Dear Lilia,

Today should have been your due date.  I don’t know if I’d be sitting here on the couch, snuggling a precious newborn or if you’d be cozy in my belly and staying put for awhile longer.  If you’re anything like your big brother Beckett, you’d have been my March baby.

I really only have a few ultrasound pictures of you.  Just your profile at 12 weeks.  They took a lot of pictures of you at 16 weeks, but I never got one to take home.  They don’t print off the pictures of a baby after they’ve died.  I feel mad at myself that I never asked for one.

I think about you every day.  Every single day, I think about you – my daughter.  I wonder what you would have smelled like, looked like, felt like.  I wonder how your smile would have lit up your face and how your laughter would have sounded.

I imagine you now, a grown woman, flawless and radiant complete with the joy that comes with eternity.  I wonder if you know how much I miss you.  I wonder if you know how sad I am without you here.

It still startles me how much my heart aches for someone I never got to meet.  I carried you for only 16 weeks and yet you have left a mark that can never be erased.

Your dad and I chose your name because of the Hebrew meaning, which is ‘what belongs to me belongs to God’.  I wanted to have a beautiful reminder of that every time I thought of you.  Your name invokes joy, rather than sadness and bitterness.  I cannot be angry when I say your name, because it is a constant reminder that you belong to God and that is absolutely beautiful.

Still, with the sadness over losing you, there has been joy.  Your brothers are all getting older.  We bought a house.  At times I look down the hall and imagine a pretty pink nursery breaking up all the blue rooms.  I have made new friendships through this journey, and strengthened old ones.  Already today my phone has been filled with beautiful messages from friends who remember you.

Tonight, I think we’ll light a pink candle and read through the cards and letters we received after you died.  I hope that you are looking down on us and knowing how loved you are, sweet girl.

You are always loved, always remembered.

Your Mom


13 thoughts on “Lilia”

  1. My heart breaks for you! I just stumbled across your blog today from another blog. Today is three months since I miscarried my baby, Francis, at exactly 16 weeks. Praying for you today

  2. A friend and pastor shared your blog with me today. He was very moved by your story, and has been an integral part of our annual Memorial Walk for several years. He always knows how to comfort the bereaved, though he has not endured this loss himself.

    I am so very sorry about the loss of your precious daughter. We were not blessed with any girls (we never had a preference, just wanted our babies to be healthy), but we did have a name reserved for one: Lilianna (similar to your Lilia).

    I will keep you and your family in my thoughts, especially today.

    Michelle Mosca
    (mom to Nicholas, stillborn at 37 weeks)
    Cofounder & President
    Angel Names Association

  3. Michelle, I'm so honored that your friend and pastor shared my blog. I hope you will pass along my thanks.

    I'm so sorry to read about your Nicholas – I cannot imagine the sadness, but what an incredible organization to come out of loss. Thanks for stopping by my blog. Will be keeping you in our prayers.

  4. so heartfelt and so beautiful. i have walked with multiple friends through miscarriage and sometimes it feels like you are not allowed to grieve for someone you never met. i am so proud of your process. naming and acknowledging your sweet girl. it hurts to know she is not here but we rest in the fact that she is already with the Father. one day you will be together again.

    praying for you on this hard day. praying for peace that surpasses all understanding!

  5. what a lovely post. i lost my second baby at nine weeks, which was so hard, and i can only imagine how much harder the pain would have been had i carried my baby seven weeks longer. your daughter is beautiful, thank you for sharing her photo.

  6. Yes, that's very well said – feeling like you're not allowed to grieve for someone you've never met. Or feeling weird about doing so. Thank you for your prayers 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s