I will never forget the day I found out I was pregnant with you... There was hope, there was fear, there was courage. I carried you until you were 9 weeks old in my belly, and even heard your precious heartbeat. Today would have been the day you were due... a day we looked toward with hope back in October. Instead, today I mourn losing you, unable to shake the could-have and should-have and would-have beens from my mind, the ache in my heart.
Something went wrong last November, and your little life just couldn't hang on. We'll never know exactly what happened, but I want you to know that I look forward to holding you in my arms, one day, in heaven.
Until then, I will always think of you on June 11th. I will always be sad about never getting to meet you on this side of life. But I will celebrate the hope you gave us, the strength you brought to our world when we journeyed through the darkness... because without you, we wouldn't be where we are today.
Though you were only my baby for a short time, you were still my baby. And for that, I will forever be grateful.