and I lost you before you even had a chance to know me. It was a very hard year for us, because we thought you would be here. Our little Nemo.
One the one year anniversary after you went to heaven, we lit a candle for you. I picked out as close to Aquamarine as I could. Your light shined brightly and burned for more than 24 hours. That candle now sits in our house, with a onesie I bought for you after we found out you went to heaven. I'm not sure why I bought it, other than I felt compelled to as a symbol of hope. That's your onesie, though. You may never wear it, but it's yours and always will be.
This year, in October, we tried again. Don't worry, I never forgot about you. I found myself terrified that we would get the same calls.
I was terrified, but I kept up hope. We didn't tell your sister this time, though. We didn't tell many people because it was very hard to have told your family and our friends about you, only to have to tell them we lost you and there would be no baby in our arms.
You had two siblings join us on October 24th, 2016. Once again, like you, these two were special. Because of 14 potential babies, only two of them made it. Two more fighters, just like you.
To our October babies... we knew that one warrior had gone before you. We prayed and prayed and waited anxiously to find out how much you had grown. We had plans for you, too. We had new names picked out. And, although your sister didn't know about you, we had plans to let her paint a picture in your nursery, because she loves art and does beautiful work.
We planned on having you tested to make sure we knew you would make it once you were transferred to me. We had a transfer date set. I was excited about possibly transferring both of you. I pictured telling our family on Christmas that you would be joining us next year - either as one or as a pair.
I was also scared for you. You see, we lost your older sibling more than a year ago. We were so scared we would lose you, too. But we kept up the hope, and continued to make plans. I diligently researched names, trying to find names with the perfect meaning. You were going to be our beautiful, bright flowers.
We also decided we wanted a video of you. From day one to day five we wanted to watch you grow. We couldn't wait.
Both of you fought to day three. They told me one of you was looking better than the other, but I chalked it up to maybe one of you was just a late bloomer, and kept holding onto my hope that soon, we would be finding out more abosbut you.
I had to wait the weekend to find out how you were doing. It was torture. Waiting is the hardest... I hope you have more patience than I do.
On October 31st, I found out that two days before, you stopped growing. They gave you another day, and I know you fought as hard as you could to be with me, but God called both of you home to be with Him and the sibling before you.
I cried. Your dad cried. I couldn't believe that we would never hold you. I would never be able to count your fingers and toes. I would never be able to see your eyes open for the first time, waiting with anticipation to see if they were a deep brown like mine or a bright blue like your daddy's. I wouldn't be giving your big sister a teddy bear with your heartbeat recorded in it for her to listen to.
I still can't believe you're gone.
All three of you will be remembered. How could I forget you? You were part of your daddy and me, regardless of the fact I never carried you in my belly.
It's comforting to know that all three of you are together in heaven, waiting for us to one day join you. I can count your fingers and toes then. I can hold your face then. I hope you've met your great grandparents and your great Uncle Jay. I know they'll look after you until we get there.
Soon, I will carry a physical symbol of you near my heart. All three of you. I love that. It was your daddy's idea. He's a pretty amazing man, and I know you would have made him - us - proud.
I may never have met you on this earth, but this is just a resting place - you were just called home sooner.
And, until we meet you in heaven and can tell you ourselves... I want you to know we love you. You were loved the moment we knew you came into existence. Actually, we loved you before then. Nothing will change that.
Love,
Your mommy and daddy
Heavenly Father, please watch over our angel babies. I may not understand now, but deep down I know you brought them to you after five days for a reason. I will try my very best to trust in You and Your plans. Please also be with all of the other babies called home all too soon. Called home too soon for those left here on earth, with parents still here trying to understand why You brought them to heaven so early in their lives. Please be patient and understanding with the loved ones of these angel babies, as we don't always understand why You work the way You do. There are days we feel it is unfair and we find ourselves angry at You. Please have mercy on us during those times, yet help us not to lose sight of You. It's in Your name I humbly pray, Amen.
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