Dear Nora,
The last five months have truly been a roller coaster. We’ve had ups, downs and loops in which I didn’t know which way was up or down. Two days ago I had a really bad day. I missed you intensely and I’m not sure what triggered it. I was surrounded by family, but all I could feel was your absence. Last night I went to bed thinking about that as I snuggled the blanket you were wrapped in, like I do every night. I love how that blanket still smells like you. I don’t how it does, but I’m grateful for it. Five months later I can sometimes still feel your weight.
Today was an emotionally complicated day. I remember once, while you were still safe in my womb, saying to your dad through sobs that I never wanted you to feel like we didn’t want you because your heart wasn’t “perfect.” To us you were absolutely perfect and we wanted you more than we can articulate. I said that because we’d been having a conversation about whether or not we thought we’d ever want to try to have another baby. We knew no baby could ever replace you. No baby would ever fill the hole you were going to leave in our hearts and I never wanted you to think that we felt as though someone could.
Part of me thinks that’s why things happened the way they did. Maybe you had somehow even had a hand in it all. We’d decided that we wanted you to know only love and comfort for your life. We were protecting you, or at least trying to. Yet, maybe you protected us too. Just maybe things worked out this way so that we couldn’t fear that you’d think we only let you go because of your perfectly imperfect heart or feel like we would ever be trying to replace you. In one, small way, it’s a beautiful gift.
When we continued the conversation long after you’d been born about whether we’d want to try for another baby and if so, when, we weren’t fearful of any of that. We were more fearful of experiencing this all over again, but in one of those conversations I remember telling your dad that, “I think Nora would love to be a big sister.” With that, we both cried and I think our decision was made. While our family will always have a hole that only you could fill, it still didn’t feel complete. I truly do think you’d like to be a big sister.
I don’t know what made me take a test this morning, but I did. The chances were extremely slim and honestly nearly non-existent that it would be positive. At the same time, something told me to take it. My heart started racing when the first line appeared. I wanted to cry, scream and laugh all at once. I was shaking and I had to come up with something quick because I couldn’t go all day without telling your dad.
He was downstairs making breakfast for your sisters and I came down the stairs as calmly as I could. In that moment I could feel my heart beat in my entire face. I took out these little polish pottery bowls and set them each on the counter. I bought them on a visit to Poland with a dear friend when I was pregnant with you. I’d wanted a set that we could use with guests, maybe for dessert, but there were only five bowls in the pattern I loved. I decided it was perfect, one for each of us. Maybe we could use them for sundaes the night before the first day of school or for yogurt on Saturday mornings. It was a sign that there were only five. I was so excited to use them. Then we got your diagnosis. I haven’t been able to use them since because the sight of them made this aching sadness bloom inside me. But here we possibly are again, so I pulled them all out and put them on the counter. I asked your dad if we were all having oatmeal for breakfast. He responded by confusingly explaining to me that he was planning on making eggs for he and I, something he’d already told me earlier. “Oh” I said, “well I just got out a bowl for everyone.” Silence followed the statement that he didn’t want oatmeal. “I just wasn’t sure so I took out one bowl for everyone in the family.” Your sisters’ heads were blocking them a bit, but once he could actually see them and process that there were five of them he asked if I was telling him something. We both got tearful as we hugged in our excitement and trepidation.
You’re going to be a big sister, Nora. Something puts me at peace in feeling that you’re happy too. While I’m scared and absolutely worried that I’m going to be a ball of stress until I can see this baby’s heart beating on an ultrasound, I am also hopeful. So far, I alternate between being terrified, feeling selfish, and feeling complete peace about this baby. I love you my Nora and I still miss you all the time.
Love Mommy,
Originally written to Nora August 09, 2021
Dear Nora 