My dearest Amelia Lynn,

I can’t help but picture the deliciously chubby baby thighs I would have been squeezing, or the round cheeks of yours I would have been kissing. I can’t help but picture your wispy blonde hair adorned with a pink headband as you look up at me with big blue eyes and smile.

I miss you, little girl. You would have been six months old today.

I try my best to avoid the “would have been”s, but on days like today it’s a struggle to even think of anything else. It’s hard to fight the loneliness when there’s a silence in my life of the squeaks and cries and giggles from you that would have been.

The day the doctor told us you would die, my heart collapsed in pieces on the floor. This isn’t the plan. This isn’t the plan. The next day at the hospital I saw your long fingers on the ultrasound. I saw your perfect spine, your gangling legs, and all ten tiny toes. You looked so perfect to me and I was so confused. But when we saw you were a girl, I looked straight at your daddy with a tear-stained smile and said, “A girl. It’s Amelia.”

It was then that I knew this was good, and it was right. It sucked and made me want to scream and kick and curse life for being so hard, but it was right. This was meant to be, and you were the little girl I had hoped for.

Today as I silently celebrate six months of what would have been, I know deep down it really wasn’t what should have been. My heart still longs to hold and kiss and love you, Amelia, but my head knows differently.

I barely knew you, and yet I knew you better than anyone. I feel like we’re the best of friends, Amelia. You and I have kindred spirits, and even in your little baby glory, you changed me.

I love you, Amelia Lynn.

xoxo, Mama