Letters to Eva

Dear Eva,

I’m exhausted, empty, and broken. I had a full day, full of laughter, quality time with Aunty Jack, and some special pampering. It felt like at the end of the day when Aunty and I sat down for dinner and a drink I just crashed. By the time we got home I was pretty mopey and ready for bed. I had a bath and I think that’s when life sunk in so bad. The day was over and I had to face a night at home with out you and Daddy is on call so due to the weather he is staying with Uncle Tim. So just me and Stormy against the world again tonight.

It’s the times like these that the grief hits me and the mom guilt comes out in full force. I’d give anything to go back. To fight harder. To just give you one more damn kiss. My arms are empty and they actually ache. I just want to hold you. I just need to hold you. I will be eternally grateful that I held you so much those last few months. That all you wanted to do was snuggle. Now all I want to do is snuggle. All the moms around me with new babies are probably so annoyed with me. I get even relatively close to their babies and I latch on and don’t let go. It just feels so damn go to hold them in my empty aching arms. I’m a magnet for little kids now and I know that is you asking them to love me and that gives me peace.

I think it doesn’t help that I’m so mad at the universe and at my own body. After months and months of trying I got my period again this week. It hurts so bad. There is a void and I’m aching to fill it. You are irreplaceable but I want so bad to give you a sibling. I want to fill my arms and your daddy’s. I’m tired of telling myself my body needs to heal. I’m tired of convincing myself it’s okay. I’m tired of telling myself it will happen when it’s supposed to. What about when I want? It’s not okay anymore. We’ve been through enough. I’ve told myself that maybe we need to stop trying and just take a break. I know in my heart that’s not what I want. I want a baby and it’s okay that I’m hurting because it’s not happening. It seriously feels like torture. Month after month I feel let down. I feel forgotten. I feel like we’re not allowed. I’m not apologizing for those feelings either. It’s real and it sucks.

Every little thing about this journey sucks. It hurts so deeply that I can’t explain it. I miss you more than I could ever describe. I would bargain with everything in me to have you back. The physical need to have you here is the actual worst. When our babies are born we envision this whole perfect little life for them. We make guesses about who they will become. We dream about who they will marry and the grandbabies they will give us. We hope for them to be doctors and to change the world. We fear their first day of school but also can’t wait to watch them grow. All of that feels like it’s been stolen from me. It cuts so deep and there isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not reminded of that. Teeny tiny things bring up the biggest emotions and I almost always get caught in the storm. I wish I didn’t have to fear these milestones of the little ones around us that are growing up. I wish you were here growing up with them. I hate this. I hate the tears that threaten to fall out of thin air. I hate this huge breakdowns after long days of wearing my “mask”. I hate that I even know I’m wearing a mask.

I miss you my girl. I love you all the way to heaven and back. I promise one day I will give you the biggest hug and kiss you could ever dream of. I miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go.

Love and Kisses,

Your Mama.