Dear Abigail

Dear Little Bit,
Christmas shopping now is unbearable. Everywhere I go, I see little things I might have been buying you. I can't help but agonize over how big you might have been by now, or what you might have been able to say, or what you would like to do. You were so much life in our family. You were joy. You were entertainment. You were a limitless supply of cuteness. You were my sidekick. I feel like I have lost part of me. My arm aches to hold you. My hand aches to hold yours. I feel the echo of you in all I do.

When Daddy crashed the car last week, I cried. Yes, I was afraid for him, but I was also grieving that one more tangible loss of you. Your car seat was still in that car. I couldn't take it out. Your scuff marks were on the back of my seat. Your fingerprints were on that window. I have no reason to put your car seat back in the new car and that knowledge is suffocating.

I wake up each morning so frustrated. I am so frustrated that this happened. I am frustrated that we are now separated. I am frustrated that I have to wait so very long to be with you again. I want to scream and yell and rant and rave most of the time. My heart hurts. But I know that just putting my head back under the covers and screaming is not honoring to you, although you did your fair share of screaming yourself...So while I do sometimes scream--from the horror, from the frustration-- some of the time I find the courage to get up and put one step in front of the other. You give me that courage, my spunky baby. Your story is not our destruction.

I so wish I could see you with Eli now. Your baby is all over the place and into everything. You two would have been a fantastic team, and I wish I could be cleaning up the mess in your wake. I know how you adore him and I hurt for not seeing that interaction more than 5 short weeks.

I so wish I could see the joy, shock, and surprise on your face Christmas morning. I live for that. I am normally giddier than you guys on Christmas and usually end up waking you up instead of the other way around. You were so happy on Easter. I can only imagine what this Christmas would have been like. I feel robbed of that.

I hunger for your smell, your touch, your life. I want nothing more than to see your big brown eyes and your dimple again. I think of you non-stop. We have your marker ordered finally. I hope it at least shows people you. I wanted it to be you. I want people walking through that cemetery to see you. To know that you were a little life taken too soon. But more than that, I want you to change lives. And you have baby girl. You will never be forgotten. I will continue to share your story and your passion with the world.

I'm just so sorry you aren't here with us. Mommy loves you my sweet little bit.