Letters to Andrew

Dear Andrew,

I cannot get the memory of sitting in our car after finding out you were a boy out of my head these days. It had nothing to do with gender, and still doesn't. It's all about the person you were that made your identity known to us in that moment. We fell in love, so in love. We're still in love.

I was writing an email to someone named Andrea the other day and could not prevent myself, even while being very conscious, from slipping and writing your name instead. One letter off and something I'm so familiar typing. Your name. Not so much in manuscript, but typing, often. I loved making that mistake. 

No matter the distance and no matter the amount of time we had with you those short 38.5 weeks, you are always missed. Every last inch of you is missed and even the (many more) inches you would be now. The words you would be speaking, the food you would be enjoying, the birthday party theme you'd choose and Halloween costume you would select. All missed.

Your brother saw a picture of your little feet this morning and immediately said, "Those feet are Andrew's." You may have never been introduced, but the missing is not an ounce less. In fact, it's grows with each sibling we've added to the family, one more person missing your daily presence.

Mom, Dad and your younger siblings, Benjamin & Claire miss you.

Love (Abundantly),

Mom

Letters to Andrew: 4th Birthday Edition

Just over a month before Andrew was born, we were sitting in a soccer stadium in downtown Chicago watching my cousin's game with my aunt and my cousin's girlfriend (now wife-- Benjamin went to the wedding in 2012). I remember telling her how nervous I was to give birth because it was scary and foreign and sounded, well, painful.

I vividly remember her telling me that no matter how much pain, in the end, we will get to take home the most wonderful gift ever when it's all over. Those words are burned in my memory, because that never happened. All the pain, none of the gain. {Well, the love during pregnancy and beyond is most assuredly a gain, but not without an immense amount of emotional pain that will never end.}

Not pain and then gain. How I wish that were so.

----

Dear Andrew,

You are absolutely missed. Every single day of my life, I miss you. There will never be a birthday that we don't celebrate you, or a holiday, first day of school, soccer practice, park visit, family vacation that you go unmissed.

On your fourth birthday, I miss the preschool-aged boy you would be. I miss the boy who would be starting to read and getting excited for selecting his birthday party theme and blowing out those four candles tonight. I miss every bit of it.

Always Loving,
Mom, Dad, Benjamin & Claire.

Letters to Andrew + Invitation

If you will join me, please unite in lighting candles to remember the babies at 7 p.m. this evening.

Small Bird Studio

Dear Andrew,

I almost wrote "sweet" Andrew, but really, who knows who you would have been. You might have been spunky, but I presume more circumspect than your younger brother. I think you would've been an intellect and someone who was easy to please. I guess I can't picture you being anything but wonderful because that's the dream I had for you as a baby growing for those nearly 39 weeks.

One thing is certain; the person you would have been has left a gaping hole in our family. I always said I wanted two children, but missing you makes me sure I want three. Except, I have three and you're not here. If I had one more, I would feel like I want four. I will always want you.

Missing and loving and lighting a candle that is not enough, because we love you.

Love,
Mom

Letters to Andrew {6}

The day we arrived home empty-handed from the hospital after losing Andrew, we immediately re-booked our flights from California to Florida instead. Our California trip was scheduled for a post-baby shower and to introduce Andrew to all of our friends and family. With no baby to bring, we chose to change our itinerary altogether and booked a cruise to the Bahamas. It wasn't meant to be a vacation and we didn't look forward to it. We were far too sad to look forward to anything. I couldn't even manage to understand how I'd make it another day, let alone look forward to a trip we'd take a few months from that date.

This time, we set out for the islands again, but this time a bit further into the West Indies. Somehow, I feel connected to Andrew when we travel to that region, because he was so close to me then. He was still so fresh in my mind and it was days and not years since I'd held him for the one and only time.

On one of the days we spent on St. Kitts, we took a taxi to Cockleshell Beach at the Southern tip of the island, looking on to Nevis, the sister island and other half of the small country. The entire beach was pretty desolate as there were no cruise ships docked that day. There were other families with their children playing in the calm waters and people dining at the two restaurants. We took walks up and down the narrow shoreline and spent the time on shaded beach chairs with the only sound coming from the crashing waves and a rooster that couldn't seem to figure out his place in life.

I felt an overwhelming need to see his name in the sand, so I wrote it. A few times, actually. The waves wanted to wash it away and I needed to see it.

Beloved Andrew,

I don't shower what's left of you with kisses quite as much as I did in the earlier days of missing you. I don't cry as much... though just typing that has reduced me to big alligator tears. It upsets your brother to see me crying, so it's a good thing he's napping right now. The magnitude of losing you still catches me by surprise when I think of just how much we lost on that dreary day in December. 

I read an article this week about a celebrity who had a late miscarriage and was deeply saddened by the loss. There were comments from ignorant strangers that made me so angry. They didn't understand that an entire life and all of the plans that came with that precious life were gone. It's been a long time since I felt injustice and anger about losing you. Those feelings came right back up when I read about others trivializing that baby's life.

When we were in St. Kitts with your little brother this past weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about you. There were many children at our resort. Many that were about the age you would be now. My heart will always wonder and ache for the boy and man you should become.

We arrived back in Chicago to cold, just as we did when you died and after that Bahamas trip we took because you died. The winter chill stings my soul and mocks us with its presence. 

We miss you. There's nothing more to say about it, but I'll keep saying it. It can never quantify how much, as the words are just not powerful enough. I love you. 

