Little Fingers

When I was finally pregnant, daddy and I were so excited and, I couldn’t believe that I was carrying a baby. As an anxious soon-to-be-a-mother woman, I wanted to make sure that I could sleep when I wanted, eat what I needed, and keep fondly dream of your little hands on my face and daddy holding his baby girl and her mother a little longer every day. Every morning I woke up with a big smile on my face for being able to carry my baby, we even had picked up a few names for you and already started looking for adorable baby clothes. When we first heard your heartbeat in the doctor’s office, we both broke down crying and, it’s the day I would always cherish because we had been waiting for you for so long.

Finally, we were on my labor, and all I had pictured earlier was a room full of doctors and nurses getting my baby out while daddy holding my hand but, it didn’t happen the way it should’ve happened, and my world went crashing down.

I saw daddy crying hopelessly in the corner of the room; doctors informed me that they can’t save my baby, and even I couldn’t have done anything to help it, this world would never know how broken and weak a mother gets when she can’t help her child. Then they handed me, my daughter-like a sacred flower and everything looked perfect, ten little fingers and toes with a nose just like daddy; you looked so beautiful as if you were sleeping, but you weren’t alive; we chose to call you kavya.

Since the day you left, each morning I recite your name like a prayer and life in this world isn’t the same. There aren’t any moments that I don’t crave to get a glimpse of you again, to get your kiss, watch you smile, or get a chance to watch you sleep; mommy is an unlucky woman, I guess.
Since then, I am keeping this journal with me, and whenever I feel something’s bothering me, I write about you- it’s like I’ve been talking to you with means of my journal; it brings a sense of relief and comfort holding on to this.

You would be turning 13 next week, and all these years you were my source of strength and hope; a reminder of what may come life has to go on; I have never held you longer, but I feel you; you never spoke, but I hear you; I never knew you, but I love you. My kavya made me a mother, filled me with love and passion, and I am grateful for that. I just penned whatever I wanted to say to you on your birthday, and I know you may not get to see read this but, still, I will keep it safe for you. A mother never quits. Right?
Love,
Mommy.

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