“I’m so sorry,” I wrote, though the words, even as they materialized in front of me, seemed paltry…insignificant.  I stopped there, trying to pick out the right combination of words to say to her, words that would adequately describe my sorrow for her own personal loss and anguish.

“There’s really not a whole lot to say, is there?” she replied, gracious as always, and more conscious of my own feelings than she should be.

I racked my brain again. My almost-30 years of life experiences brought up nothing appropriate in the cerebral database to use as a condolence. Yes, cancer has touched my life before. Relatives and family friends have struggled and won…or lost. I’ve seen first-hand its unrelenting, ravaging grasp.

But her Mom just died. Her Mom. Died. She fought hard…for five years. On Sunday night, she lost the fight.

And I have no words for her. I can cry for her. I can wish to be there for her. Mostly, though, I am in awe of her. She has been the strong one for her family through all of this. She has held it together so many times, allowing the others to fall apart.

 “She’s at peace now,” are the only words that come to mind besides “I’m sorry.” My hope is that one day she will be, too.

Dear BB,

Tomorrow--August 10, 2009--was your due date. It's amazing how clearly I can remember these important dates for my lost babies--and how hard they seem to hit me when they finally arrive. Like your sister LJ, your Daddy and I will be forever saddened that we were unable to meet you. We regret that we missed seeing you grow inside my belly week by week. We know that you are now safe and happy and whole in heaven, being taken care of by other family members we also love and miss deeply, but...we still miss you, just the same.

I remember those very first feelings of wonder and thankfulness knowing you were there inside me; I remember the dates and events and emotions so clearly from last November. It had been another year and a half since we'd lost LJ, and we were beginning to think another pregnancy was out of reach. When we saw our miraculous positive home pregnancy test, neither your Daddy nor I could hold back the tears of joy.

We were immediately filled with both utter happiness and absolute trepidation, all at once. For us, we realize now, a positive pregnancy test will always be accompanied by a complex set of emotions. For every life we create, we feel hopeful and grateful, but we also fear another loss of life so strongly that that singular joy will always be somewhat muddled. I wish it didn't have to be that way, but our circumstances sort of determine our thoughts and actions in life, don't they?

I remember the pure elation I felt at the confirmation of your existence when the doctor called with your HCG quantatative blood test results, and I remember that fateful, hesitantly worried call several days later when your HCG levels did not continue to rise as they should. We knew right then that we would lose you, and the only thing left to do was wait...and say good-bye. The tears of joy we had cried days before were overtaken then by a torrent of heart-break that flooded our entire consciousness.

Little One, you were a part of our lives for such a short time, but you will always be a huge part of our family...taking up a huge spot in our hearts.

We'll miss you and love you forever,

Mommy and Daddy