Thursday, March 7, 2013

Letters to Nora - January 11, 2013

 January 11, 2013

My Sweet Nora,

You were with me for 284 days.  40 weeks and 4 days.  That's how long I got to spend time with you alive.  That's how long I got to be with you as your mother; as a mother.  You see sometimes, Nora, I don't know if I am still a mom.  I will always be your mother and you will always be my first child and daughter.  But it just seems like it was all a dream.  It seems as if that night in the hospital, that horrible night that they told me your heart had stopped beating, that is when someone woke me up from my fantastic, wonderful, joyful dream of being a mom, of being pregnant with you, Nora.  In that moment, my dream ended and it turned into my worst nightmare.

They sent me home from the hospital without my baby, without you, Nora, and back to January of last year, of 2012.  Nothing had changed; there was not a baby.  It was all a cruel joke it seemed.

Oh, how I was scared to bring you home, but I was ready for the challenge, the love, to get to know you--a person outside of me and not just in. I bet you are wondering how beautiful you are.

You were so beautiful.  Your most charming features were your full, luscious lips.  So prominent, so poised. You had the cutest little nose which I was proud of because I have a big one and the chubbiest checks.  Your eyes seemed big and your eyebrows were thin and perfectly arched.  Your ears looked like mine, which are kind of weird looking, but no worries, that never caused me any grief.  And most amazing of all, your head was full of brown hair!  I was so proud, your dad and I never had hair when we were born and I didn't have hair until I was three (ask your grandma).  You had a dimple chin and your father's eyelashes.  You seemed to be the perfect combination of your dad and me.  Your hands and feet were perfect as well with all ten fingers and toes, and you had my fingernails.  Oh, you were a bigger baby then expected, 8lbs, 5oz, and 21 inches long.  I don't know how you got so big my darling.  But you were beautiful.

I have to admit, I loved your nose from day one, when I saw your side profile on the sonogram, and my favorite picture of you is still that sonogram photo.  You were so full of life, I remember you moving around on the screen that day.  You even stuck your tongue out at me.  I think you would have been a sassy little girl, well because your my daughter, but also because you were a kicker and a puncher.  You moved around all the time inside me.  I miss that now.  I miss your kicks and rolls, and jabs.  Everyone would always ask, is she moving?  And I would proudly say, "Oh, yeah, all the time."  So it is so surprising that one day it all stopped.

I'm sorry Nora for whatever caused your death, but know sweet, baby girl, that I was with you the entire time, so was your dad.  The day you left us, I believe we were all together, you were never alone, and you were surrounded by love in my belly.  Knowing that I never left your side for one minute of your short life helps me cope.  It helps me realize I did what a mom is supposed to do, care for you through birth and death.  I just was only hoping that my death would be the time that we parted, not yours. 

I have many wishes and dreams for you, Nora, and I love, love, love, writing and saying your name.  But the one wish that I will never know, that I will leave you with tonight, is that I wish I could have seen your beautiful eyes.  I wish our eyes would have met in this world.  I wounder if they looked like mine, bluish gray, or if they looked like your dad's brown with specks of green.  I will never know, Nora, and this tears me up inside.

I hope wherever you are, honey, that you are at peace, and please know that your daddy and I love and miss you so very much.

It just doesn't seem real.

Love Always and Forever,




  1. As her Grandma, I too wish I could have seen Nora's eyes. Beautiful piece Lindsey.
    PS--I love saying her name too.

  2. I say Rowan's name everyday, and have vowed to do so my whole life. I love this idea of writing to sweet Nora! I just finished a book you suggest: An Exact Replica... Oh my gosh, I really ate up that book (finished it in one day); it is a wonderful commentary of everything I have felt, experienced, wondered, etc. the past 11 weeks. I found myself nodding my head and saying, "Yes, YES!" Thanks for posting it in your book titles.
    Hope you have a lovely weekend--

    1. Hi T.L.,

      I love the name Rowan. It's lovely. I also ate up An Exact Replica... I found it really helpful, especially because Nora was my first child as well. I just read your most recent post on your blog and loved the part about your husband being your "safe place". I think that is the perfect way to describe my relationship with my husband, who is also in the Navy. I will have to call him my 'safe place' from now on, I think he will like that.

      Thanks for following my blog and I was curious if you would be interested in helping me out with my new project. My sister and I started a movement called 'white signs of grief', check it out at If you would be interested in being on the ground floor by submitting a picture of your thoughts on your grief so far from losing Rowan we would appreciate it. Check it out and let me know what you think. I have some of my other bereaved mom, dads, and grandparents helping me out with the project right now.

      Check it out and let me know.



  3. I would be quite interested in helping you out with your project in any way possible; I have a strong desire, as you do, to make a difference because of this experience...something, ANY thing. I went to the website, but it said the site did not exist? I'll try a few more times; perhaps it's just a glitch.
    I can relate to your latest post. I worry so much about my husband's grief. I also have come to realize we all grieve differently, and sometimes it's much more difficult for men to express their grief. I remember getting frustrated with my hubby; I needed to see that this devastation was affecting him the same way it affected me. Then I had the lightbulb moment that he may just be dealing with it differently; that fact did not diminish what he surely felt--the profound loss of our son.
    I digress...
    Keep me posted on the project and how I can help. My email address is:; feel free to message me there.


  4. Finally got into the page! I had inadvertently copied the period at the end when I pasted the site into my browser...duh :s
    This is a great idea, Lindsey!! I'll get our sign to you as soon as possible.

  5. So beautiful. Thank you for sharing.


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