Dear Andrew,

It's been an emotional few weeks.  Christmas wasn't celebrated last year and now with your brother this year I feel like we have to celebrate.  It feels like a lot of people have expected us to move on and be happy all the time.  But this isn't the case.  I love your brother dearly and having him has brought so much unexpected joy into our lives but I still miss you.  I still have and probably always will long for you to  be here.

Your brother was 5 months on the 8th of December and you should have been 18 months on that date.  It was a date that really hit home as Christmas would be so different with an 18 month old and a 5 month old.  Hectic but I imagine happy as well.  So in your memory we went and bought toys to donate for an 18 month old this Christmas.  It was the only way I could think of honoring your memory while helping someone else.  Buying those toys was difficult.  I didn't know what an 18 month old would want and it hurt me that I should know.  I should be well versed in what you would want for Christmas.  Instead I stood in the toy store with your sleeping brother trying to figure out what to buy.  In that moment life seemed wholly unfair. 

Why did we have to go through losing you? It's probably a question that will always play on my mind.  Along with what would life be like now with the two of you?  What would your personality be like?  Your little brother changes every day and looks completely different from when he was born.  What would you have been like?

A part of me died when I lost you.  It's a part of me that I will never get back.  An innocence and joy that disappeared with those dreaded words.  And I suppose Christmas magnifies your loss as it is a holiday about children and joy.

So today and every other day I think of you and miss you and day dream as to what my life would be like with both of my little men here.  I love you baby boy.

Dear Andrew,

I know it has been awhile since I have written but I think of you multiple times a day and have regular conversations with you in my head.  Oddly enough, I talk to you like you are an adult rather than a baby or the 18 month old that you should be. 

How exciting would this time of year be if you had lived?  How exciting would it be to have an 18 month old and a 5 month old to celebrate Christmas with?  Would you understand what Christmas means?  Would you cry when we brought you to see Santa or would you be excited?  How would you be with Liam?

We brought your little brother to see Santa for the first time yesterday.  While we were visiting, Santa asked if your brother was my first.  For the first time since we lost you I just said yes, that your brother way my first.  I know I hesitated, just that second too long, while I decided what my answer would be.  And once I answered him I felt the veil of grief envelop me again.  It's funny how such a simple light hearted question can throw me back into the darkest corner of grief.  This person's innocent question made me want to scream. 

Will all of Liam's firsts be tainted by what we missed with you?  Will this chasm of longing for your presence ever get smaller?  How is life so cruel that we never got to experience any of these things with you? 

Christmas should be a happy time of year.  And this year is infinitely easier than last year but will never be as happy as it should be.  It's a holiday that is best when seen through the eyes of a child.  But all I can ever think about is how I will never see this holiday through your eyes.  You will always be my missing child which will always make this time of year that much harder. 

I cried for you yesterday in a way I haven't been able to in awhile.  I felt the pain of missing you more sharply than I had in awhile.  And part of me was glad of it.  It meant that you were still a part of me.  That you hadn't been forgotten in the mundane everyday. 

I miss you every day.

Dear Andrew,

We lit a candle for you as part of the wave of light. The second year we've marked missing you. It feels strange to think it's been nearly 17 months. Where does the time go? It feels like yesterday and simultaneously like a decade ago. If I were to go to a meeting I could be the mother there that is longest bereaved. I am no longer new to this which shocks me. How did it suddenly become 17 months later? When did I stop sobbing at your grave? When did the raw emotion become a dull ache?

I remember when we first lost you the pain was overwhelming. Part of me shut down as I couldn't cope. I'd spend my day walking out to Glasnevin to spend time with you. I'd spend my evenings crying and sometimes drinking. I was only able to sleep if I had been drinking. It dulled me to the world. To my new reality. Truth be told those first few months are a blur.

Eventually I started to come out of the fog. To live with my new reality and embrace the pain. It's never left me since the day we lost you. I'm able to function and go on with my life but it will never be the same. There is always the part of me missing that died with you that day. The part that will never come back.

For losing you and losing part of myself I lit the candle this year. To be out of the fog and living again but still missing you with my whole heart. And always wondering what could have and should have been....

 

Dear Andrew,

What a difference a year makes.

Today is the Holles St remembrance mass in your church.  We are heading over with Liam in toe.  So different to last year where we had only lost you a few months earlier.  The whole affair was filled with tears and heartbreak.  While I'm sure there will still be tears and there is always heartbreak it will be comforting this year to have your brother with us.  He gives us a little bit of light and happiness that has been missing since we lost you.

I went to visit you today on my own.  It's something I don't get to do too often anymore.  It was nice to spend some time just the two of us.  I brought you some autumn decorations for your box and had a little chat.  On this lovely overcast morning I sat and had a one sided conversation with you.  And it was needed.  I miss you everyday.  I think about you everyday.  But life is starting to get in the way of spending quality time with you.  It's not necessarily a bad thing.  I can't always be filled with the overwhelming sadness that comes with being fully immersed in you.  I need to live in the moment and enjoy your brother who is here with us.  But occasionally it's nice to just sit in the cemetery and talk to you.  To give you the time and attention you deserve.

I miss you and love you baby boy.  I think about you everyday.  But you already know that...

Dear Andrew,

Sorry I haven't written in awhile but as you know I talk to you in my head every day and write letters to you while trying to fall asleep. I just never am able to write them down the following day.

As always, I miss you. Your brother is growing in leaps and bounds. And every little thing new that he does is tinged with sadness because we never did it with you. 

He coos and laughs and just rolled over. I was playing with him the other day wondering what your coo would have sounded like. What would your personality have been like?

Your brother has changed so much in 10 weeks. He doesn't even look like the baby he was when he was born. What would you have looked like at 10 weeks? Would we even recognize you? You are forever a newborn in my memory and that can be incredibly sad.

We've been to other baby groups and when asked if Liam is my first I always mention you. It can be incredibly isolating since no one asks what happened to you. It just creates an awkward silence and a lull in conversation. I feel like a bit of an outsider in these groups. The sad one who had something happen that no mother wants to imagine. The person whose baby died. That is now part of me just as you were part of me. Maybe it would be easier to say Liam is my first. I've thought about it and your dad suggested it. But doing that feels like I'm betraying you. It's bad enough you died at 41 weeks. Ignoring the fact you lived would just add to the pain.

I can't forget you. I refuse to deny you. We spend 41 weeks together where I talked to you and read to you and loved you. I felt you move inside me up until the day you died. I gave birth to you and held your lifeless body in my arms. And I love you so much that I would rather mention you and isolate myself than deny you and deal with the internal guilt.

I love you baby boy. Watch out for your brother and keep him safe. You are always in my mind...

Dear Andrew,

Your brother has been keeping me busy but as you know that doesn't stop me from thinking of you.  God I miss you so much.  After the first few whirlwind weeks with your brother the longing for you has kicked back in.  It never went away but faded a bit into the background.  But as we have gotten into a routine I feel it coning back in waves. 

We went to see you the other day.  Liam and I came in the morning to visit you.  Just the three of us together.  I wish the three of us were always together.  It was the first time in awhile that I have cried at your grave.  For the past few months I have been able to hold it together but lately I just feel more emotional.  All the cuddles we get with your brother we missed out on with you.  Liam will never get to grow up with you and I feel he's missing out on so much.  You two could have been so close since you are exactly thirteen months apart.  You could have been like two little peas in a pod.  I think he would have adored you.

It's funny but as Liam gets bigger I see more of you in him.  There are certain facial expressions he makes that remind me of you and your father agrees.  You didn't look very similar he was first born but he seems to become a bit more like you as the weeks pass.  It makes it a little bit more sad to see what you could have been like.  And in his eyes I see what your eyes could have been.  The eyes I never got to see...

