Dear Darling Ada,
Even though I don’t know who you were going to be or even what you were going to look like, I love you more than anything. Your daddy and I talked and talked about you. We dreamed about you. We wanted you so badly. We wondered if you would be a scientist like your mommy or a software engineer like your daddy and your namesake, Ada Lovelace. We wondered if you would be an artist. We wanted to give you every opportunity to be the best you that you could be and make sure nothing could hold you back. We wondered if you would have blond hair and blue eyes, whether your eyes and nose would be big like mine. We so very much looked forward to teaching you to love this world, to love nature and plants and animals and science.
I miss you in a way that I have never missed anyone before. I miss having you inside me, even though I only felt you move once. I miss the way you would bump up against your daddy’s belly when we hugged, embracing each other and embracing you. I miss the promise of having you grow big in my belly, of feeling you move and kick, of holding you in my arms, of feeding you and taking care of you, bathing you and dressing you. I miss the promise of your cries and your smiles, your first words, your first steps. I miss the promise of learning who you are, of helping you to discover yourself. I miss the promise of watching your daddy lovingly take care of you. I miss the promise of the joy you would have brought to us, to your grandparents, to the world.
We expected you at the end October, and we were giddy with the idea of future Halloween birthday parties, with everyone dressed up and having fun just for you. Instead, you arrived at the end of June. Your daddy picked me a rose from our garden that morning, before we found out you were gone, and roses are the birth flower for June. I will always think of you when I see a rose, and I will tend the roses in our garden in your memory. The thorns will remind me of how precious life is, even when it hurts. Every fourth of July, I will imagine that the fireworks are for you, a celebration of your short life. For your memorial, we will spread your ashes in a place with trees so your atoms can be taken up and turned into new life. We will visit your trees and remember.
I didn’t know I could cry so much. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want you back so bad it feels like my heart is not just broken but missing. Bringing you into the world hurt more than I have ever hurt before, but I would have endured so much more if it would have helped you. I hate that I don’t know what happened to you or even when you died. I hate that my body or your body or just biology failed you. I hate that I didn’t have a chance to try for you, to struggle for you, to try to save you. I would have gladly died to save you, I still would, if that would change anything.
You are loved so much, our darling little girl. So tiny, so perfect, so beautiful. I treasured every moment that I held you, even though your life had already ended. There could have never been enough time for me to look at your tiny face and hold you close to my heart. I would have held you forever if I could. As much as it hurts my heart and my body, I don’t regret having you, even though you were with us for such a short time. You will always be my daughter, my first born. I will always be your mother. You will always be in my heart, in my thoughts, in my deeds. I want to be better for you, and for your siblings if we are so lucky to have them. I love you forever.