A Letter To You: You Should Have Been Born Today.

black and white image of a baby and title.

*miscarriage post.

Dear Baby,
I cannot believe
this would have been the day you may have entered into our lives. A
small bundle of pure joy, joining a mad, crazy and loving family.
I cannot believe
we’ll never meet you, hold you, care for you…
I know that, if you
were here, you would have been loved. Loved so incredibly much. You
would have been loved fiercely by your Daddy, you would have been
loved boldly by your Mommy, you would have been loved as an ally by
your big brother, you would have been loved tenderly by your big
sister, and as for the dog, he would have showered you with love!
Even though you’re
not here, we love you, but we can’t show you in the ways we’d like.
We talk about you, we refer to the time we lost you, but a silence
engulfs us and the conversation ends. Because there are no words.
No words of comfort.
No words to take away the pain. It’s like a black hole inside my
chest. It’s empty and huge, a space full of darkness. A void has
opened in my heart and I’m feeding it my tears.
I’m not sure it will
ever heal, and if it does, I will not be happy. I want t remember
you, even in the darkness. I want to remember the pain, because that
pain was for you. I don’t want to take your siblings for granted,
your loss reminds me how I could have almost lost them too…
But I don’t
appreciate them because you left us. I don’t even understand that
concept. Finding joy in the living because somebody is dead, it
doesn’t sit well with me at all. Instead I choose to wallow in your
death, when the time is right. I sit and cry, or I imagine life with
you instead. The joy and pain blurred together as one. It’s
bitter-sweet. But mostly bitter.
Why you? Why me? Why
us? I’ll never know. It’s only when you’re in it, you realise just
how ‘common’ (I hate that word) it is. I know I’m not alone. I know
others suffer. I know they suffer far worse too. I am not blind to
any of it, But my grief, it feels so incredibly deep to me. It feels
like a never-ending chasm. It stretches on and on and on…
So, I think I’m
going to accept it. Accept the hurt. Accept there’s no time limit on
my grief. Accept it may never end. I’ll find joy in everyday life,
joy in spending time with your brother and sister. Joy in the
littlest of things. But I refuse to find joy in the ‘silver linings’
of your loss people talk about, I refuse to find joy in the fact that
George and Molly didn’t die. Because that’s a kind of brutal thinking
in my eyes.
I owe you this
grief. I owe you this pain. I owe you this feeling of raw and
unfiltered grief. Because you didn’t get a chance at the one thing
you deserved…
You didn’t get a
chance at life.

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