We took professional photos with your brother when he was two weeks old and made a point of having you included.  So he took photos with the twin of the bear that you are buried with.  It's a little connection and so sad to think this is the closest I will get of a photo with my two boys together.  I miss you so much Andrew.

Dear Andrew,

I was rocking your brother in the chair, looking at him when it hit me how much I miss you.

Your brother makes all these noises while he is sleeping. Would you have done this?

Your brother only will sleep on your father and I. Would you have been like this?

So many questions that I'll never get the answer to. Once Liam was born I had nothing to compare the two of you. We didn't experience anything after you were born except grief. So as he grows there is less to remind me of you. The only comfort I have is that he is the only one who has lived where you have lived. You have that in common and it can never change. Even with your brother here I still  miss you more than I can put into words.

I love you so much.

Dear Andrew,

I find myself so angry lately. 

When we lost you so many people ignored our pain or were there for the first couple weeks and then were never heard from again.  Now that your brother has arrived people are coming out of the woodwork with congratulations, cards, and presents.  Where were they when we lost you?  Surely people need more support when they lose a child and are drowning in grief rather than celebratory and happy.

 I know people don't like to be reminded of how fragile life can be.  I know they don't like to be reminded of what could have happened to them.  But it doesn't make losing you any easier and it doesn't make me any less angry.  I truly feel so angry with these supposed family and friends that I can't think straight sometimes.  It seems so unfair that you get pushed to the side and treated like that.  You are my baby and I want you to be recognized with the dignity, love, and care that you deserve.

A part of me knows that I should let it go but I don't think I'm ready to yet.  Forgiving them feels like I am betraying you.  I'm not ready to forgive those who left us when we needed them.  I don't want them included now.  I want to shut everyone out who hasn't reached out over the past year and tell them to shove it.  I'd use stronger words to get my point across if I could.  I just can't understand their logic.  I can't understand how they feel like it's ok to reach out now.  Like everything is magically better and we can all move on with our lives.

I don't feel like that.  I want you included in everything.  I want you here and part of our everyday lives.  Instead, I'm thrilled and in love with your brother but missing you more than I have in awhile.

I love you and miss you baby.

Dear Andrew,

Every morning I wake up and look at this face and wonder how much you two resemble each other.  I never saw your eyes since you were "born sleeping".  It's something I've wondered about since we buried you.  I was even tempted to look when I held you in my arms but I was so afraid.  I wish I hadn't been as afraid.  I wish I had had the courage to look at your eyes, to examine every perfect little part of you.  But I didn't and now as I look at your brother I wonder how similar the two of you are.  I sit and stare at this perfect human being and wonder if your eyes were the same.  Did you have those big bright eyes that your brother has?  I'll never know now and that just is another thing to be sad about.

You are never far from my mind.  I love you and miss you every day.

Dear Andrew,

I finally sat down and watched Return to Zero this morning.  I'd been putting it off while pregnant with your brother as I couldn't face the thought of reliving losing you while so close to your brother's due date.  I was so afraid that something was going to happen to him at the end that I was paralyzed with fear.

So this morning I sat down with him on the couch cuddled safely in my arms and turned on the DVR.  It wasn't as emotional as I thought it was going to be.  Don't get me wrong, the tears streamed down my face and onto your brother but it was more about reliving what happened to you than what was on the television.  The birth scene where everything is so quiet and then the baby is there and the parents are amazed by how perfect he was really struck a cord.  That was the first thing I said when I saw you.  You were perfect.  Tiny ears and nose, full head of fine hair, chubby little arms and legs.  I was amazed by your perfection.  I still am amazed that you were ever mine.

The movie brought back so many memories that I've tried to push to the back of my mind while pregnant with your brother.  But I can only suppress them for so long.  What happened to you happened to us as a family.  I can't pretend it didn't happen.  I don't want to pretend it didn't happen.  I just wish you were here rather than reliving the memories of your loss.

When we sat down to watch this movie this morning it felt like part of you was there with us.  We were remembering you, together as a family.  You are always loved and always missed no matter where we are.

Dear Andrew,

We brought your brother to visit you for the first time on Friday.  It felt strange to bring the two of you together knowing that you would never meet.  You are now an older brother.  You have a baby brother.  You should be our big one year old with a newborn baby brother.  We should all happily be in the house enjoying life as a family of four.  Me with my house of boys.  We shouldn't be loading your brother into the car to meet you for the first time at your grave.  It's different having your brother with us.  A strange mixture of sadness that you aren't here and relief that he finally is here.  It certainly doesn't make missing you any easier.  I fear that people think Liam replaces you.  That somehow it makes your loss less important in our lives.  I want everyone to know that your brother does not replace you.  You are always our first born and are always the piece of me that is missing.  Every time I look at a family photo I think of that one face that is missing.  That one person that keeps my family from being whole.

Is this what will be normal for Liam?  Visiting his brother in a cemetery and thinking that this is normal.  How will he feel having a mother who will not let people forget about her first born son?  How will he feel that I will always mention you when people ask us how many children we have?  What will we do when he starts asking questions?  What do we do when he realizes that our family isn't normal?  That most kids have siblings at home and never go to a cemetery.  Never mind the fact that this is where he goes to see his older brother.

All these thoughts have crossed my mind.  But the biggest thing in my head is the same that it has been since we lost you.  How different would life look if you were here?  What would it be like to have a one year old and a newborn?  How would you receive your baby brother?  Would you be jealous?  Would you be loving?  Would you two have been best friends since you were so close in age?  Would Liam adore you as you both grew older?

As I sit and stare at him for hours I see a lot of you.  Your noses are similar, the shape of your eyes and ears.  There was no denying that you two were related.  The only real difference is that he has much darker hair than you.  You were fair with a slightly red shine in your hair and your brother has jet black hair.  But your faces are so similar.  I wonder how much more you would have looked alike if I could have seen your face when you were alive.  I do that a lot...wondering about you.

Having your brother here doesn't change how we feel about you.  It doesn't change the fact that we lost you and a part of me died with you on that day.  It doesn't make me miss you and less.  Having your brother here makes me realize even more how much we missed with you.  We missed all those cuddles and funny noises and loving moments that we will never get back.  The way your father adores Liam is something I never got to see with you two.  I never got to bring you home and stare at you for hours and worry about you in your cot next to our bed.  Your brother has only been here 12 days and already I can see how much we missed out on with you.  What will it be like missing out on a lifetime without you?

We love you and miss you so much.  No matter what anyone thinks you are always my first born.  Always one of the loves of my life and always in my heart.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of you and miss you and love you.

Dear Andrew,

Thank you for helping your little brother safely into this world. I wish you were here but you gave us a lovely gift.

I love you.

Dear Andrew,

I'm sitting here thinking about you and hoping your little brother makes his appearance in the next few days.

I was walking by what should have been your crèche this morning and heard the kids outside enjoying the sunshine.  It immediately made me think of you.  The fact that you should be a year old at this point and outside at that crèche playing with all the other children.  Would you be a happy go lucky little boy getting along with all of the other children?  Would you be one of those little kids who gets upset when his parents leave him?  What would you look like now?  What would your personality be like?  I have so many questions about what you would be like now and my imagination runs wild.

I guess it will always be like this.  These little things will make me think of you and I'll always wonder what our life would be like with you in it.  You will always be the person missing from our family no matter how many brothers and sisters come after you.  You'll always be my baby.  A forever baby since I can't imagine what my life would be like with you in it.  I can't see how life should have been.  I imagine it would be a much cheerier life . . .

I love you and miss you forever & always.

Dear Andrew,

It's been a difficult month.  One year since you passed.  A couple of weeks until your little brother arrives.  There is so much emotion in this month that I feel overwhelmed.  I feel like I'm drowning in grief and hope and terror all mixed together.

