What might have been...

Today was to have been a big day in our family - It was Baby Blair's official due date. I don't think there was any way Alli could have carried her to the due date, but I certainly didn't expect her to be born at 21 weeks gestation. And, since we lack the date that she'd have actually been born, today will forever be the day of things that might have been.

**I want to warn you now that at the end of this post, I plan to add a picture or two of Blair. That warning is for the squeamish or those who would be incredibly sad looking at a picture of a dead baby. However, it's my blog and she's my granddaughter. I can put them there. You don't have to look. I'm warning you at the top, so feel free to skip them at the bottom.**

Dear Blair,

June 8, 2008 - at date that, in our family anyway, will live in infamy. I never thought a single date would result in the whole gamut of feelings I've experienced about it. I'll be the first to admit that when I first learned of your existence, I wasn't overly thrilled. Shocked, disappointed, even angry, maybe, but not thrilled...not thrilled at all. However, as time passed, I came to some realizations. I realized that your mom was an adult and had the right to make the decisions she did. I also realized that, while I didn't have to agree with her decisions, I couldn't change them, either. And, as time went on, I became excited about your pending arrival. Sure, we didn't really have the money or the time for a baby. But, a baby was coming and babies can be fun, too. Lacking the option to do anything else, I began to look forward to your arrival.

On my 40th birthday, I went with your mom to her doctor's appointment and I heard your little heart beat for the first time. At that moment, you became real. You were really in your mom's stomach and you were really coming into our lives. What a gift that was for me.

In early January, I went with your parents to your ultrasound appointment. To say things were a little tense between us would be a hysterical understatement. However, we dealt with that tension and were all there together because you were that important to all of us. We got to see your sweet face for the very first time that day. Shoot, we got to see your sweet everything that day. (The ultrasound tech was very thorough!) And, finally, the big moment came and you were deemed a girl! I was so excited! After having been trapped in world full of grandsons and nephews, I was finally going to have a girl in the family - a baby girl! I could buy all the frilly pink outfits I could afford (and then some)!

Then came the terrible day in late January. Your mom came home from her first day back on the job and announced that she thought she needed to go to the emergency room because she'd felt something "drop." We got to the hospital and discovered that yes, she really needed to be there. Her cervix was opening and you were headed out...way, way too early.

We spent the next several days in two different hospitals - one in our home town and then she was transferred to one about an hour away. All the doctors at both hospitals did everything they could to keep you inside your mom. You mom did everything they asked, including the really unpleasant stuff, like standing on her head for over 4 days. Everybody involved did everything they could but you had other ideas. You were coming out, no matter what.

In the wee morning hours of Monday, January 28, 2008, (4 months, 1 week, and 3 days before your due date) you entered the world. You didn't stay long. Your entire life was to be just a few minutes, all lived in one hospital room. Your whole family came to spend some time with you during that day. People came and went. People held you and talked to you and loved you. Everyone thought you were beautiful. I have to agree. You were absolutely perfect.

Now, here we are on your due date - all thinking about things that might have been. We all planned to be holding a perfectly healthy, perfectly beautiful, perfectly perfect little girl today. We aren't. However, I do think good things have come from your short presence in our lives. Until you started trying to sneak out early, I'd met you dad only once - at your ultrasound. Suddenly, we were living together in the same hospital room, along with your mom. From my side, I think that we did okay. (If you were to ask him, he might have a different opinion.) However, all these months later, there is sometimes a little tension, but we get along fine. Thanks, Blair.

We also met some nice people along that journey. The doctor here was a putz, but the one at the other hospital was wonderful. We met a nice nurse, who turned out to be your dad's cousin. We met another nice nurse who helped us be ready for what would happen if you insisted on coming early. Through all those days in the hospital, we were surrounded only by helpful, compassionate employees. We were blessed by an unknown volunteer who spent a lot of time crocheting a dress, blanket, booties, and bonnet to help families at that most difficult time.

All in all, we had quite the journey with you. Would I want to do it again? No, not really. Am I sorry you died? Absolutely. Do regret that you came along? Absolutely not! All things happen for a reason. I will probably never understand why you died so young, at least not in this life. I have to believe that I'll see you again one day. When I get to Heaven, we're going to do all the grandmother stuff - tea parties, mud pies, bake some lopsided cakes, sneak chocolate chips into your oatmeal, and maybe even cruise around on a 3-wheel bike like I did with my grandmother.


This is not a goodbye, my sweet Blair. It's a "see you later." We have good times ahead..I just know it!