Love, 
Mom

Letters to Andrew {5}

Dear Andrew,

I sat down with your little brother and opened your photo book today. It shocks me still just how beautiful you were. We've had a rough week around here celebrating what should've been your 2nd birthday. We had dinner at a place we think you would've loved and made sure to enjoy some bakery treats that evening. Your little brother even enjoyed a bit of a gingerbread cookie in your honor.

I didn't ask friends or family to take photos or send me anything this year like we did last year. I guess I just wanted the day to go by as fast as possible. But wasn't I surprised to receive emails and text messages and phonecalls and pictures of all the wonderful things people did for you and ways they celebrated your life. So many delicious desserts (complete with #2 candles and your name!), random acts of kindness, and kind words, all for a boy we love and miss so much. {Thank you so much, all of you.}

It's impossible to think about the road ahead and how many more years of our lives we'll spend missing you.

But in the meantime, we're trying to make you proud.

Loving You Always,

Mom, Dad & Benjamin

Letters to Andrew {4}

Baby Boy,

We've come full circle now. It's officially been marked 1 year since we held your precious body and admired your perfect face. There is so much pressure that leads up to the 1 year mark of missing your child. And to make it all the more solemn, it happens every year around the holidays when it seems everyone else in the world is carrying on peacefully and joyously.

We're definitely not feeling the spirit this year. Last year was shock and numbness, and this year is outright denial and boycotting. Not a single decoration is up in our home. We try not to allow the what ifs to creep in, but man is that hard to avoid this time of year-- especially as we know quite a few other babies born around the time of your birth that are now celebrating their first year of life with cake, chubby cheeks, and first steps. A reminder of all we've missed. We had all those same hopes, dreams, and wishes for you as well. You were going to make us the luckiest people in the world and we were so honored to be your parents. While still your parents, we're still in shambles over how to handle grieving the life of a child, you,  we so desperately wanted and loved from conception. It's just not natural to say goodbye to a child and it still doesn't feel fair.

I'll never get over losing you, sweet boy. In honor of you today, so many wonderful people have done so many wonderful things. I'm overwhelmed by their love and support for you. I am in tears everytime someone shares a way your life has impacted the lives of others.

You truly are our love child. You were created and formed entirely out of love and we are so grateful to call you our son. We will miss you forever. There's just no question about it. As beautiful as can be and now only a memory. What makes this all even harder is knowing everyday is that much further away from feeling your sweet kicks and seeing your incredibly beautiful face.

Loving you and missing you beyond what our words can ever express.
xoxo
Mom & Dad

Letters to Andrew {2}

Dear Andrew,

Today marks another sad day for me. Your dad and I miss you very much. You'd be 5 whole months today. I'm sure you'd be growing like a weed and I'd be writing obnoxiously wonderful things like, "Andrew's getting so big--he's already grown out of his 6 month clothes and he's only 5 months old!" Instead, I just speak of you in past tense because I have no new stories of you to type.

I was walking downstairs this morning to grab some breakfast before work and saw the greatest beam of light shining through the crack of your nursery door. It made me sad and comforted all at the same time. It's amazing how that happens.

This exact day last year was our very first doctor's appointment. I already knew it, but we were having a baby and that baby was you! We walked into the OB's office quite smugly that we managed to become pregnant so quickly and efficiently. We wanted you more than anything else in the world and still very much want you.

In three days, it's Mother's Day. I can't even begin to imagine all the wonderful things we could've done together on that day. I picture walks in the park, wearing you in the Baby Bjorn, strolling along the riverwalk, having brunch at a quaint restaurant, and snuggling on the couch. Instead, your dad and I will be working on one of those distraction projects we started to get our minds off of the sadness we carry.

Missing you is no simple task. Tonight, I light your candle. At 9:04, the minute you were born 5 months ago today, I light the candle that I placed in your nursery before you were born. It's now downstairs on a bookshelf and I often catch a whiff of you when I walk by. I love that smell. I thought to buy every one of those candles from Amazon so I'd never run out of smelling you. There truly isn't anything I'd rather have than you here with me right now. You'd think I'd have run out of tears by now, but it turns out there is an unending supply in one's body.

We love you so incredibly, incredibly much.

Love,
Mom

p.s. That word seems so foreign to type. It breaks my heart.

Letters to Andrew {1}

My mom recommended I write a letter to Andrew a few months ago and it hasn't felt right... until now. It's March 5th. Today, under "normal" circumstances, I'd have a baby boy that just turned 3 months old. I don't know how many letters I'll write, but I numbered this one just in case.

Dear Baby Andrew,

Today is full of sadness for me. First, it's the 3-month anniversary of your birth, which means we've gone 3 whole months without you in our lives. Second, it's Saturday. You know how I feel about Saturdays since they are family days-- it's not the same without having you here. We're a family of 3 minus 1. Finding the energy to enjoy today is already a battle. The weather is cold. Snow is flurrying outside. It's days like this when I wish we were living in Cali at the beach again.

I wonder what you are like right now. Will you always be the 7lb.6oz. baby I birthed? Are you growing up in heaven just like all the other babies that are born and still here on earth? I truly don't know what a 3-month old would be like since you are the only baby we've ever conceived. I haven't read the milestones for 3-month old babies because it's too painful to know what we're missing as we cannot watch you grow.

Another thing I think about a lot is that you won't ever get to experience meeting your amazing dad. He is so supportive and the most loving person I've ever met. I bet you would have been just like him. You really looked like him when you were born. I was amazed at how much you looked like both of us. Your dad is so mild-mannered and was so proud to be your father.

So here we are, carrying on in life without you. It's as painful as it was when we found out you went to heaven. Someday we hope to make you a big brother. Our family will never be entirely complete without you here, though. Know that I love you with my entire heart and think of you every single day.

Love,
Mom