My grief has returned with more of a bite to it.  It never went away but I was able to focus on the future.  To get some hope back in my life.  This month I have only been able to focus on the way things should have been and how they could turn out again.  I've visited you a lot this month.  I feel closer to you at your grave, like a little bit of you is waiting there for me.  I feel like I let you down when you aren't getting regular visits.

Then there is the utter terror that has taken over my life.  The what ifs and what could be.  What if we lose your brother too?  How will we cope?  Will we handle it?  In my head I am already planning what we will do if we lose him.  The little things we would do differently.  Is this normal?  Isn't this a bit too morbid for what should be such a hopeful time?  We are supposed to be planning for this new life to come into our world and since you were our first the only thing I have to compare it to is death.  I can't get excited about him arriving because I'm terrified we are going to be grieving for two now instead of one.

He is 37 weeks and one day today and each day gets a little more terrifying.  The type of terror that makes you freeze where you are and not want to move.  The terror that can take over your whole body and mind and is very hard to push away.  Each day we come that much closer to the timeframe that we lost you.  We keep hearing how great everything is and how healthy he is but that doesn't provide the comfort that people think it should.  You were the same way.  There was nothing wrong with you.  There was nothing missed in your scans.  You just got caught up in your cord and died.  How does that make anything easier when people enthusiastically tell us how great your brother is doing?

It's been a hard year, never mind a hard month.  But I can't believe you've been gone for a year.  I can't believe all the little things we've already missed out on.  A life that was never lived and never will be.

We miss you so much.  You are always our first baby and now our forever baby.

Love you.

Dear Andrew,

I think today is a more difficult day than the anniversary of your birth.  A year ago today is the day that we buried you.  A year ago today was the last time I saw that face that I was so in love with and the last time I was able to caress those little curls.

We had a ceremony for you in the hospital.  You had your post mortem the day before which had deteriorated the look of your skin.  There were some red patches on your face that weren't there before and it was heartbreaking to look at.  Your father and I spent some time alone with you and then the rest of the family came in. 

We had a naming ceremony and a few words were said.  I held you in my arms the whole time.  I never wanted to let you go.

I don't remember much of the ceremony except holding you and staring at you and being so afraid of letting you go.  We had visited you a few times during the week and spent time holding you in the chapel.  Those times were a little easier because I knew that we would see you again.  This was so final.  This was the last thing we had to do where you would physically be there.

We placed you in your little white coffin with a picture of us, the book I read to you, a rattle from my family, and the blanket and sweater that your dad's mother knit for you.  You had a little baseball hat on and one of the teddy bears from your memory box.  You were wearing the little money footie pjs that I had been so excited to get you in.  I never knew when I was buying them that they were what you would be buried in.

As your father wrapped you up in the coffin I had thought people were going to leave and give us more time with you.  So I went to sit down but instead they put the top on your coffin and that was the last time I saw you.  I didn't know that was going to happen and I was so shocked I didn't get to say anything.  I felt like I didn't get a proper good bye for you but my consolation was that I did get to hold and cuddle you during the ceremony.  At least I had one last time with you in my arms.

My heart broke as your father put the coffin lid on and slid it into place.  It was so tiny and I just couldn't understand why this was happening to us.  Only one week before we had been in the same hospital planning your induction and you had been alive.  Now we were burying our baby.

After the ceremony ended your grandfather went to get the car and the three of us rode in the back.  Me, your father, and you in your tiny white coffin.  We headed out to the angels plot in Glasnevin where you would be with other babies.  We had gone and looked earlier in the week and knew it would be the best spot for you.  There were other babies there and a feeling that we weren't leaving you alone on your own.

When we got to Glasnevin we had another little ceremony for you.  My parents said some words and then I did as well.  I had written something out from your father and I as he couldn't speak during your burial.  It was too emotional for us all.  I saw my dad and brother cry for the first time ever at your funeral.  You, this tiny little boy was so loved before anyone met you and now we were all heartbroken together.

After all the eulogies were done your uncles and your dad lowered your tiny coffin into the grave.  And this is where I lost it.  Seeing your tiny box going into the ground seemed so unfair.  It's not something any parent should ever have to witness.  We stayed for awhile after that and it would the first of my many many vists to you over the first year.

Dear Andrew,

Your one year anniversary has passed.  It's hard to believe it's been a year.  Some days it feel like it never happened.  That it was all some horrible dream.  But unfortunately we know now that isn't true.  Some days I still get a shock that you are actually gone.  It's like the numbness from being told that you were dead is still gradually wearing off.  Can that be the case one year later?

A year ago today we left you in the hospital  Everyone left the decision up to me but I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained.  Our room was a revolving door of midwives and doctors and all I wanted was for people to leave me alone.  I wanted the three of us to be alone in our grief but they wouldn't let us.

It was a warm day.  It had been a warm weekend.  Your cold cot wasn't working so slowly your face was turning more and more blue.  I was afraid to look at you as I wanted my memories of you to be as good as they could possibly be given the circumstances.  So we left.  I needed to be home in the quiet stillness of my house.  I needed comfort and familiarity.

We had no plan as to what we were going to do with your remains.  No one had spoke to us about it because the people who deal with these things don't work on the weekend.  God forbid your child dies on the weekend because there won't be anyone there to talk to you about it.  We were told we'd receive a call during the week to go over our options.  I know I sound bitter but I've let it go at this point.  I just can't comprehend how there is no one there to deal with grieving families over the weekend.  Even someone on call.  Are you the only baby to have passed on a weekend without any notice?

The day we left the hospital was a Sunday.  I just remember leaving you alone in our hospital room as your paternal grandmother pulled me out of the room.  That really annoyed me.  I know she meant well but I was able to walk on my own and would leave you when I was ready.  Not on anyone else's terms!  I remember thinking I couldn't believe we were leaving without you.  I couldn't believe we were leaving you there on your own and all we had was a memory box filled with little bits of you.  It's still heartbreaking to think about.  I gave you one last caress, trying to remember every detail of you before walking out of the room and not knowing if we would ever see you again.

I don't remember what we did when we got home.  The day is a blank.  I'm guessing I sat on the couch and stared at whatever was on tv.  I know I opened the door to your room again.  I realized closing the door was going to ease the pain we were going though.  I couldn't just erase your existence from my life. 

I wasn't going to sleep.  My parents were still trying to get an emergency flight here and we had left you alone in the hospital with no plan as to what was going to happen.  Life felt overwhelming.  The grief was there but only on the edges.  The numbness had taken over and I just felt lethargic and shocked.  Nothing had prepared me to lose you and my mind couldn't and wouldn't figure out how to process what was happening.

Dear Andrew,

So today is the big day.  Your one year anniversary.

After my water broke we knew we had to head into the hospital.  I cleaned up as much as I could, called your grandmother and packed my bag.  Your father and I left for the hospital so excited and nervous at the same time.  When we got to the hospital they were extremely busy.  They asked us to wait in the entry until we were called up.  At this point I was still gushing loads of water and was so embarrassed.  It just wouldn't stop and another pair of pants was soaked through and many towels!

We finally made it upstairs where they checked us in and when I told them my water broke they asked for a sample.  I went to the bathroom to provide a sample and noticed that it wasn't clear.  We'd learned in our classes that that could be a sign you were in distress..  I gave the midwife the vile of liquid and went back out to your father.  I told him something was wrong but he told me I was wrong.  He said everything was fine. 

