You Are Loved, Little One

I was just at the baby shower two weeks ago. I still have the Amazon tab open confirming my order of newborn diapers and a hooded bath towel.

When something unspeakably tragic happens to someone who doesn't deserve it - and there are some things no one deserves - there are no words to make it better.

When two lovely, kind, truly good people who are eager to be parents get to spend just four days with their precious baby, what do you do? What do you say? What do you feel? For me, the answer to the last question is "a lot."

Despair. Anger. Heartache. Disbelief. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Somehow guilt snuck its way in there too.

Why did this happen? How could this happen?

I am not a religious person. I don't even know if I believe in God (but I'll capitalize it just in case). If you believe that everything happens for a reason, that's your faith and that's fine. But if you tell me that a car accident that causes the loss of a premature newborn is part of God's plan, I'm going to have to stifle the urge to punch you.

Hundreds of people prayed for Ezri Abigail. People who never met her parents. So what does that mean? Their prayers didn't work? They weren't heard? They didn't matter?

It's cruel. It's senseless. It's not fair. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

I cry every time I think of her mother's blissful smile at the baby shower. I cry every time I visualize them coming home to a house full of baby clothes and diapers and a crib that won't be used. Because it's wrong. It's WRONG. IT ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY.

I had some really dark thoughts as I felt all these emotions. Life is cruel and terrible. Everyone I love is going to die. Maybe I shouldn't ever have children. What if something like this happens? Maybe I should avoid the possibility of this pain altogether. If I'm this distraught over someone else's child, I would be destroyed if it happened to me. Also, what right do I have to be so upset over their child? It's their grief, not mine. Am I making this all about me? I am a selfish and terrible person in a cruel and terrible world.

My family, friends, and partner supported me to pull me out of this dark place. Now it's my responsibility to be there to support Ezri's parents.

Her father posted a photo of when they met Ezri for the first time. The love in that photo is overwhelming. It's unbearable. It's a tragic, gut-wrenching, joyful photo that radiates love. Accompanying the photo was a breathtakingly sad and beautiful post about how wonderful and peaceful it was to hold her during her last moments.

We can only move forward. We can only love. There is no use in asking why. There is no good that comes out of continuing to dwell on what could have been.

To Ezri's parents: I am here. I'll show up. I haven't been the best at keeping in touch in the past, but I'll do better. I'll keep showing up until you're sick of me.

Ezri, I didn't get to meet you, but I love you. I thank you for showing me how much love we can feel even in our anger and despair. Your parents love you. And one day they will tell your future siblings about you and how much they love you. Keep an eye on us all.


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