Dear sweet baby girl,
I’m sitting at my way-too-cluttered desk right now, tears dripping down my cheeks, with Kleenexes everywhere, and Meredith Andrews belting out with her sweet, sorrowful voice.
And I’m instantly back to two years ago. Sitting at the same desk (it was just as cluttered, I’m sure), listening the same music, with mascara-stained tears slipping silently from my swollen lids. It was the day I posted my first baby-loss post.
No. It was my first “Olivia, you are gone, and I don’t know how to live without you” post.
That day, as I wrestled with God over why . . . As I struggled to imagine a lifetime without ever experiencing your newborn cry, chubby toddler hands, rambunctious hugs, highschool dances, or the first birth of your own child . . . As I felt so, so alone . . . As I felt that I would never know happiness again . . .
Then. Right then. I felt that if I could only help ONE other person. If just one other person in this world of ours felt supported, felt loved, felt understood in their loss . . .
Then maybe your short little life and death were worth it. Just maybe.
Baby girl. Did you see it happen? Did God tell you that your short little life reached someone this weekend? Someone who needed to know that babies like you matter. Babies like you can never be replaced. Babies like you deserve everything we give our living kids.
Did you know?
Not only did your short little life touch one someone. You reached 250,000 someones.
Some people say a baby at 7 weeks can’t make much of a difference.
My sweet girl — You did. You made all the difference in the world.
You made a difference to moms who have had a chance to share their baby for the very first time. Babies that you might even play with up in heaven.
Dads who got a chance to speak about grieving a child in heaven.
Nurses, pastors, teenagers, grandmas and grandpas who all learned how to help someone else who has experienced a baby loss.
Do you see? You are passing it on. Your beautiful legacy . . . it is growing, it is changing, and it is amazing.
I’m so proud of you.
You will never leave my heart, and I’m better for it. Your life opened me up to the deepest pain I’ve known — and through it, you have shown me the greatest joy in the midst of suffering. The joy of helping someone else.
If you could make such a difference in just 7 short weeks of your little life inside me . . . I wonder how you could have changed the world with a lifetime outside. If only . . .
Olivia, I never heard your voice. But I want you to know, I’m trying to be your voice the best that I can.
And right now, my little girl, the whole world is listening.
I hope you are proud of me too.
I love you more than you will ever, ever know.
Please give your brothers a kiss and hug for me.
All my heart,