Due to the meconium in the water they wanted to check your heartbeat to see if you were stressed.  They brought us into a ward of sleeping and snoring women and tried to get a heartbeat.  The midwife couldn't find one and I started to worry.  Suddenly we had a couple of mjidwives around us all trying to get your heartbeat with a Doppler and one was pushing on my stomach asking you to wake up.  She even said she felt you move.  But in my gut I knew something was wrong.  Your father and I just held hands and waited.

After what seemed like ages a doctor came running (literally you could hear her and a midwife running to us).  They brought a scan machine in and the stared at the screen for awhile.  We finally heard the words I never wanted to hear.  I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat.  At that point your father and I were in shock.  We were on a ward, surrounded by midwives and a doctor giving us looks of pity while people around us snored and slept without a clue as to what was going on next to them.

At this point they asked us to come down to fetal assessment so they could check you again on a higher resolution machine.  So numbly we followed the doctor down the stairs where she examined you again.  There was no movement on this screen either so she repeated the news again.  As if we needed to hear it again!!  We could see you weren't moving and we were both shocked.  I don't think either of us made a single sound.

Once she told us you were gone I asked how they planned on delivering you.  I was told a C-section was not an option and that I had to go through a normal delivery with you.  I couldn't believe my baby had died 8 days overdue and now I was being told I had to go through labor.  It just seemed so unfair but I was in such a state of shock at the time that I didn't even question it.

They sent us home then and gave us a number to ring.  We were told if the contractions started and got strong to come back in and if not to come back in on Sunday to start induction.

We left the hospital feeling numb.  I felt like I was walking in a dream land.  Nothing made sense.  How did this happen to us?  Why did this happen to us?  All your father said on the way home was that he needed a cigarette.  Mind you he hadn't smoked in years.  Neither of us had but it seemed we were about to start again.  It was 2 am or so and we walked into town to the nearest shop.  I was waddling as I was still heavily pregnant with you.  There were drunk people everywhere and we were just walking through them all in a daze.

Looking back I often wonder what possessed us to that?  We left our apartment to wander among drunk people at 2 am after receiving the worst news of our lives.

I sent your father into the shop and then we walked home.  We sat on the deck in silence smoking.  It was the only tangible thing I could hold onto at the moment.  Tons of thoughts were running through my head.  I cant believe my son has died.  I can't believe he is still inside of me and dead.  I can't believe I have to go through labor now.

We stayed outside for awhile until we knew we had to call our parents and tell them the news.  That was one and probably always will be one of my worst memories.  Calling your grandmother and telling her the news.  She howled on the phone like I had never heard before.  She didn't know what to do and my dad just kept yelling what happened in the background.  I had to tell them you had died.  They didn't know what to say.  I just kept saying it's ok trying to comfort them and your grandfather just kept saying "no, its not ok!".  At this point I got off the phone with them.  Your father proceeded to call your other grandparents who were just as shocked.  No one knew what to say to us.

After we got off the phone we tried to get some sleep.  But there was no way I was sleeping.  My mind was racing.  I put all of your things away that were scattered throughout the house and closed the door to your room.  I felt like I was closing a door on a whole life I had planned.  It had been taken away from me so quickly that I didn't know what do except shut it away.

I wandered around the house for a couple hours as my contractions started and increased in intensity.  Finally at 7am I told you father we had to head back to the hospital.  At this point things get a bit blurry.  I know I was having strong contractions and they brought us into a room to check if I was dilated.  Apparently I wasn't so they put me in a wheelchair and brought us to a private room. 

We stayed in there for hours.  Just your father and I and occasionally a midwife to check up on us.  I was in so much pain and couldn't believe I had to go through this.  I was trying to concentrate on the contractions and the pain pushed the numbness and grief out of my mind for awhile.  Except I knew I wasn't getting to keep you at the end so none of the pain seemed worth it.  At some point before noon the pain became too much.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  I had intense pain in my lower back.  I was exhausted and the contractions were coming every 90 seconds or so.  I told your father to get a midwife and that I needed an epidural. 

I was wheeled back to labor and delivery to be checked again and was told I was 5 cm.  I still can't believe they let me get that far without paid medication when we had lost you.  I didn't want to feel that pain!  I didn't want to go through this knowing what was at the end.

A man came in and administered the epidural and it was the best thing that had happened to me that day.  I could finally rest.  I was exhausted.  The next few hours were spent sleeping.  Your father called the grandparents to give them progress updates.  My parents were frantically trying to change flights to get here and your father's parents had driven up as soon as we called them.  We were in the hospital when we were told your paternal grandmother was there and she wasn't taking no for an answer!  It was nice to know there was someone there to support us and cared enough to push her way into the hospital. 

I continued to sleep and labor for hours.  When I wasn't sleeping I stared out the window.  It was a sunny cloudless beautiful day.  And I resented it.  We live in Ireland where it's mostly overcast.  Why couldn't the weather reflect how we were feeling for once?  Why did people have to be outside enjoying life and sunshine while we were going through one of the worst experiences of our lives? 

I was in and out of it and exhausted.  They came in to check around 6 pm that night and I was fully dilated but exhausted.  They said I could push now if I wanted but I asked to wait a little bit and they allowed it.  It's not like we had to worry about you being stressed anymore. 

At 7pm they came in and said it was time.  We were going to see you shortly.  This little person we had been waiting 9 months for with such anticipation.  They asked before I started pushing if we wanted to hold you.  I was definitely going to hold you!  But then they asked about cleaning you and I said yes as I was afraid all day in meconium had made you scary looking.  I wasn't sure if you were going to come out covered in it.  I didn't know what to expect.  So I blindly answered that I would like you cleaned up before I held you (regret #1 of many).

I started pushing at 7 pm and listed to the midwives.  The two of them coached me on when to push.  One held one of my legs while your father held the other.  When they could see the head your father even had a look as I yelled at him to stop looking!  But he was so excited to see you and said they could see your full head of hair!  I gave a few more pushed and there you were.  7:23 pm on the 8th of June you came silently into this world. 

It was such a quiet room.  You always see deliveries on tv that are loud and the baby cries and no one spoke in our room from what I remember.  All I remember is silence while your father and I stared at you.  The cord was tight around your neck when you came out and around your shoulder.  They immediately said this was probably the cause of death.  The thing connecting us that kept you alive for nine months was the same thing that had killed you.

They wiped you down, weighed you, and dressed you in the outfit we had given them.  You were 8 pounds 15 ounces and 22 inches long.  I couldn't get over the size of you!  When the midwife handed you to me I felt such awe at how perfect you were.  Both your father and I couldn't get over how perfect you were.  Every parent knows what to expect when the baby is born but it was still such a feeling of shock and awe that we had created you.  That you were here with these big hands, full head of hair, tiny ears and cute button nose.  You were better than anything I had imagined or dreamt of.

We spent time holding you and cherishing you.  I finally let your father have a turn holding you.  He was such a natural!  I felt awkward and clumsy holding you and there he was holding you with ease.  At some point we asked for your grandparents to come in and meet you.  They held you and talked about how beautiful you were.  And to all of us you really were perfect. 

While in the room we took some pictures.  We needed to have something concrete of you.  I emailed the pictures to my parents so that they could see what you looked like. My biggest regret from that part of this journey is that I didn't hold you after you came out.  I don't remember what you little bum looks like or your feet even though we have footprints.  I wish I had spent more time memorizing every detail of you, this little boy who had spent nine months with me.

Eventually we had to move rooms.  Your grandparents left for the day.  They prepared to move me to another bed and wheel us to a private room down the hall.  I threw up probably from the drugs but also from the experience as a whole.  We made our way down to the private room and were left on our own.  They tried to give us some food but neither of us had any desire to eat.  Even after being told we had to eat after the day we had neither of us could stomach any food.  Your father went home to collect some things.  You were placed in the cold cot beside me and that part of our journey was over. 

