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Sunday, March 26, 2017

A Letter to Jordan

It's March 26th, 2017.  It's chilly and dreary today - not like I would have wanted it to be.  I guess yesterday would have made for a perfect first birthday party.  Most people do parties on Saturdays and yesterday was beautiful.  It was a warm 70-75 degrees.  I can only imagine the birthday possibilities I could have had with that weather, especially in March when it's so unlikely.


Dear Jordan,

I have been anticipating this day all year, partially with excitement, partially with worry and a little bit of sadness.  I feel excitement because I enjoy celebrating you.  I know many women who choose to grieve the lost of their babes that they never got to meet differently, and I find nothing wrong in that.  But you are a life worth celebrating.  I don't know if it's because I was lucky enough to hear your heartbeat at just a mere 5 weeks 6 days or if it's just because that's the kind of person I am.  I felt worry with this day approaching.  Worry in mostly that I would forget or miss it - so I wrote it in my planner and put it in my phone.  I didn't want to forget.  And naturally, a feeling of sadness.  As I sit here and write this to you, so many thoughts are going through my head.  Would you have been the little girl I felt as you were the whole time?  Would we really have named you Jordan?  Would you be sweet or a little spicy like your mom and dad.  What would your first birthday look like?  Who would be there to celebrate?  What would my life look like today?

And even though I have these questions running through my head, questions I can't seem to erase, I feel at ease.  For so many reasons, I am thankful for you Jordan.  You have taught me a kind of love and patience I could never have dreamed of having.  You allowed a closeness to form between your dad and I that wasn't there before.  You put more things in perspective for me - like work coming before my family, or dedicating endless hours to a job that doesn't return the dedication.  And although I miss you and still question the purpose of your short time with me, I am thankful.  Thankful that the miscarriage happened because you led me to your brother.  You showed me what it would take for me to become a mommy.  You guided me through that first trimester and let me see what I would have to go through (although just a slight glimpse, a glimpse indeed).  And because of that, I proved to myself that this was something I wanted, and something I wanted badly.  I saw a love in myself I never knew was there and a determination to bring a sweet babe into the world.  Because of you Jordan, Lincoln is now with us.  And because of everything I've learned from the time I spent with you - about love, patience, and understanding that life isn't a guarantee and a heartbeat doesn't mean a forever - I am able to love Lincoln so much that it scares me.  I am aware that life isn't a promise and with that I smother him with kisses and "I love you's".  I have learned patience from you Jordan and although I would have given anything for sleep in the past, in the present I will give up all my sleep to spend just a few more minutes soaking up how tiny and sweet Lincoln is.  With each wake in the middle of the night, I still mumble into his ear "I love you honey" and rock him close to my chest.  With each fit thrown or blown out diaper, I carry him into his room and smile endlessly to let him know that it's all okay.  When days at work are long and exhausting, I find the strength inside me to play just a little bit longer, make choo-choo noises while the spoon comes to his mouth and tickle his tummy and neck with raspberries.

Jordan, I hope you know how much I do love you and how much at one point I wanted all of this to be with you.  But thank you.  Thank you for being such a test in my life.  Thank you for making your presence and then giving yourself to Heaven so that I could one day love Lincoln.  Thank you for teaching me these things that cannot be learned otherwise.  I hope I have made you proud.  I hope I am the mommy that you would have dreamed of and I hope, despite my postpartum depression, that I have shown you immense strength and willpower to never give up on my sweet, little babes.

Love,
Mommy

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