An Open Letter to the Baby I Never Had

To the baby I never had,

Today, October 15, is what they call Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I didn't think I'd ever commit that to memory; I didn't think I'd have to. But I guess nobody ever does.

If things were different, I'd be 39 weeks pregnant with you right now. I might even already be holding you in my arms, exhausted after another night of not sleeping. But just like any night, I slept just fine. I see pictures of friends who are about to have babies and think, "that could've been us." But it will never be us. And although I've come to accept that, I still think about you.

Sweet, sweet baby - I will never stop thinking about you.

I will always wonder if you might have shared a birthday with your daddy. I'll always wonder whether you were a boy or a girl, whose nose you'd have, what color your hair would've been. I'll wonder forever - even as our family grows, God-willing. Every passing October will forever remind me of you.

Sometimes I cry when I think about the life we might have had. I grieve the story we never got to tell. But, for reasons I may never fully understand, we weren't meant to tell that story. I was meant to tell this story: one of great love, loss, and hope in God's promises.

My love, I will always remember you on this day. For such a small, briefly beating heart, you have impacted my life and work beyond what I ever could've imagined. You've taught me lessons I never thought I'd need to learn. I am grateful for the 9 weeks we shared together, and I'll cherish your memory for a lifetime in my heart.