I spent some time lying in bed starting at you and taking more pictures.  At some point I fell asleep but woke up startled that your father wasn't back.  I rang him immediately and asked him to come back.  He was already on his way but I couldn't cope with him being out of my sight.

He came back and put a mattress on the floor to sleep.  In the middle of the night I woke up sobbing as was going to happen a lot in the coming weeks and months.  Your father tried to comfort me but nothing was going to make me feel better.  I was in a hospital with my deceased son next to me.  What kind of life was this?

The next morning we were up early.  Midwives came in and out to see you.  Everyone commented on how much hair you had and how precious you were.  They were very kind but it made us feel like we were some kind of freak show.  It was a constant revolving door.  Midwives, doctors, people with food.  I just wanted to be left alone.

One of the midwives came in with a memory box for you.  It had a blanket and a teddy bear.  We were able to take your handprints and footprints.  We were able to cut off some locks of that curly hair.  These little things that we would never have thought of are now my most precious possessions.  Your hair is in a locket around my neck and your handprints and footprints are framed on our wall with your picture.  I cherish those few items so much since you've been gone.

After we were done with the memory box I knew I wanted to go home.  I was still feeling numb and couldn't believe all that had happened in 30 hours.  As everything was fine with me they let us go mid-afternoon that day.  This would become regret #2.  I now feel I didn't spend enough time with you.  I didn't kiss you enough, tell you I love you enough, or cuddle with you enough.  I was so afraid and didn't realize that in the future these were some of my biggest regrets.  The cold cot wasn't working, it was a warm day, and you were turning more blue by the minute.  I didn't want my memories of you to be ones where you were blue and bruised.

We left you behind that afternoon and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done.  To leave you in that cot by yourself just seemed so unfair.  What was the point of the last nine months?  Why did we have to go through all of that?  What did this mean for our future?

I still can't believe that was a year ago today.  How is that possible?  To me it still feels like it was yesterday.  To your father he has said it feels like it was lifetimes ago.  But to both of us it has been an incredibly hard year.  Everywhere we go there are reminder of you.  We always wonder what life should be like now if you were here and today we should be celebrating your first birthday.  Would you be eating cake?  Would you be walking?  All of these things that we will never know and my heart breaks anew every time I think of you.

Since I didn't say it enough when you were here, I want you to know that we love you.  We have always loved and you and will always love you.  You mean the world to us and we are so glad you were in our lives even if it was for a short period of time.

Dear Andrew,

A year ago today (June 6th) at this time I was preparing for one of my last antenatal visits.  I was 40+6 days and it was time to start induction.  I was doing everything I could to get you going.  I was walking five miles a day and bouncing on those yoga balls but you were too content to stay.  You were happy where you were.

We went to our appointment that afternoon and had the longest wait we have ever had at the hospital.  We were there three hours before being seen by anyone.  And when we got in there it was a student doctor!  Your father was disgusted.  He was already late for work due to the incredibly long wait and then we had to deal with a student doctor.  She did all the checks she was supposed to and then we started talking about counting kicks.  I told her how I counted your kicks with a touch of OCD.  I was obsessed with making sure you moved which was difficult because you were a quiet baby.  I will forever remember her telling me not to worry, that nothing happens this far along in the pregnancy.

Finally a doctor came in to see us and checked you.  Everything was functioning normally.  You had a lot of fluid, the placenta looked good, and you had a strong heartbeat.  What more could we ask for?  We were scheduled to come back on the Monday if you hadn't arrived so that we could discuss induction.  You were coming out the following week whether you were ready or not!

We left there annoyed at the waiting but glad everything was looking ok.  A woman on my rollercoaster group kept talking about monitoring our babies closely now as they were high risk once you were overdue.  She had me paranoid and so afraid that we had made it that far only to lose you.  I couldn't bear the thought.  We were both so excited and near the end.

Those trainee doctor's words had encouraged me though.  What could go wrong at this point?  You were ok.  You were healthy, everything looked good, and whether you liked it or not you were going to be out in the next week.

Your father headed off to work after the appointment and I hung out around the house.  I was already on my third week of maternity leave waiting for you to get here!  I decided to lie down for awhile.  At some point around 5 o'clock or so I got up to pee (as you do frequently when you have a baby in you at 9 months) and then came back to bed.  You started going berserk as soon as I laid down.  Movement like I had never felt from you.  It probably only last ten - fifteen seconds but it was enough to catch my attention.  I talked to you and told you to calm down. That if you were that excited it was definitely time for you to come out.

Little did I know that you had died at that time.  Your cord was around your neck and shoulder and you moved in such a way that it tightened enough to cause you to die.  Your movements were you struggling to live and let me know something was wrong.  I didn't know at the time that would be the last time I would feel you inside me.  I didn't know as I lie there imagining what life was going to be like in a week that you weren't going to be a part of it.  Our lives were going to change so quickly and in such a terrible way that neither of us imagined.  I didn't know that those movements meant something was wrong.

And for a whole 24 - 30 hours after I was blissfully unaware that you had passed.  I woke up the next morning, I went for my two hour walk, I cleaned the house and then I started worrying about your movements. I took a bump picture for my mom telling her I thought you had moved into an awkward position and maybe that meant you were ready to arrive.  That afternoon,  I thought about the fact that I hadn't felt you move all day.  This was normal though when I was moving around a lot.  You were a calm baby who really only moved if I sat still for long periods of time.  So I sat on the couch and waited.  You still didn't move.  I got some pees from the freezer and that didn't get you to move (your grandmother told me she did this to me when she worried about my movement.  Apparently it made me crazy every time).  I thought about going into the hospital but I had been there the day before and everything was perfect.

Then around 8:00 that night I thought that I had felt movement.  It wasn't much but it was enough to make me think you were ok.  Which made me relax because I was really starting to panic.  Your dad was on his way home from work and if you hadn't moved we were heading into the hospital.  So I remained happily unaware that you were dead.  Convincing myself that you were ok and I was just a paranoid mother.  We had already gone in a couple times over my concern for your movements and everything was fine.  I just assumed I worried too much and didn't want to keep scaring your poor father.

I went to bed around midnight on the 7th of June and as soon as I laid down I felt a pop and just knew.  My water had broken.  Our world was about to change and you were about to be a major part of it.

Dear Andrew,

A year ago today was the last day that you were alive.  I didn't know it at the time but it was the last full day that I would feel your kicks and be the old me.  The happy and naïve pregnant me without a worry.  A year ago tomorrow my life changed completely which in turn changed me completely.

Today we have the scan for your little brother to find out if he is doing ok.  I can't believe a year ago I was so excited to meet you and now we are trying to have faith that we will get to meet your brother.  I can't believe what a difference a year makes.

A year later and I still miss you like it was yesterday.  I love you so much.

Dear Andrew,

Tomorrow is the first anniversary of your due date.  To some this shouldn't be a big deal.  It wasn't the day you were born after all.

But to me this is the day you should have been born.  If you had arrived that day you would be here with us.  We'd have a one year old!  I can't imagine how different our lives would be if you had been born on May 31st.

On May 31st last year you were still moving around inside of me.  You were still making me feel gigantic and giving me those reassuring kicks.  You were alive.

I know I can't change anything now but it won't make tomorrow any easier.  Should have, could have, would have is not going to change the outcome of your story.  It's not going to change the ending of your life.  But it still makes me sad to think what a difference 8 days could have made in all of our lives.

We love you and miss you baby boy.

Dear Andrew,

365 days ago I started my first day of maternity leave.  This was the real start of the countdown to your arrival.  You were due the 31st of May and I had a strong feeling you were going to be late.  But 365 days ago I was still naïve.  365 days ago you were still alive.  You were moving inside me and assuring me that you were safe.  We were preparing for a life with you that in reality was nothing like we imagined.  We never thought we'd lose you.  I figured at that stage I would worry about how to take care of you after you were born rather than worry about the details in-between.  Little did I know, I wouldn't need to worry about any of that.

