Dear Karin,

It's been a month since I saw you die.

I didn't want to be there when you took your final breaths in this world. It felt too intimate. Who was I, who were we to surround you as you let go?

We were your friends. We were the ones that held your hair back when you puked in high school, held your hand through heartache, held you in our embrace as you started each chapter of your life, held you close as you dealt with your diagnosis. But you held us too.

You held us captive with your beautiful words, held us accountable in our silly shenanigans as teenagers, held our smiles as we watched you blossom and change and grow. You held us in the palm of your delicate hand, and kept us safe and loved.

Through all the bullshit you went through, all the pain and heartache and trauma and terror you experienced, you didn't complain.  When I hear someone complain about a work deadline or a headache or a bad day, I can't help but fantasize about grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them, screaming "you don't know how goddamned lucky you are!"

But I won't do that, because you taught me better. You taught me to treat every person's battle as an important one. And I take this to heart.

But here is the problem I'm having. It's been a month and I'm not doing well. I'm sad all the time when I think of losing you. I feel like I lost this huge part of myself when you died. All these years, a part of my own identity was intertwined with you and our other friends. And when your life was severed, I think we all absorbed lots of damage. 

And I'm really fucking angry. You didn't deserve this. You didn't ask for this. You never wanted to be the goddamned poster-child for cancer. Or for tragedy. Or for death.

You were one of the most beautiful souls I've ever known. You were a bright shining light in this world of shadows. And you didn't deserve to be taken from us. This world didn't deserve you, and I'm pissed that this world let you down.

I didn't want to be there when your light went out. But I'm grateful I was there to hold on to you, grateful we could all hold a part of you and share our love for you.  In those last minutes, we promised you that we would be ok, that we would carry on and take care of your family. And though it broke my heart to see you go, I take a little comfort in the thought that maybe you heard us, and maybe that is what you needed to hear to let go and be at peace.

Thank you for allowing me to take up room in your amazing, extraordinary life. I will love you for the rest of my life, and I'll never forget you.

Love you,

Jess

P.S. Thank you for smiling at me that day in Kindergarten. You were truly one of my first real friends in this world.

Dear future daughter,

It was at that moment, reaching for the dull white sink, sweater stuck on door handle, curious eyes from the waiting room boring a hole into my back, red vomit splashing onto the sink, the floor, mixing with the urine running down my legs into my shoes, gas escaping me louder than a truck backfiring, glucose liquid mixing with my tears as I publicly heaved and farted and peed my maternity yoga pants... It was then that I knew I loved you more than I've ever loved anything in this world.

Of course, I knew I loved you before you became a part of my body. I had already decided you were a wish that was going to come true... forget logic, limits, pain. You were already more important than all of that.

I knew I would never be the same when I got the phone call...The happiest moment of my life was hearing the words, "you're pregnant!" It still makes me cry just thinking about it.

Seeing your heart flutter, your body the size of a blueberry? Breathtaking.

Seeing you stretch, yawn, and hiccup on that tiny black and white screen? I only ever exhale when the ultrasounds are over.

And when I thought I might lose you? I was desperate. 

And when I thought you were coming too early? I prayed you'd be alright.

But it wasn't until the disgustingly sweet liquid I ingested for my three hour glucose test was coming out of me in three directions, my head pounding and stomach lurching, shoes filling with a disgusting combination of waste and sugar water... It was then I realized I was holding on to you with both hands, talking to you, worried that you must not feel well either, and that made me want to find the man who invented this test and punch him, hard, in his jerk face. Possibly after he had to drink this crap himself.

And just like that, I knew then that you were the biggest thing in my life. That you would now be the first thing I think about every day, and the last thing I think about each night. You take up all the space in my womb, and have somehow also settled deeply into my heart.

And I don't even know your name!

I can't wait to hold you in my arms.

Love, 

Your Mom

P.S.- Don't say "jerk face" in school. And if you accidentally do? You tell the principal you learned it from your uncle, ok?

P.P.S.- maternity yoga pants are just a fancy name for sweatpants for women who can't touch their own feet. The closest I'm getting to yoga these days is bending while I try to shave my legs.