Dear Timothy

Dear Timothy,

Happy birthday to my sweet brother; I'm sorry we've never been able to meet. Today would have been your 34th birthday. You were born two years before me yet you never took a breath.

You were mom and dad's first child together and mom carried you for nine months without a single complication. You know mom, she is professional mother, she had carried, and birthed a total of 7 children. She was a pro! Three days before she delivered you she went in for a check up and told the nurse that she hadn't felt you move in a couple days but that she figured you had just ran out of room since you were over-due. The nurse told her not to worry; that sometimes when the baby is ready to come they stop moving as much when they drop into the canal. However,  after the ultrasound mom knew something was wrong, she could tell by the nurses face. Your heart was no longer beating. You had died in mom's womb just days before.
 

The next day mom gave birth to you, naturally, in the hospital and you never made a sound. Even though the doctor told mom that when you came out you may not look "normal"; you may be blue, it didn't matter.  When the doctor asked if she wanted to see you, the answer was yes! She and dad held your body close as you lay silent in their arms, nothing short of perfect wearing one single scratch on your face that  Mom thinks was from the nurse helping you out.

You were buried later that day. Dad picked out your headstone as mom got ready to leave the hospital. You were honored with service and family prepared a luncheon for mom and dad afterwards. It was a sad day for sure. There were a lot of people who were looking forward to meeting you. You would have had six siblings at the time of your birth and a whole lot of aunts, uncles and cousins.

As a child, I remember visiting your grave several times. We used to go drop off flowers before we moved to Oregon and then when we would come back to California we always tried to make it by to say hello. Even as adult and even though I have never met you, it has always been important that I remember your story. You, Timmy, have a beautiful story. You are my brother.
 

Trish and I used to talk about what we thought you would be like. Would you look like dad; wear Wranglers and boots all the time like him? Would you be a protective big brother or one that thought his little sisters were annoying? Even though, Timmy, you were not physically our brother you have always been in our hearts, your memory has always been alive. You are a member of this family no matter the number of breaths you took; or didn't take.

I also know that if you were here, Trish may not be; I may not be. After you were born Mom and Dad tried again. They got pregnant with me and at my delivery I was pronounced  a "miracle". Apparently my umbilical cord was tied in a knot. After having two traumas in a row, Mom was over it. But, Dad wanted one more, his dream was to have and raise two children with Mom. I am glad they did. She is a great sister, you would be really proud of her; she is everything I hoped you would have been and more.

Timothy, you would be proud of your family. You would be really proud of your mom and your dad. After losing you mom could have lost it, but, she didn't. Mom says her faith is what helped her though; and dad. She said she remember days after you left she was staring out the window crying, missing you, and she saw her grandmother standing there, with you in her arms. Mom said that she knew at that moment that you were okay and that you were with someone who loved you; mom knew you were safe.

As I battle my way into motherhood, fighting my way through this thing called infertility, your story and mom's faith is something that grounds me. How can mom carry you for 9 months without a single complication and then just lose you? How would I ever be able to do that? I am not sure that I can. Mom is one of a kind; I swear.

 

I know you are up there watching over me. Dad has told me before that you may be my guardian angel- who knows. All I know it that out of all the people in this world I have known and lost, it's your presence I feel the most.

Timmy, I miss you. I wish I knew you, I wish I could see you; knew what you looked like.  I wish mom never had to say good-bye to you. I hope you know I love you. She loves you. He loves you.

Happy birthday, big brother.

Love,

Your Little Sister