because writing you letters makes me feel better

Dear Madelyn,

Today is your due date. It doesn't necessarily mean you were actually going to be born today, but for me it's the official marker of when you should have been here and the not-so-subtle reminder that you are not.

Sometimes I go a whole day without crying. But I don't ever go a day without thinking of you, which means I don't ever go a day without being sad. Sometimes I just want to fast forward to the future where the pain is not so fresh. I want to jump to a time where I hadn't made plans involving you. This summer was filled with you and me and daddy plans. Maybe by Fall, things will feel better. Although I often worry that things will never feel better.

I'm not biter of other women who have babies. I worried that I would be angry that others got to keep their babies, but I am not mad. I'm just sad; sad I don't have you. The "plans" are really the hardest part. I planned on keeping you with me here on Earth and having to reconcile the fact that isn't happening is still hard to do. It makes me sad. Sad, sad, sad. I wish I had a better adjective. It's a selfish sad, but I think of all the things we were going to do. I think of how one of my very best friends in the entire world is coming to stay with us this weekend. I think about how she was supposed to meet you when she came. I want you to meet her Madelyn. I wanted to see her hold you and love you.

I spent the weekend with my family; your family. I held and kissed and played with your cousins and it brought me so much happiness. But they are not you. It seems so wrong that you won't play with them in England this Christmas. It feels so wrong that I heard my little brother talking about his niece dying. He shouldn't have to be saying that. Sometimes, over a month later, it still doesn't seem real. I watched a TV show about a woman's birth story and it didn't bother me. But when I heard your daddy playing make-believe with your cousin, Ava, for hours on end, my heart broke. He's so ready to be a daddy. That's when the pain comes. Not when I see others having babies, but when I see what we have lost.

I know other babies will come. I know that. I know I am incredibly blessed to even be able to carry a baby. But some days, those words bring little, if any, comfort. I could have a million babies and I would still miss you every day.

I usually try to end on a positive note, but today I don't want to. Today is a hard day and I just want to be sad. I want to cry until I get a cry headache and I want to look at my pictures of you and I want to mope a little bit and eat a lot of ice cream. It's okay to have days like this (or so the books tell me), so today I am just going to miss you all I want!

I love you. I miss you. I'll see you soon.