Dear Sweet Child of the Past,
There are moments when I can feel your presence, but not in the mystical sense. I’m not talking about fleeting scents of lavender or the gentle touch of a breeze in a closed room—those occurrences are rare. Instead, I’m often reminded of your absence. It’s a constant, sometimes gentle, sometimes jagged, ache that reminds me you are not here. You never will be, in this space, with me, or with our family.
My daily life continues, almost as if nothing has changed, even with two lively little ones now depending on me. My days are filled with exhaustion, chaos, and joy all at once. I no longer light a candle for you every night or shed tears daily, yet your absence lingers, quietly buzzing in my mind like a persistent mosquito or flitting by like a hummingbird.
Lately, I’ve found a sense of freedom, but I’m never completely free of you. This isn’t a sorrowful burden; rather, there’s a sweetness in remembering you—the baby who remains forever small and cherished in my heart.
There’s a unique heartache that comes with losing a baby who was barely there. People around you begin to forget, and before long, they expect you to do the same. Over time, you find moments where the loss doesn’t consume you, and you start to feel guilty for living without the weight of that grief. I know I sometimes grasp at moments to prove I haven’t forgotten you, that I haven’t betrayed your memory, because to me, that’s what a good mother should do.
But deep down, I understand that I will never fully move on. Part of me, the person I was before the loss, still lives with you in my memories. Unlike others who may forget, you are always in my thoughts on significant days—like the anniversaries of your conception or the day I learned you were gone. I couldn’t possibly forget your due date.
I’m reminded of your absence most when I watch your sisters. They bring me immense joy as I witness their personalities blossom over the years. I remember holding them, fresh and new, marveling at their growth while feeling the bittersweet ache of what could have been with you.
Now, there’s another baby on the way, and I hope to cherish that experience. Yet, for you, I have none of those memories. I didn’t just lose a child; I lost years of hugging you, watching you grow, and experiencing the world through your eyes. You never had the chance to become anything, and that reality fills me with sadness for both of us.
I often refer to you as the Baby Who Almost Was, but I know that title doesn’t capture your essence. You were here, you existed, and in my heart, you still do. You remain a part of me, a wisp of a memory that can never be erased.
You are not forgotten. While I may not always actively remember, I can’t forget you. I don’t want to. There’s little I can offer you from this world, but I promise you my love remains. You are, and forever will be, mine. And maybe that’s the best way to honor your memory.
With all my love,
Your Mama
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