When you have a daughter in Heaven...

Dear Analin,

The day after you died, I was talking to a good friend. I told her that I didn't want this. I didn't want to be a parent who had lost a child.

At the time, I didn't know what specifically I was talking about. I didn't know what exactly I meant. I knew that this hurt was too deep to ever go away. But I didn't understand just how profoundly losing you was going to change me.

I didn't realize that I would, two and a half years later, still feel a pang of pain and jealousy when friends would announce pregnancies; that talk of baby girls would still cut deeply into my heart; that I would still look for baby clothes for you, because it could be a bad dream, right?

Your father is a happy person. I care deeply for other people and their happiness. So it hurts so much that I feel sadness when people tell me about their happiness. A year after we lost you, it got to the point where I had to seek professional help. One night, I broke down in front of your mommy. How could I react to happy baby announcements with such sadness, such anger?  People who did that were broken, I thought.

That night was a turning point for me. Things got better - as things tend to do. I no longer think that I'm broken. Being broken would mean that I could and needed to be fixed. And that's not the case. But I do need to admit to myself that I have changed.

I still hate it when people ask me how many children I have. A seemingly simple question, I stumble every time. If I answer 3, I feel guilty because I have 4. If I answer 4, I feel like I have to qualify the answer with 'but one died'. Why is it so much harder for me to share you with people than it is for me to share your brothers? I hate it and you don't deserve that.

It's not meant to be like this. When I said to my friend that I didn't want this, this is what I meant. Feeling conflicted, feeling guilty for feeling hurt.

But I take comfort from opposites. The pain I feel makes me love more fiercely. My guilt makes me work harder at being a better friend, husband and father.

And in the end, you have play to the cards you've been dealt.  It doesn't matter whether I wanted this or not. It happened and we deal with it. We take what lessons and what strength we can find. And we love more, laugh more, cry more and live more.

I love you so much and I miss you every day. At least there I know I'm not conflicted and that's a thought that brings me smiles.

Forever and ever,

Daddy.