Dear Samuel,

It’s been two months since your birthday. We’ve framed the picture of the three of us (you, me, and Daddy), and displayed it in the living room in front of the branch and nest Boo and Aunt Tulisa got for me after the funeral. Sometimes it’s hard to believe this has all happened, so I’m glad to have things like branches, nests, and photographs to remember that you were, indeed, here.

It’s beginning to rain, rather than snow, and I am enjoying the sound of thunder lately. Things are beginning to turn green. Spring. Daddy and I like to hike in the spring and summer–we dreamed of taking you with us in a sling to show you beautiful things… like birds… bugs… flowers… trees… clouds in the sky… When I was pregnant with you and people asked when you were due, I would tell them I was expecting a spring baby. A lovely spring baby. I was so happy. I didn’t expect what has happened. You’ve changed us forever, Baby Boy.

Uncle Ben will be bringing a bouquet to your grave in a few days. I am anticipating what would have been your due date, and my heart is sad that I can’t be by your grave more often, especially for that day. Uncle Ben assures me he is keeping an eye on things for me. He is going to take pictures for me. He tells me the flowers are blooming around there, and that he makes sure the cows stay away from your resting spot. Soon, Baby, I will visit. Someday I will be close enough to visit often.

I got a haircut today, and the stylist was appalled at the condition of my hair! I told her how long it had been since I had a haircut, and it made me think about how many months ago it was that we learned you had been conceived– what a happy day! Baby boy, did you know you have my curls? And your Daddy’s nose? And I’m pretty sure you stole my eyelashes because mine went from thick to thin, and I wondered where they went until you were born, and I saw that you had them. So that’s where they went! You were so tiny, but it was so apparent that you were… that you are… our son. You looked like us. Every day, I wish I could kiss your face again. You were just like I had imagined you would be. I even loved the things the doctors said were “wrong” about you. Sometimes those were the things I especially loved.

There is no more baby furniture in the alcove. I have gathered all of the letters people wrote to you and all of your things into a box. I tried to save everything I could. I am writing down little memories about you so that I can read and re-read them over the years. Some of your things went into another box that is waiting for your little brother or sister. It’s hard to hope for good things like that when such a sad thing happened, but hope is the best thing I could have done for you. Your existence cultivated a strong hope in me. And hope is the best thing I can do now. For me. For Daddy. For your siblings. For you. I hope to see you again someday.

Oh, Sammy, I wish I were still holding you. I’ll always hold you in my heart. You’ve changed me. You’ve made me a mother. You will always be my firstborn. This was all so hard, and my heart is broken over it all, but you were the good thing in all of this. You were what made all the tears worthwhile.

The weekend we learned that something was wrong, we were waiting to learn the diagnosis and were praying that we wouldn’t lose you. We heard this song, and we felt like it was yours. Today, it still makes us think about you and hope for you even stronger than we hoped for you when you were alive. Now we’re back to the beginning it says, and that’s how it feels for me right now. It’s just a feeling and no one knows yet, but just because they can’t feel it too doesn’t mean that you have to forget. I don’t have to forget, and I won’t. I love you, Baby Boy.



One thought on “Dear Samuel,

  1. There are no words to express how broken my heart is for you…how I wish Sammy was here…in your arms…right now. You are right…you don’t have to forget…you can’t. Such a tiny little boy with such tremendous impact….our little warrior…Sammy. I love you, momma

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