Never give up on hope.

March 25, 2015

Dear Carter,

I am still angry at your Daddy. Sometimes he can be so selfish. But yesterday I left him home with Cayce and I went to the store. I picked up the pictures that I had printed of you, picked up the picture frame that I ordered for you, and just walked around the store for a couple of hours. I turned my phone off because I didn’t want to be bothered. I went to the baby section and looked at little boy clothes and cried. I saw mommies that were pregnant and mommies that had newborns and I cried some more. I’m pretty sure that at least half of the people in the store yesterday thought I was bonkers. When I was picking up the picture frame that I ordered, the woman asked what my tattoo was for. I said, “My son died three weeks ago today.” She got a mortified look on her face. Then she asked the question that everyone asks: “How old was he?” What does it matter your age at the time of your death? As if your worth is measured by the amount of time you were here. And of course when I told her that you died about three minutes after you were born, her face changed again. “Oh,” she said, “that’s so sad.” But I could tell that her heart wasn’t in it anymore. A mother’s love isn’t “more” or “less” at the time of birth or ten years later. A mother’s love is always infinite, and having to say goodbye to your child is always infinitely painful. No words can ever heal that. No amount of time can ever erase that pain. No number of hugs can fill that hole in my chest. While all of me is still here, still with my girls, all of me is also somewhere else, missing you. What can ever replace a child that died? Nothing. How long does it take for the pain to stop? Forever. Saying goodbye to you before I ever got to say hello will haunt me for the rest of my life. I miss you, Carter.

Here Without You,
Mommy

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