I'm jealous of the me from 365 days ago.  The happy, content, naïve me.  The one who didn't know anything could still go wrong.  The one who was so assured of your safe arrival  The one who was so relaxed and excited about you finally arriving into the world.   The me of 365 days ago who is no longer here.

Now, one year later I'm 32 weeks pregnant with your little brother.  I'm anxious.  I'm nervous.  I'm a wreck.  The blinders are off.  I know of too many things that can go wrong and I just can't breathe comfortably until your little brother is safely here. 

We have so much to get through before that day though.  We have your due date in two weeks and then eight days later we have your anniversary.  We have your brother's growth scan.  We have to balance grieving your loss while celebrating your little brother's life. 

It's a hard road and we miss you everyday.  I always imagine what you would look like now and think back to the few things I have from when you were alive.  Would you have all that curly auburn hair you were born with?  What would your eyes look like when they are opened?  Would you be crawling?  Would you be walking?  How different would life look if you had been alive and survived?

365 days ago you were here with us.

It's amazing how much can change in a second.

We love you.



 

 

 

 

 

Dear Andrew,

Some days I just don't have the strength to put my pain into words. 

Some days are so hard that just getting through them in emotionally exhausting.  It takes all of my energy just to pretend to the world that I can function in it without you.

Some days all I do is think of you.

Tomorrow will be 11 months since we lost you.  As we get closer to your brother's due date and your anniversary I am starting to relive our experience with you.  I dream about losing your brother all the time.  I relive losing you.  The pain, the shock, and the numbness.  I relive the labor and the quiet birth where you never took your first breath and never cried for us.  I relive that pain and sadness and overwhelming grief.

Some days I still can't believe you were here and then you weren't.  I still can't believe that this happened to us.

Some days a wave of realization hits me that this really did happen.  You really did die hours before you were born and 8 days past your due date.  And every time that realization hits me I am just as shocked as the first time we were told your heart was no longer beating.

I don't know how we've made it through the last 11 months.  It's been hard.  It's been emotional and there have been more tears than I could ever count.

Everyday I miss you and everyday I wonder why we had to lose you.  I don't think your loss is something I will ever accept.  I miss you too much and it hurts.

I love you.

Dear Andrew,

The past few weeks have been tough.  Rather than feeling stronger I feel more emotional.  I feel like I could weep over anything and the thoughts of you instantly bring tears to my eyes.  I don't know if it is because we are edging closer to your first anniversary or if it is because we are edging closer to your brother being born.  I can't relax.  I can't feel stress free.  All I do is worry about your brother and miss you so much.  Sometimes it seems like so few people understand.  I want to enjoy this pregnancy but all I do is worry about losing your brother too.

Could I handle it again at this stage?  I don't think I could.  We went to get the 3D scan of your brother yesterday to have a peek and do something that we also did for you.  He looks like you but doesn't look like you. But upon seeing his face all I could think about was what will I do if I lose this one too?  I couldn't be truly happy which is sad for this little one.

The technician asked if he was our first.  I told her that you were our first and we lost you at 41 weeks.  Her response was that she was sorry she asked!  Who says that?!?!  Does she really think that her one question is the only reason I would be upset?  Do people think I forget about you if you aren't brought up in conversation?  I want to yell your name everywhere I go.  I want people to know that you existed.  Not just to your family who constantly acknowledge you but everyone who knows us.

Needless to say the rest of the scan went ok.  We were excited to see your little brother but it was strange seeing another little face in there.  A face in place of where you were at the same time last year.  When we came out of the room everyone asked if were excited and talking about your brother's impending arrival.  We tried to act excited but it just isn't there.  The two of us are just so scare of something happening that neither of us wants to get our hopes up.  As if that would protect us if anything were to happen.  It reminded me of when we went ring shopping a few weeks after you had passed.  Everyone in the shop kept congratulating us and we pretended to be happy.  But I could tell by the looks that we weren't doing a good job.  No one understands how a lot of the joy in things is gone now.  Maybe they will come back someday but they haven't come back yet.  Everything that should be fun and happy just makes me think of you and how you should be here with us.

We went to visit you yesterday, as we do every weekend and I broke down at your grave again.  Your father was saying how much you would have loved that minion in your box and the stupid little songs that they sing.  It just broke my heart to think that you should be nearly 11 months old.  You should be yelling at minions singing on tv and cuddling with us and making us indiscriminately happy.  Instead, all I can do is cry at your grave, cry at the thought of what should be, and cry at all that we lost the day you died.

I bought a little canvas for your brothers room that has a phrase from the book that we buried you with.  I can't even look at this book to that day never mind actually read it to your little brother.  But hopefully this little quote can be another thing that ties the two of you together. 

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be. 

Dear Andrew,

Well we survived mother's day.  What a weekend.

You are always my first thought when I wake up and my last thought before I fall asleep and fill my thoughts throughout the day.  But this past weekend your loss overwhelmed me.  Everything was as emotional as it was in the beginning.  My first mother's day without you. 

I was thinking about last year and how we were less than two months until your due date at this time.  How your father got me a card and signed it from you (not your name as we hadn't picked that yet).  I can't say that a year ago I ever expected myself to be in this position.  I pictured myself with a bouncing lively ten month old little boy.  How different our lives have turned out.  I should be complaining about whatever it is that ten month olds do.  You should be wreaking havoc everywhere you go and filling out lives with so much love and joy.

Instead this past weekend was filled with so many tears and so much sadness.  There were a lot more tears than there have been in awhile.  I came home during lunch Friday and grabbed the mail.  We had two mother's day cards from your dad's family.  Which was so sweet of them and made me feel glad that they remembered you and I on that day.  But it opened the flood gates.  I was already emotional from your brother's appointment the prior day and this just sent me over the edge.  Hysterical to the point I wasn't sure if I could go back to work.  Somehow I did and made it through the rest of the day but your father got round two on Friday night.  He is used to it at this point but I feel bad that he has to deal with it so often. 

Sunday was spent at your grave and I brought your freshly cleaned teddy bear back to your box.  That box is the only thing we can concentrate on when we are up there.  I think it's the only thing that helps us hold it together when we visit you.  It gives us something to concentrate on.  That box is the only way I get to express my love to you to the outside world.  It's my little piece of you that I get to smother with attention and trinkets and love.  So that was how I spent Sunday.  Cleaning your box and showing the world that I loved you.

Never at any point last year did I think a day like mother's day would now involve a trip to your grave.  Never did I think I'd be spending my first proper mother's day crying at your grave.  Mourning your loss as fresh and raw as if it was June 8th all over again.

This weekend exhausted me.  Grief is exhausting.  Missing you is exhausting.  We both miss you so much and it's these little days that others take for granted that hammer home what we are missing.  The most important thing in our lives.  You.

Dear Andrew,

This always makes me think of you...

Dear Andrew,

I know I haven't written to you in awhile but as you know I am always thinking about you.  I always write you letters in my head as I'm falling asleep at night but never remember to actually write them down the next day.

Most of the time they are filled with how much I miss you and how much I love you.  They are filled with worry, regret, and sadness.  There are so many things that we are going to miss out on with you.  A whole lifetime of little milestones.  Your first smile, you starting to crawl, walk, talk, your first day of school, your first everything.  We are even going to miss the days where nothing significant happens but would still mean the world to us to have.  What we wouldn't give for the boring days or the stressful days of tears and tantrums.

