Dear Alyssa,
The other day I went to the support group and I saw a little red robin playing in the sprinkler. Was that you? I felt that you were following me and giving me a sign. I never really see signs here at home outside, but whenever I go anywhere else, I seem to see robins playing near me-following me around. I wonder if people look at me weird when I stop to stare at a robin. No one knows that you are always on my mind, although to me it seems like it is written on my forehead. The only time I feel like I can be myself is in support groups, with all the other parents whom have their angel babies on their minds.
I still remember when I got the Christmas stocking for you. That was a sad day. I was all alone that day and I wanted to get a stocking. I was going to the post office to pick up the one that I specially ordered with your name. It was about a month after you died. Before I left the house I started crying at the door, then I left. It’s amazing how many people I would see outside that had no idea how much I was hurting that day, and still. Around that time too I went to get papers notarized in the bank so I could get your death and stillbirth certificate. I cried in the bank talking to the notary. No one knows that I was getting those certificates for my dead baby except for her. No one knows that I replay your time with me here over and over in my head. Like when I was trying to fix the playpen when you were here-inside my belly. Those were your last days with me and I didn’t know. The day before you died we had your crib delivered. It seems like a dream that I had to wake up from.
I feel I practically have no proof you ever existed, like that time was erased. Of course I have pictures of you, your sonos, my growing belly, but I have almost no one to share the memories with except your Dad. Those were the best days of my life. The very best.
Daddy and I were so happy you were here. We were so excited. When I found out you were a girl I was even more excited and I wanted everything in pink. We were going to get a bassinet for you to put in our room but we never got it. Grandma Carol also was going to send a bassinet and I was worried it would break because it used to be your Daddy’s. I wanted a rocking chair for you and me. I was so prepared for you to come home. I had it all planned out in my head. The way that I wanted it to be was not that way. I never imagined this instead. I also had the location where your crib would be all planned out with your dresser, and we were going to get a changing table too. I had your nursery planned out. It was from a picture that I had seen on the Babies R us website. It was going to be beautiful.
Now, instead of where your crib should be is your memorial, filled with a memory box, a photo album, stuffed animals, your baby blanket, your hat, and the books we read to you during your short time with us. The only thing remotely familiar to my plans is that it’s still all in pink. I would update your registry constantly until I was sure I had everything. I researched and researched what to get for you. I tried to make sure I had all the supplies for when we would bring you home. I had wanted to get a bathtub for you(actually we did get the bathtub and Grandma Carol brought it back the week of your wake) and I wanted to get toys for you to play with in the bathtub. I also wanted to get stickers to put up in the bathtub so you would have fun every time we gave you a little bath. Bottles and blankets, bibs, pacifiers, a diaper bag, diapers, onesies; everything that a little baby could ever need. I was going to go on walks with you here in the parking lot and in the trails over by where I used to live as soon as it got warm.
Instead, I have the memories from when I would go on walks with you and rock you to sleep in my belly. I knew you were sleeping because I wouldn’t feel you moving at all. I loved that I rocked you to sleep. But, my dream was to rock you to sleep in my arms. I was going to find Mommy and me places to go with you in the first 3 months so I could see you playing with other babies and I could meet other Mommies. Daddy and I had checked out 3 day cares and had yours picked out. Instead a few months after we lost you I had to send the daycare a message letting them know what happened and that the little girl they were expecting in the spring time would never come. We went to Babies R us once and saw all the outfits for little babies and bought a cute little frilly dress. We still have it. We also went to Kohl’s and I fell in love with all their pink outfits. I couldn’t wait to dress you up and shop for you. I had bought a onesie as soon as we found out you were a girl with a pink heart that said Dad in it. I couldn’t wait to put it on you. I was so proud of myself for getting that and seeing the smile on your Dad’s face. Instead, this was the little outfit for your wake, to sleep in in eternal slumber.
Whenever I picture you, I see you with that little onesie that says Dad, flying around with beautiful angel wings. I love reminding Daddy that whenever he read to you, putting his face close to my belly, you would stop all movement. It’s as if you stayed still just to listen to his voice. At night, he would wrap his arm around my belly-waiting for you to kick. He never got to feel you kick. But I know that you listened in earnest whenever you heard his voice. We were supposed to bring you to play with all our friend’s kids. It hurts knowing that they will never meet you. I feel dealing with our new reality would be easier if we moved, but I’m also not ready to move because I have met some new people here after loss. It still sounds so nice though, a change of scenery.
It seems surreal that I had your whole future planned out- I can play it a million different times in my head-but it will never be real. It seems so strange when you try to tell people how much you have lost when you lose a baby and they just stare at you blankly, or expect you to just get on with your life. Doesn’t almost everybody have their whole futures planned out once they realize they are carrying a new life? Don’t they go to great lengths to get everything ready for this baby, just like we did? Imagine if all those plans, that future you had set and ready to go-is altered in one instant. Well, I don’t have to imagine. It’s what I wake up to every single day. It takes time, lots of time-to realize all your dreams have just been crushed, stomped on, and then thrown around in fragments. It takes even more time to pick up those pieces and glue them back together differently.
I know after seven months I feel like I haven’t pieced together much of anything, and I’m sure others in my position feel the same. We are just going through the motions. I’m still trying to accept the fact that you’re gone. I know you can see all the different things I wanted to do with you. I know you wanted that too. Perhaps this alternate reality is where you and I can meet, like in dreams. I hope one day, maybe in Heaven, or wherever you are, we can do all those things. Until then you will always be missing, but not from my heart.
Love, Mommy
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Melissa Ayala gave birth to her beautiful stillborn daughter Alyssa Jordan Henderson in November 2015 at 6.5 months gestation. She is a part-time school nurse, trying to take life one day at a time. She is always looking for news ways to get support in this journey without her daughter.
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Pretty much everything I’ve wanted to say. Thank you for sharing. Sending you a big hug ?
You honor your love for Alyssa every day. Thank you for sharing her with us?.
i am so proud of you. you make Alyssa’s voice sing. xoxo