For Anna.

Sweet Annaliah:

I call you sweet, because I believe with all my heart that you are. I'm writing this to you, wishing so very much that I wasn't. It's not that I don't want to tell you these things... it's that I wish I could. But you see, you're not with daddy and me. You're with Jesus. And even though I know it's better for you there than anything I have ever known or even imagined... I wish you were here.

It's strange, really. We're coming up fast on the anniversary of that day. That day when I just couldn't shake the notion that something wasn't right. That you were not okay. That day when your daddy and I waited in that dingy room for the ultrasound technician to call us back. I remember looking down at my stomach... round, obviously the stomach of a mommy, and feeling so empty. As soon as the technician started, I saw it. I saw that there was no motion. No heartbeat. Just silence. She turned the screen away, finished up, and told us the doctor would see us back at the clinic. I knew, without a doubt, that you had gone home.

I remember riding home, clinging desperately to the doctor's words... maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you were really still okay. And knowing without any doubt at all that you weren't. I was so afraid of what it was going to do to your daddy.

There's something you need to know, sweet Anna. Now, you are surrounded by the ultimate love - the best love - the most perfect love. Here on earth, you wouldn't have known that same love. Because everything here is flawed. But I promise you, you would still have known love. Intense, thrilling, quiet, comforting love. Your daddy and I aren't perfect, but we loved you. We still love you. We're not the only ones... you have an advantage over some kids - you don't have four grandparents - you have FIVE. You've got your YiaYia, your Papa, your Pops, your Gramma Kelly, and your Gramma Sheri. You've got great-grandparents too. Your aunt Cari and uncle Joel would have loved to spoil you. But guess what? They're going to meet you one day. Won't that be great?

I can tell you right now, without any hint of doubt, that as long as I breathe, you will not be forgotten. Not long after we found out that you'd already gone Home, I prayed desperately for comfort. That same night, I had a dream. A wonderful dream, in which I held you. You were so beautiful. And I woke up. It's strange, sweetheart. I don't know if the dream was from God or not. But I do know that the comfort and peace that filled my heart afterwards could not have come from anyone else.

I've been seeking that comfort a lot lately. I've been trying very hard to be thankful, and I am thankful for all that God has done. But sometimes, my heart hurts so much. I miss you Anna. And I miss your Great-Gramma Eileen. And I know that love is not envious, but sometimes I am jealous that you two have eachother and I don't have either one of you. But then I remember...

I remember shaking as I watched that tiny pink line appear on the test. I remember my Gramma's face when I told her. I remember your YiaYia's tears and exhuberant (as always) rejoicing. Your Pops drove through town with the windows down, telling everyone he was going to be a Grampa. I have never seen your daddy so excited. None of them ever got to know you, but somehow you left your mark on this world. We are all glad to have known you.

And I remember reading my Gramma's words the night she died. She had written that she wondered if she would ever get to hold her great-grandchildren. Anna, I can't begin to imagine the joy she felt that day. Little did any of us know - she got to hold you first.

I'm going to go now. I just wanted to tell you that I'm thinking about you today. I think about you a lot of days - so does your daddy. We wish we could know you now. You'd be two and a half now. I picture you with silky brown hair - like your Aunt Cari. Lots of smiles, like your daddy. You'd be running around, talking, laughing.

Love,
Mommy