A letter to you, on what could have been your birthday

When the digital test said "Pregnant" in August, we were thrilled. Nervous, admittedly, but thrilled. I immediately went to an online calculator to find out when we might be able to expect to meet you in person, and April 13, 2008 became a date forever written in my heart. I could hardly wait for today to arrive, so full of hope and expectation.

When we found out something was wrong with your heart, I was lost and sad and angry. I felt spiritually lost, which is definitely not an unfamiliar feeling for me. I was tempted to pray that everything would be okay, that the doctors were wrong in their reading of the ultrasound images, that seeing your heart beating was a more important fact than seeing it do so irregularly, that maybe part of your heart was obscured by something else in there, that anything was true other than that we would have to say goodbye to you. Instead I prayed for the strength to get through whatever came next. I prayed every day, multiple times per day. I can't think of any other time in my life when I've prayed so hard.

Tomorrow it will have been seven months since we were surgically separated, a surgery made necessary by the fact that you appeared to be having as tough a time saying goodbye as I was. I don't think a day has passed that I haven't thought about you. In the end, my prayers were answered, as I had the strength to survive losing you, though the me that came out the other end of the experience is decidedly different from the one you might have met today. But I can't help but wonder if I should have asked for more, if perhaps I should have set my sights higher and prayed for what I truly wanted rather than what I thought God would be likely to give me. I'm so sorry if, in that, I failed you, failed to do enough to protect you and will your heart to continue beating.

Know that I love you with all my heart and will always miss you, forever and always.