Dear Daniel,

You weren’t a person, nor were you ever meant to be, and I accept that. I have to be ok with that, because I was never meant to be a mother. Though that doesn’t mean I can blink away the “what ifs” like I blink away tears. You were my little gummy bear. I talked to you more than I probably should have. I played you irish music, and read you all the books I started to hoard for you.

I wanted you.

Even though I never did, I wanted you.

I wanted you to have your dad’s eyes and my hair. I wanted you to laugh like your father and have my sense of humor. I wanted you hyper, but smart.

I wanted you.

I was terrified. Terrified of being a mom, having a kid and all the things that come along with being a child of an epileptic and a battered woman. I felt you, that seems so weird to say, but I knew you, and I loved you. I loved you in such a bizarre never met you, but felt you way. I listen to the recording of your tiny perfect heartbeat every night. I wanted you. I wanted to hold you, and protect you. You would’ve been safe with me, if only you could have been safe inside of me. we would have called you gummy bear forever, you would’ve hated it at some point. You’d be a freshy right now. our lives would be so different, stressful, but worth it. Your father would have been your biggest fan. He’d be obsessed. He’d be the dad to annoy everyone at work with pictures of his son. 50 million photos of the same sleeping baby. You’d be his everything. You’d be mine. I wanted that gummy bear, I wanted you.

Signed,

The mom I was never meant to be.