A Letter To My Unborn Child

I wrote my first letter to you on January 11, 2018, when my heart and soul were yearning to love you. The pain of the possibility of never knowing you made hoping for you hopeless but, writing to you gave me peace.

Four months before then, I believe you came to visit me in my dreams for the first time. You told me I wasn't ready for you yet and, that it wasn't my fault.

In my letter, I told you that loving you was the only way I knew to love your dad any more and, the desire from my soul to manifest that love was so strong that it became painful.

When I married your dad, my favorite word became "wife." I've been waiting a long time for my favorite word to become "mommy." I signed all of my letters to you with, "Love, Mommy."

I asked you to come soon, and you did but you left soon, too.

Our last day together I had an ultrasound that confirmed, "There's no heartbeat."

-The words we feared.

I wasn't ready for those words. I began to refuse the D&C surgery scheduled for the next day. I told the doctor I wasn't emotionally prepared to let go of you.

Your dad was strong.

"The heartbeat is gone, Jess. It's not coming back."

I felt the burden of the pain we would soon be responsible for because responsible is how it felt. Responsible for disappointing our parents; responsible for getting their hopes up; responsible for telling them too soon; and responsible for having to explain something so devastating to our niece and nephew.

But more than anything, I felt responsible for losing you.

I didn't think I could go on without you.

We prayed over you that day at the hospital.

We asked God to hold you and to heal you. We asked that He fill you with all of the love that we had for you. And... we thanked you for making me a mommy and your dad, a daddy.

We prayed for strength to remain hopeful and then, we said Amen.

The nurses said they would pray for us too.

I sat there with nothingness and all I wanted was you.

I loved you more than I feel like I love myself.

It's been three months and I still know that for the rest of my life I will always feel like you are missing from me. I don’t always let your dad know when I cry for you or that, some nights I feel like I want to go wherever it is that you are.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wanting you but, I do know that you are still one of my favorite memories.

I’ve learned over the years why our pain hurts as much as it does. It’s because the love behind it was real. And sometimes, feeling the pain feels like a part of honoring and remembering you.

Your picture used to hang on our fridge. I took it down the night before surgery and I laid with it over my belly because I needed to feel you.

I wrote to you that night too. I told you I would never be ready to say goodbye but, I knew I had to. We were so desperate to keep holding on to you, we convinced ourselves the doctor was wrong. It was that hope that got us through our final days with you.

It was February 2019 when you came back to visit me. You told me that you were still inside of me. I believe that's the part of your soul that will live inside of me forever.

Thank you for that...

And so, to our little one,
who we still await,
and know one day,
we shall meet.

You will forever be
our greatest
blessing.

Fly high
with the angels above,
we wouldn't mind
if you came to visit
from time to time.

I might still write to you,
because...
you are worth remembering.


Love always,
from the bottom of my heart,

~Mommy