We were in Cork this weekend visiting your father's family and spending time with your cousins.  I was trying to imagine what it would be like to have had you with us as a little nine month old hanging out with your two and a half year old cousin.  Would you be a happy baby?  Would you be a cranky baby?  How would the weekend have gone if you were with us?  And the odd thing was that I can't really picture it.  I can't imagine you past your newborn stage.  I have this block in my head as to what you should look like now.  Would you still have the little curls that you were born with?  What would your eyes look like?  I never saw your eyes and I always wish I had.  I think that is one of the biggest things I wonder about because it's what I always wondered about when you were in my belly.  I see other babies that were born around the same time as you and they look so different now.  You would have changed so much that my mind can't get around the fact that I don't know what you would look like.  We are so used to having this grief in our lives in place of a baby that this feels normal rather than the happiness we should be experiencing with you.

Even with your little brother I can't imagine what it will be like to have him home.  I don't dare to really thing about it.  I don't want to get my hopes up which is ridiculous because even behind the façade my hopes are already up.  I would be just as crushed if anything happens to this baby as when it happened it you.  I can't think about that but I also can't think about a happy ending.  It's limbo and it's a hard place to be at the moment.  I'm grieving for you and grieving the loss of my innocence in this pregnancy.  I know we are lucky that we conceived your little brother so quickly but it doesn't take away the pain we feel since losing you.  And it doesn't make things any easier.

I went to the store to buy your brother something after we found out he was a boy.  Something that would just be his since he is receiving everything we bought for you.  It was too difficult.  I came home and sobbed to your dad and bought you presents instead.  Its easier to buy little trinkets for your grave than to buy clothes for your little brother.  Something about that seems so wrong.  Thankfully your father understood and didn't know why I went by myself.  I didn't think anything of it originally.  But then there was a little onesie that said something about being a little brother and that really sent me over the edge.  Even when he is born there should be two of you.  We should have you and this little one.  It's always going to feel like something is missing no matter how many children we have.  Because we are missing our first baby.

I need you to watch over this little one.  I know I tell you that every time I visit you but this is your role as older brother.  Don't let anything happen to him and help him safely into this world.  We need you here with us more than ever.

We miss you.

We love you.

Dear Andrew,

Today is a big day.  Today is the day we find out if everything is ok with your little brother/sister and hopefully if they are a boy or a girl.  I've been a bundle of nerves for a few days now.  All I can think about is you and this little one which makes it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

I miss you so much and I miss the carefree feeling of your pregnancy.  Those days are long gone and making this pregnancy so much harder to enjoy.  Don't get me wrong, I love those little kicks and movements but a few hours without them and I am instantly worried.  It's a fear I never felt with you until the last few weeks.  I always worried about your movement towards the end.

I came to visit you this morning to have a chat just the three of us.  I hope you heard and are watching out for this little one.  I just miss you so much and wish you were here baby.

I love you.

Dear Andrew,

I have so many emotions with this pregnancy.

Grief at losing you.

Guilt at tying to have another baby so shortly after losing you.

Guilt for this baby.  Guilt that they aren't getting the same excitement that we had with you.

A touch of excitement for this baby but then the guilt comes back because should I be excited while still grieving for you?

Fear that something is going to go wrong again and I'll have to go through all of those horrible raw emotions all over again.

So the three are fear, guilt, and grief.  Which is sad because a new life should mean excitement, hope, and love.  While your father and I love this baby there is such a complexity of emotion that was absent in your pregnancy.  The naïve excitement of this pregnancy just isn't there.

Your father and I were talking about this baby's big ultrasound in a little over a week.  With you we were so excited.  We never really worried that anything would be wrong.  With this baby we can't even say everything will be ok.  And if everything is ok it doesn't mean we will get to keep them in the end.  You were a perfect and easy pregnancy but we still lost you at 41 weeks.  With the pregnancy it is like both of us have built a little barrier to try and protect ourselves.

With you we were guessing your gender and discussing names from six weeks.  We haven't had this discussion once yet and this baby will be twenty weeks on Wednesday.  Does this make us bad parents?  I hope not.  I hope it just makes us cautious parents.  I know when this baby arrives we will love him/her as much as we love you.  If anything were to happen to this baby we would be just as heartbroken as we were with you.  I think that is where the fear comes in.  We are afraid of losing this baby and the little baby conversions we used to have just hold a different significance now.  Even when we do talk about this baby you always come up in conversation.  You are never far from our minds and always impacting our emotions and the way we act.

Hopefully we are told your little brother or sister is healthy in ten days and it will lessen the worrying if only for a moment.  We could use a few moments to be worry free...even if its just a short reprieve.

On our way to the hospital we have to walk through a tunnel that echoes.  Your father always used to make noises in the tunnel on the way to the hospital.  He doesn't do that since we were told that you didn't have a heartbeat.  It's like this grief of losing you and the fear of anything happening to this baby have taken away the little things he used to do to show his excitement.  Maybe one day it will come back or maybe a little part of him died with you.  I know part of me died the day you did. 

We love you and miss you baby boy.

Dear Andrew,

I don't know if it's possible but as the time passes I feel like I miss you more.  I feel like your presence is missed more and more with every day, week, and month that passes.  Maybe I was just so emotionally overwhelmed by what happened that I'm only now processing it fully.

I just want to know why we didn't get to keep you.  Why did we go through 41 weeks and lose you the day before you were born?  I just can't get my head around what we did to deserve this.  I loved having you but the pain is unbearable sometimes.   We should have an eight and a half month old baby crawling around the house.  Instead we have all the pictures we will ever have of you and an empty nursery that has never been used.

I miss you so much and love you and am so sad without you.

Dear Andrew,

Happy Valentine's day.  Your dad gave me a lovely card today that included both you and your little brother or sister.  It was nice to see you included in these holidays.  I miss you so much.  We're going to come visit you tomorrow and make sure all this weather hasn't messed up your box too much.

Last Saturday was 8 months since your birth/death.  It hasn't gotten easier and some days are so hard.  I find myself being so emotional about your loss.  I don't know if its the hormones from your brother/sister but I am way more emotional than I was a few months ago.  Being back at work and thinking about what we should be doing is so hard and most days I don't want to accept that it has happened to me.  Most days I'd love to stay wrapped up in our house.  In this cocoon where I feel safe.  Where I don't have to worry about running into people.  Where I don't have to worry about what I'm going to say to people or how they are going to react.  But I guess that wouldn't be living.  And we've learned in the past eight months that life doesn't stop just because you died even though we would like it too.

We love you and miss you everyday.

Dear Andrew,

I am so angry.

Angry that you aren't here and that we will miss out on seeing you grow up.

Angry that I have your picture on my desk and no one has said a thing.  Everyone looks at it but no one says a word.

Angry that people won't acknowledge you.

Angry that a company I have worked for for ten years didn't even acknowledge your death.

Angry that people seem to think your little brother or sister is a reason to completely forget about you.

Angry that your little brother or sister isn't yet surrounded by the same excitement that we had with you (but hopeful that will change with time).

Angry that very few people understand what your father and I have gone through.  I wish I could show them a video of those first few weeks when we lost you.  I want people to understand that we are still grieving!

Angry that your grandmothers feel the need to comment on every part of this pregnancy.  One won't stop talking about C-sections and the other is talking about having someone stay with your little brother or sister a few weeks after birth.  I will have this baby the best way the consultant sees fit.  And I will not be giving this baby to anyone for a long time!  Your father and I just want your little bro/sis so badly after losing you that I can't imagine not having him/her with us at all times.

I think I'm just angry all the time.

I can't get my head around the fact that we lost you.  I can't accept that the day before you died you were fine and the next day you were gone.  How does that happen?  How do you have a healthy baby for 41 weeks and then on 41+1 they are dead?  How do you get over giving birth to a baby who was dead?  How do you get over the fact that you carried a dead baby?

