My dearest little Lucy,

Another month has passed; another month missing the baby who is still very much a part of my life. My thoughts have been lingering on you quite a bit the past couple of days. That’s not unusual, but I’ve really been feeling the bittersweetness of your absence with renewed vigor.

Maybe I’ve just been able to improve my awareness of you with the small sleep increase your baby brother has allowed me. The signs are all around, only now I’m seeing them better. Though it’s totally silly, I had a moment earlier when I glanced at the microfiber bath mat in the bathroom. It almost looked like a small footprint, like that of a big girl two-year-old, imprinted there on the mat. I instantly smiled, however sad a smile it was, and wished it were an actual footprint made by you.

I said your name aloud to Everett earlier in the nursery, and there was something so therapeutic about hearing myself speak your name to him. In my baby talk voice, I said to him that I was so thankful you brought him to me. Whenever I’ve made you a part of our moments together, he is calm, looking at me with knowing eyes, as if he truly does know what I’m saying… as if he knows his big sister. I’d like to think he does.

Last night, in the quiet late hours, I was snuggling your wide-awake brother, since sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. I’ve spent so much time just looking at him, soaking up the moment, my heart swelling with pride and more love than I can even contain. I was doing just that when suddenly I was missing you so much. It hit me like a strong gust of wind, and there I was, crying. I wished then what I always wish for: that you both could be here with me. I wish I could have had all of the snuggles and moments with you too. I can’t possibly measure the intense love I feel for both of you, but I felt the full volume of that love just then. It took my breath away. Oh, if only, my dear.

You’ve been the divine inspiration for my patience and tolerance these past weeks. Whenever I get overwhelmed, I stop for a moment and think of you. I take a breath and can almost feel you there, and then I’m flooded with love and my patience surges back. You’ve made me a better mother to your baby brother. I can sense your light often, especially when I’m missing you or just need a moment, and it rejuvenates me. I find that I can laugh more easily and see the humor in the ridiculousness of life and even in the shenanigans that inevitably accompany having a newborn baby. Like, for example when little man peed in his own hair while spitting up at the same time… it’s unbelievable how far a baby boy can pee! Instead of getting frustrated or overwhelmed, I simply laugh and enjoy the adventure. You bring out my laughter and gentleness, and I know it’s so good for Everett. Thank you for making me a better person every day, little one.

I’ve been struggling with Infant Loss Awareness month this time around. It’s the third October without you, and sometimes it makes me feel so empty and a little lost. I don’t know why. I guess my imagination has been kickstarted again with the magical change of having Everett here with us, because since he’s been home, I imagine you with so much more clarity. I can’t help but envision what it ought to be like with you actively being a big sister. It makes me miss you more. That’s hard and I can’t find ways to express my feelings surrounding your loss lately. Though a lot of it had to do with sleep deprivation and taking care of a newborn, I couldn’t write an article for Still Standing and get it in on time this month. Strangely enough, it felt like I was failing you by not being able to do that. It’s a little bit because I can’t find the words lately either. There’s so much I’m not doing to honor you these days, especially in the midst of this remembrance month. I realized just now though that the things I’m not doing are the things that are obvious to others. Perhaps that’s okay, because within my heart and mind, there’s so much being done to honor and love you. I know that’s where it counts, and maybe I need to practice some of that patience I keep finding on myself. I’m working on that.

Your little brother is starting to fuss now, asking to be fed, so I have to conclude this for now. I hope you know that you’re such a part of me and my inner dialogue. Sometimes I wonder if that makes me closer to you than to anyone physically here in my life. I treasure that idea, as  I treasure you. I love you so much Lucy. I miss you.

Love Always,

Mommy