“Dear Lily,
Three years ago today, my life changed forever. I was a newly married 23-year-old, filled with excitement and hope, carrying my first child—you. Life felt like it was finally aligning. Daddy had recently lost his job, and we had drifted from some old friends, but none of that mattered anymore. Then came those two pink lines, and everything shifted.
I don’t think I had ever been as happy as the moment I realized you were coming. All my worries melted away; I felt like my life was finally complete. I could see it clearly: you, me, Daddy, and Benson, a little family full of love and laughter. I pictured you looking like me—curly blonde hair, big blue eyes, chubby little cheeks—and I was already imagining all the ways I would protect and cherish you.
The moment I saw those lines, I knew my life had a new purpose. I started praying again at night, asking God to keep you safe. Every night, I whispered goodnight to you, telling you I loved you more than anything in the world. My heart was full. I had never experienced loss; I felt lucky, untouched by heartbreak.
But life has a way of changing in an instant. On November 12, 2016, everything shifted. I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and saw blood. Deep down, I already knew the truth. A mother knows.
The doctor said spotting could be normal, so I tried to sleep, clutching the hope that everything would be okay. I dreamt of you, telling me not to worry, and it felt like a fleeting moment of comfort. But when I woke again, the bleeding hadn’t stopped.
I went to the ER with Daddy and my aunt. The doctors couldn’t give me certainty—they could only say it didn’t look good. I went home hoping rest could somehow fix what had broken. But it didn’t. More blood came, more pain, more fear. Labor struck me in a cold hospital bathroom, and I felt excruciating heartbreak. I flushed with my eyes closed, tears streaming, whispering apologies I didn’t think could ever be enough. What kind of mother flushes her baby? I clung to hope that maybe I was wrong, but deep down, I knew.
Everyone around me kept apologizing, but it wasn’t their fault. I was supposed to protect you, and I hadn’t. A nurse mentioned “rainbow babies,” and I could only think: I don’t want a rainbow. I want you. I always will.
I went home empty, carrying grief too heavy to bear. I wanted to be with you so badly that life itself felt meaningless. The sadness was unbearable, and I didn’t think I’d ever recover.
Three years have passed, Lily, and some days, the ache still returns. But I am okay. The pain comes in waves now, instead of drowning me completely. Today, I write to you to say thank you. Thank you for coming into my life, even if only for a short time. Your presence changed me. That tiny life of yours shaped the woman I’ve become. I had to lose you to find myself, to find God, to be given your beautiful sister.
I wish things were different. I wish you could have been here with me, with us, with Jolie by my side. But I feel you every day. You have been my guardian angel since the moment you left. You guided me, protected us, and helped God choose your sister—the most perfect gift I could have ever asked for.
I am not afraid of death because I know you’ll be waiting for me at Heaven’s gates. I dream of the day I finally hold you in my arms again, run my fingers through your curly blonde hair, kiss your chubby cheeks, look into your big, beautiful eyes, and tell you just how much I love you.
Until that day comes, know this, Lily: I am nothing without you. My life is good, and it’s because of you. Thank you for being my first love, my little angel, and my forever inspiration.
Love,
Mommy”
