3 months ago today (well, it's just after midnight, but close enough) you were born, my sweet baby girl. It has been a very lonely 3 months without you. Dad and I spend much time talking about you, what you'd be doing now, like holding your head up. Your brother did that just around 3 months too. You'd probably be sleeping in your own room now, in the same cuddly sleepsack Evan did. I ache when I see other baby girls in malls or stores, especially the ones around your age. I feel angry and want to scream why did this happen to us?!!? for everyone to hear. We miss you terribly, and though you never even came home, this house feels tomblike without you here. I remember joining the support group after you died, and meeting the others who'd lost their babies around 3-4 months prior. I thought that seemed like such a long time ago, but here I am, 3 months without you, and it feels like nothing. I can still remember almost everything about your birth, and how it all felt. I thought the other girls must have been so far along their grief journey by 3 or 4 months, and how I couldn't wait to get there myself. Yet, now that I'm there, I feel like barely any time has passed at all. It is such a slow, lonely journey Isla. I don't know if you can even imagine how much you've impacted our lives in the short time we were blessed with you. My god, you've made such an impact. I struggle to muster up the words to even describe it, but is has been profound. I try, constantly, to find ways to have your life affect me in a positive way, in the choices I make every day, the decisions I must make in my life. I want to live in honour of you, live a life you did not have a chance to, but it is oh so hard, my baby girl. I strive to do the right thing, be kind and nonjudgmental of others who don't recognize the gifts they've been given. I try to sympathize with others who life lives full of loss and hardship. I try to be compassionate and forgiving. But often, I fail. I can only maintain that perspective for so long, before I am overcome with the loss of you. It is not fair that I had to lose you. You were a brand new life, so full of potential, so ready for the world. We were so ready to watch you grow, breathe in new life and face the new world head on. We were so proud of you, before you were even born. We knew you'd go on to do grand things. How is it fair that you were robbed of all of that because of a fucking stupid accident with your own body parts? How can this even happen? I cannot believe this happened. It is still so hard to accept. When I see women with baby girls, I think to myself 'they get to go on and live with their little girls, but I don't. I don't now, and I won't ever get to hold my baby girl again.' My god, how unfathomable it is that you are gone forever. We knew you so briefly. If there is one positive thing that I can glean from your death, it is that I no longer fear my own. If by some miracle, there is an afterlife, and I get to see you, and hold you again, then I fear nothing in my own death. What I fear is the misery I will endure until that time. Though I am absolutely blessed with a family whom I love, and who loves me, such a huge part of it is missing, I feel your absence all. the. time. I miss you so much sweet girl. Please know how much daddy and I love you, how much we miss you, and how we'd give anything to have just a few more moments with you. How my heart aches for you Isla. xoxoxo mommy.