December 27, 2024

Every year, near the anniversary of my miscarriage, I write a letter. The first year, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter and made a video for her. In 2021, I wrote it to my pre-miscarriage self. In 2022 and 2023, I wrote letters to Anthony; my son I miscarried at 10 weeks and 5 days in January 2020.

Here’s this year’s letter.

______

Hi baby,

Five years.

I cannot believe it’s been five years since I met you.

Lost you.

This year feels like a milestone for us. Not a good one – milestones just mean I’m further from you. This year has me feeling like I’m being carried forward but my arms keep reaching back for you. My grief used to consume and bury me. Now that I’ve resurfaced, I’ve learned to swim, but I swim on my own.

This year, you will turn the age I always have pictured you as; five. The tall little boy with brown hair and blue eyes I see in my head every time I hear an earth side boy say “mama!” continues in my imagination. And this year, he feels real.

I have been hit recently with the harsh reality that I get to watch your sisters grow up because I never got to watch you. It is so strange to love all three of you more than anything in this world, and to know that the three of you can never coexist in the same place. The family of five I pictured in my head forever incomplete, forever wondering if you were the third baby I was meant to have.

I know, mommy’s gettin’ all serious. You’re only 4 and a half. Let’s talk about something else.

Let’s talk about how much I miss you.

I miss you when I desperately search for rainbows when it rains and the sun peaks through.

I miss you when I see your name.

I miss you when your sister grabs your giraffe stuffie Mima and Papa got you for Christmas. The one I cried opening knowing my pregnancy symptoms were fading, knowing something wasn’t right.

I miss you when someone asks about the letter A on my necklace, the flowers tattooed on my back, the number of times I’ve been pregnant.

I miss you every day.

As time continues to separate us, know my hand will always be reaching back for yours. Now more than ever, I know my place as your mommy; to continue to speak about you, uplift other families like ours, and continue to love you and your sisters with all my heart.

I love you so much, buddy.

Love,

Mommy