The 'Would Have Dones'

Dear Analin,

Some of the hardest things about losing you are the 'would have dones'. Especially here at Christmas. 

For Christmas, we would have bought you presents. I would have bought you cute little pink Christmas outfits - most likely going over-board. I would have proudly shown you off at Christmas family parties, we would have left the Google Christmas party early so we could get home to you. We would have played with you in the water at Great Wolf Lodge, telling the other parents that you were two and half months old and doing great and yes, you were the youngest of 3 but you had two older brothers to look out for you and yes, that would just be amazing when you started school. We would have done family pictures with you in them, instead of your bear. Your Faster (aunt) Lise would have met you and Sebastian for the first time, instead of only Sebastian. Your Uncle Martin would have shared all the knowledge he has about raising girls - we would definitely have bought matching 'Dads Against Daughters Dating' t-shirts. My father's Christmas card would have included a paragraph about how big you were when you were born and how both you and Mommy were doing well. How I long for those words.

Instead, I missed you more intensely here at Christmas. I looked at every cute little Christmas outfit with sadness. I dreaded attending Christmas parties and didn't attend the Google party this year - simply because I couldn't face it. I looked on with a broken heart as the other parents played with their newborns in the water at Great Wolf Lodge, never once getting to share with them what a beautiful girl you are and how amazing your brothers have been since you were born. Your Faster Lise played with Sebastian in the toddler-pool and I just wished so much that she was looking after both you and him. My father's Christmas card had a paragraph about you and about how perfect you are - but it missed that line - that both you and Mommy were doing well. 

I envisioned so many moments as you grew inside your Mommy. So many hopes and dreams. Your Mommy wrote about the joy of finding out you were a girl. From that moment on, I started longing for that moment when you would call me 'Daddy'. I will long for that forever.

I miss you, Analin.


Daddy.

Mommy's Christmas Letter

Dear Analin,

These last few weeks have been so difficult. I love the holiday season with the lights, the trees, the stories of Jesus and Santa and candles that stay lit for longer than they should. It is a season of miracles and beauty everywhere you look. But I can't have mine.

Wrapping presents is usually so exciting - and it was because I made sure we found presents we were excited to give this year. We had to, otherwise the season would have been too challenging. Because there were too few gifts to wrap, and too few to be opened, so each gift had to be that much more special.

Still, I don't even want to do this. I don't want to do Christmas, or go to Mimi's house tomorrow, or go on the holiday we have planned to start right after gifts. I'm afraid of my reaction to the whole thing. I'm afraid of what I might say to someone who doesn't act as grateful as I think they should be. I'm so afraid of so much of it, I'm scared of my reaction, period.

I will bite my tongue, though, crying when I need to but smiling when I can. I will go through with Christmas. I want to experience these things with your brothers and cousins even if we can't share them with you. I really just wish I could sleep through it all and still wake up with the memories - keeping the experiences without having to live through the emotional challenge of it all.

There's a quote in one of my favorite movies that comes to mind today. It's from A Knight's Tale, one of your brothers' favorite movies as well. The line is 'the pieces of my broken heart are so small they could pass through the eye of a needle.' They're so tiny, I'm having trouble keeping a hold of all of them and have no idea if I've actually managed to. I'm not doing well with happy things, or mediocre things, much less pranks and jokes that tend to come with having a lot of family around.

It's all I want to go back to a time you were still with us and change the path so there could be a few more gifts under the tree and your stocking could be stuffed with something other than the paper letters a few people will be writing you this year. Not knowing how that different path would end is just a little more scary than what's happening now.

I'm not able to buy you a present this year, but I can write you this letter. I can think and dream about you. I can love you. I can include you in any way I can and invite others to do the same. We will be sending off another lantern for you tonight, as well, a symbol of our love being with you, so very far away, even though you were with us a short time, just as the lantern will be. It's stupid, all of it, but it's all we have.

I love you, my beautiful little girl. I will do my best to keep my temper and be as strong as everyone thinks I am so I can enjoy the holiday. After all, I have to show up, too.

Merry Christmas, my sweet.

Love, Mommy.

Coping

Dear Analin,

This is trickier than I thought it would be. Your mommy is a bit long winded, you see, when it comes to writing. When it comes to writing my book about you, that's fine. And, of course, there's so much to tell. Letters here, though ... it's more personal, in a way, even though they're similar formats.

I miss you. Every day. It's so very hard to have you on a shelf in a box, beautiful as it is, rather than in my arms. You were more beautiful. We've started putting owls around the house as our reminder - not the nursery owls that would have been in your room, but ones that fit into our daily lives. I've started to think about them a bit as guardians, hopefully ones that bring wisdom. I think we need that kind of guidance going through this.

We get so angry at times at other people and God and Fate and each other, but we should try not to. It's hard, though, because these emotions are so negative, they need a place to go. From my own experience, though, taking them out on others just makes me hurt more.

I don't want to be negative or hurt or even be sad about you. I want to smile as much as I can when I think about you. I want to remember the joy you brought us when we found out you were a girl, and remember all the good-natured groaning I did while you grew inside me, and even when I think of what could have been, I want to think of this happy, beautiful little girl sending laughter to my heart.

I can't right now. I'm crying even now as I try to think about it. I hope to get to that point, though. I really, really do. I've met so many people who say the pain doesn't go away, you just learn to live with it. I hope they're wrong, or at least mostly wrong, because this isn't something I think I can feel for the rest of my life. Of course, I'm not the first Mommy who's had to do this. I'll take strength from them. From your brothers, and your daddy for that matter. And in that way, you can still be a part of bringing us closer together.

All right, my sweet. That quick I've hit my limit for the day. I love you like crazy.


Mommy.

72 days.

Dear Analin,

It's been 72 days since we lost you. In some ways, it seems like it was yesterday. In other ways, it seems like it was in some other life - at times it even seems like it wasn't me that it happened to. But it did. We lost you and we miss you. Every day.

I cannot help but feel responsible for what happened to you. I'm your Daddy. I'm supposed to look after you. And I didn't. I know that it's not helpful to think that way. 'Silly Daddy' you'd say and beat me up with kisses. In my head, I know there was nothing anyone could have done to save you. But I have trouble convincing my heart of that. 

Maybe it's just that it's easier with someone to blame. Maybe it's some silly man-thing. I don't know. I know that I miss you and that life has been changed forever for our family. There were supposed to be 5 in our little family, here in our little house. Instead, as I've started to tell people, there's 4 of us here and 1 of us in Heaven. You, our beautiful baby-girl. 

You know, I've struggled a lot with this whole God-business for a long time. Since we lost you, I've struggled even harder. But as your Mommy pointed out to me last night, 'How can you be so angry with someone, if you don't believe in him?'. She's smart lady, your Mommy. She gave me a lot to think about. But I'm not sure when I'll be able to put words to my feelings on that topic.

It's almost Christmas time. Your Mommy has been wrapping presents for everyone. If you were here, we'd have gotten lots for you too. We would have gotten you cute 'Baby's First Christmas' outfits. Since your Uncle Martin is coming to see us this Christmas, we bought you an outfit that said 'I love my Uncle'. I also saw these beautiful dresses at the store, that I was going to buy for you - and keep it as a secret from your Mommy. But we don't get to. Instead we get to think about you all the time, send sky-lanterns up to you on Christmas Eve and remember you. Know that we will always remember you. You're our daughter, Analin. Nothing ever changes that. 

I just so wish that you could be here with us instead of in Heaven. Every day I wish that. 

It's been 72 days since we lost you. I miss you.

Love you forever,

Daddy.