A Letter to the Child I Never Knew
Dear Little One,
It was eight years ago today that I first learned of your existence.
It was the first Christmas your dad and I were spending as a married couple, and I was miserable. We were visiting relatives on his side of the family, aunts and uncles that I didn't know. I had a horrible head cold and wasn't feeling well. We had just finished a Christmas service at the church your dad's relatives attended and we decided to stop at the drugstore on our way back to the house and grab something for my sinuses.
As I read the instructions on the box, I joked to your dad, “It says ‘Do not take if pregnant.' I hope it's okay to take this!”
I had no idea I was pregnant. My periods were always irregular and sometimes I would skip a month, so I never even tried to keep track of whether I'd missed or not.
When we got back to the house, I started having severe abdominal cramps. “Oh great. I'm already miserable with this cold and now I'm going to start my period too!”
The cramps got worse and worse. This was the worst cramping I'd felt in a long time. And it felt a little different than usual too.
I got up to go to the bathroom, hoping to relieve some of the pressure.
I'd been in there quite a while with no relief when suddenly I felt something pop and I passed what felt like a huge clot of blood. But I immediately knew something unusual was going on. I stood up and looked into the toilet and I could see a mass of…something. I wasn't quite sure what.
I had to get down really close and look very carefully, but I could make out what seemed to be arms…or legs…or…something. Could it be?
I left the toilet unflushed and went to get your dad. He has better eyes than I do.
“I…think that's what we're seeing.” Neither of us actually said the word “baby”.
We were in disbelief at what we saw.
But we had to agree that's what it had to be.
I don't know whether I flushed the toilet or your dad, but I still feel guilty about it every time I think about it. We just didn't know what else to do with a big mass of urine, blood, toilet paper, and…a baby. I'm forcing myself to write those words. I need to.
I couldn't bring myself to use that bathroom for the rest of our visit. I felt like I was desecrating your precious body by using the bathroom in that toilet.
I cried, but not tears of grief. I cried because that is what a mother who has lost a child is supposed to do.
I hadn't learned to love you yet because I didn't even know of your existence yet until that moment.
I felt completely numb. In shock.
I also felt guilty. Guilty for taking the medicine. Guilty for flushing you down the toilet.
When we got back home from our visit, I took a pregnancy test which confirmed that there were in fact pregnancy hormones running around in my body. You hadn't been part of our imagination. You were real.
All these years I've kept pretty quiet about your existence. I've had a hard time acknowledging that you did in fact exist. The whole experience of learning of your existence, meeting you, and losing you all in one short moment left me feeling so very strange.
I never knew you.
But you are real. You are a living soul that I will one day meet in heaven.
I am your mother. You are my child.
And today I simply want to acknowledge that.
I no longer want to dismiss the value of your life simply because your birth and death were so far out of the norm.
And I hope that by writing this I can encourage other mamas who may have shared a similar experience that it's okay to acknowledge their babies. They don't have to keep quiet about it. I'd tell the world all about any of your siblings. Why should I be ashamed to talk about you too? Your life is every bit as valuable as theirs. And some day we're going to get to know one another.
Until then, I'm so glad you have a heavenly Father who loves you far more than your earthly mother and father ever could. One day I will thank him for your life.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Today I cried. Really cried. Not because that's what someone who loses a baby is supposed to do. I cried because I love you.