A Letter to Carter

Carter,
I stopped by your grave the other day and put my finger in your tiny handprints as I always do. I remember when I saw the proof of what your marker would look like, I asked if your hand prints were the correct size. They just seemed too little, smaller than I remember them as I sat in the hospital room trying to memorize every detail of you. To me, you just looked so perfect.

Sometimes I just wish this pain would go away and that I didn't have to feel it every day. But that would mean not knowing and loving you, so I will take the heartache. The pain reminds me how very much I love you and wish you were here. You will always be a very important part of our family.

As I walked away from your grave, I got mad. Sometimes, mommy still has a hard time with wondering why we didn't get to keep you and why this had to happen to us. Your little handprints reminded me that I will never get to hold your hand and walk you down the street, or around the house like your brother loves to do. I love Cohen's little hands. Some days I just sit and look at them. I love when he wraps his little hand around my finger and wants me to go somewhere with him. I want that with you and I will never have that on this earth. I want to see you walk and I want to feel your little hand in mine. I don't know how old you will be when I get to heaven, but I sure hope you aren't too old to hold your mom's hand.
Love you forever.
Mom

Happy (almost) Birthday Carter!

To my (almost) one year old boy,

Carter, you are an amazing little boy. I never imagined living my life without you. I hope you have had a wonderful first year up in heaven. We wish with all our hearts that we got to see you grow up and learn to sit and crawl and see your first little tooth poking through and hear you say "mama" and "dada" for the first time. How we wish we got to dress you, change your diapers, get you up from naps, feed you your first foods, snuggle while you drank your bottles, and read you stories.

Like Cohen, you too had your own battle to fight. You were so strong and brave and we are so, so proud of you.  We miss you and think of you every single day. We take Cohen to visit your grave and he sits on your headstone and plays with the toys left there for you. We like to think you are sitting in heaven playing along with him.

You have taught us so much in your little life. You have taught us not to take things for granted and to enjoy all the little moments of life because we just don't know how many we will have. You have showed us the importance of slowing down and cherishing the time we have together. You have taught us that there are things worth fighting for and things that are okay to let go.  Through you, it has become so clear to us that this world is not our home. We are simply passing through and I have never longed more for heaven. You have reminded us that God is good, no matter what. Even though things don't go the way we planned or wanted, he is still in control.

I will never forget when they put you in my arms. You were so tiny and perfect. I counted your little fingers and toes. I begged you to open your little eyes. Just minutes before I had heard your heart beating on the monitors while they got me ready for my c-section and then they were telling me that you weren't going to make it. I didn't want to ever let go of you. When you died you took a piece of my heart with you that I will never get back, a space that will never be filled by anyone else. The time I got to spend with you on earth will never be enough and I will always wish I had just one more minute or hour or day or lifetime. Now, I hold you in my heart until the day I can hold you in my arms and make up for all those days without you. I hope when I get to heaven that you aren't too old to rock to sleep. 

We don't know why you didn't get to stay here with us, but we can only trust in the plans of the Lord and lean on the hope of seeing you again one day. Even though we don't get to have you here, you have brought joy and love to our lives and we wouldn't trade that for anything. You will always and forever be our little boy and Cohen's twin brother. We miss you more than words can say.

Carter,

You would have been 9 months old this week. Has it really been 9 months since we held you in our arms? In some ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. The pain is still so real. In some ways it feels like it has been years since we got to see you for the first and last time.

We wonder who you would be today. Would you be the calm to your brother's crazy? Would you be our picky eater or would you love eating like Cohen? Would you have a dimple on your right cheek to match his? Would you have fought over toys, or played nicely together? Would you be a good sleeper at night? What would your favorite toys be?

Some days we are so blessed to have a constant reminder of you in Cohen.  And some days it is so painful to see Cohen and to not see you there with him. There were so many days were I sat rocking Cohen in the NICU wishing I could have you in my other arm. It just didn't feel right.

Some days I wish I could go back to the days before you boys were born. I would complain less about the constant monitoring, no matter how uncomfortable I was. I would go back to those days in a heartbeat because it meant that you were still alive.

Some days I dream about going back to when you were born. It feels like if I could just hold you one more time, for a few more minutes that it would somehow ease my pain. If I could just see your face just once more.  But, I know that no matter how many more minutes or hours I got to hold you, it would never be enough. I would always be left wanting more. More moments to carry you with your brother, more days to hold you, more time to take you in, more days to see you grow. Even if I could go back and do the things I regret not doing, it wouldn't make it any easier. You still wouldn't be here, and that is all I really want. For you to be here with your mom and dad, your grandparents, aunties, uncles, and cousins. We all miss you so, so much. We hold on to the hope that we will see you again someday.
Love, Mom