All these questions that I will never really get answers to.  Eventually I will learn to live with it but I will always miss you and always love you and a part of me will never accept that you are gone.

Dear Andrew,

Returning to work has been tough as I'm sure you know.  So few people mention you.  People act like  I was away on holidays for the past seven months and not mourning your loss.  I don't need people to mention you all the time but it's awkward to return from maternity leave and have a group of fourteen people where only three have mentioned anything about you.

There have been lots of sneaky bathroom tears and it's only been three weeks.  A girl on maternity leave at the same time as me brought her baby in for everyone to see.  I didn't get a warning and happened upon her in work.  That sent me for a loop. I can usually handle these things but I think I need more warning to psych myself up.  I wasn't ready and it definitely sent me to the bathroom in tears for a little while.

My boss also had a baby six weeks ago and sits across from me at work.  Everyday someone comes up to talk to him about babies and congratulate him.  It's lovely for him and I don't want to take away from his happiness but these are the same people who haven't acknowledged your loss.  It makes me feel like such an outcast that people can't even acknowledge you but they will acknowledge all these other babies.  You existed!  I gave birth to all nine pounds of you!!  Why can't people take that into consideration when completely ignoring the fact that I am still mourning you?  How can they be so callous as to ignore your very existence in my life?

It's tough.  As tough as I thought it would be but I'm managing.  I just miss you and crave acknowledgment of you from people outside of friends and immediate family.

I love you and miss you baby boy.

Dear Andrew,

I made it through my first week of work and it wasn't that bad.  I survived and now I'm one week closer to hopefully meeting your brother or sister.

I had a bit of a melt down at work today though.  One of the girls who went on maternity leave before me brought her baby in today.  I wasn't prepared and I wasn't expecting it.  I couldn't even look or talk to her.  I just went in the bathroom and cried.  And then I felt bad for ignoring her.  But I wasn't prepared and it just hit me out of the blue.  Then I came home and fell apart telling your father.

I just miss you so much and want you here.  I want chubby cheeks, baby giggles, and a little person crawling all over the house.

I miss you and love you.

Dear Andrew,

Today was exhausting.  It was the first day back at work and I can tell no one knows how to act around me.  Which is ok as I'd prefer they kind of leave me to my own devices.  You were awkwardly mentioned and then dropped quickly once I started to tear up.  But I understand.  Tears make people uncomfortable and knowing where those tears are coming from makes them even more uncomfortable.  Stillbirth is not something people want to talk about.  But I thought of you all day long.  I wore my necklace with your name on it and your little locks of hair inside.  I always like to have that with me since it is literally a little piece of you.

I find myself so emotional with every change now.  Leaving you for the holidays, your dad going back to work, and now me going back to work.  The smallest thing makes me teary.  I always think I am doing ok but I wasn't like this before you.  I faced everything head on.  I was confident in my work.  I can't say any of those things anymore.

Now I have trouble keeping eye contact.  I don't like to be in crowds.  I have nightmares about losing other family members and wake up crying.  The other night I dreamt about you and just stopped myself from screaming as I woke up.  I'm a completely different person and it's hard to accept.  I'm a bit more fragile but also aware of what I can handle now.  I survived losing my first son.  I'm still here so a part of me has to be tougher than I was before. 

I just miss you so much and you are always on my mind no matter where I am.

I love you.

Dear Andrew,

Today was emotional. I don't know if it's because I'm going back to work tomorrow or it was just a day where your loss hit harder.

We were visiting your grave today. Your father and I were chatting with you like we always do. We started talking about what you should be doing now. Crawling around this tiny apartment and wreaking havoc. And it hit me.  The reality of our situation. We never get to see your cute little face again. I never even saw what your eyes looked like. Most days I can keep it together but today it made me sad. More sad than usual,

After our visit we came home and I started going through your things. I wanted to put your blankets in bags to protect them for the next few months. And it hit me again. All these tiny socks and shoes and pjs that were bought for you and never used. A whole room for you that you never slept in. It's so heartbreaking. I can push it to the back of my mind most days but not today.

I miss you so much. Seeing your hospital clothes in the memory box with your tiny bear really brought it home again. I just want you here and can't understand why we had to lose you. It's just not fair.

I love you and miss you so much baby boy.

Dear Andrew,

There were a lot of people talking about you today me, your dad, our consultant, the midwives.  It was nice to see that even though we are (God willing) having a little brother or sister for you that you won't be forgotten.  We will never forget you but I like when other people say your name.  They put your name all over your little brother/sister's file.  One of the midwives even said that you will be looking out for number two.  All I could say was I hope so.  But deep down I know you have to be.  You have to be there somewhere willing your little brother/sister along the way.

Today was emotional but I always knew it would be.  I was a mess yesterday.  I couldn't sleep last night.  I was convinced there was something wrong with this little one.  What a complete 180 from how I was with you, right?  I don't remember ever worrying with you except at the end when I was counting those kicks.  Even that didn't save you.

I always forget how nice people can be and how surprised I am every time they are nice.  Your death has been so isolating that my expectations from people are practically non-existent.  I'm used to people ignoring us or feeling uncomfortable around us because of what happened.  But today was so different.  Once they saw the letter about your cord accident at 41 weeks they brought us straight in and kept saying they were sorry for your loss.  They talked about handling us with kid gloves and how your little brother or sister won't go to 40 weeks.  Your poor little bro/sis is going to be getting evicted early.  We won't be letting him/her laze about in there like you were allowed to do.

We will be getting a scan at 20 weeks to check for growth and issues.  But we also get another growth scan at 34 weeks to see how your little sibling is growing and how soon we will be able to evict them.  I wish we had gotten this level of care for you.  Not that you needed it as you were perfect and I wasn't the emotional mess that I am now.

Thankfully your father was with me.  He was impressed I held it together for so long.  Sometimes I think he thinks I would just walk around crying all the time if it were up to me!  But he was good and he was there supporting all of us just like he did with you.  I know he was a little anxious as well because once they pulled #2 up on the scan he was right up there looking for that heartbeat.

I miss you so much baby.  I wish your fat little face was here smiling and giggling at us.  But it isn't and we have dealt with and are still dealing with this terrible loss.  It was nice though to feel like we were going to be cared for and that the midwives understood what we were going through.  Now we need you to help us through this.  We need you close to watch and care for your sibling while helping them make it here alive and healthy.

I love you.

Dear Andrew,

I'm scared for tomorrow. It's our first meeting with the consultant for your little brother or sister. I hope with every fiber of my being that he/she is ok. Can we take anymore bad news? Probably. But that doesn't mean I want to.

I'm sad all the time. A part of me died with you that I'll never get back. I would just like a little happiness to help with the dark days.

Right now I keep having nightmares. Mostly about losing this baby but some about you too. It took a lot not to wake up screaming after the last one. And I often wake up crying. I would just like some happiness to temper the desperate all consuming sadness that envelops me sometimes.

I hope you are happy wherever you are baby boy. We love you.

Dear Andrew,

Tomorrow I am going to work to meet up with my boss. I have to admit I'm nervous. Will they even mention you? How awkward is this meeting going to be? How will it feel to be back there?

I think tomorrow and the next few weeks are going to bring a lot of emotions to the surface. The next few weeks are going to be very raw. There are people who might not have heard what happened to you. I don't want to explain what happened to anyone. In reality I don't want to see or talk to anyone. But that's probably not realistic. In fact, it's definitely not realistic. 

I hope they do mention you tomorrow but I should be realistic about that too. It's so disappointing that this is now my life. I knew I would have to go back to work but I just never wanted to face it.  

I miss you and I hope I'm strong enough to get through these extra hurdles in life that come with losing you.

I love you.