Dear Baby Corbin. . .

Dear Baby Corbin,

You were four weeks old today when your parents watched you take your last breath. I'm writing this letter to you because it's all I know to do. As a mommy, I'm just having such a hard time wrapping my head around all of this, and I know I'm far from the only one. You see, I don't know your mommy and daddy personally, or your big brother, who I'm sure is old enough to understand that something went very wrong, but I pray is still young enough that the coming years will dull the edges of this memory. I'm sure that he was the proudest and most loving big brother to you ever.

Sweet baby boy, you were so loved in your 28 days here on this earth. I have seen pictures of you and the word "angelic" fails to do you justice. As I looked at your pictures, I've tried in my own mortality to understand how your newborn perfection could be met with so many unanswered questions. What went wrong? Why won't you ever wake up? Why wouldn't you live long enough to be embarrassed by having those beautiful newborn photos dragged out in front of your future girlfriends?

I want to tell you something about your mommy, Corbin. She is one of the strongest and most beautiful women I think I would ever have the privilege of knowing. I am told that she held you all the time while you were sleeping, often times refusing to have her own basic needs met, just so she could be assured that she would be the one holding you when you grew your wings. I'm sure she went without sleep and probably at times forgot to eat and drink. Every moment- and every second of every moment- was for you, little one. Many times, I have found myself wondering if she knew, before you were born, that she was this strong. And I bet she wouldn't have ever wanted to find out in this way. No one would.

Your life was short, but it wasn't wasted. You left a legacy for so many, like myself, who never knew you, but who carried you in their hearts these past few weeks. If anything, you taught us how to hold on more tightly to our own children. To not take for granted even the slightest upset, right down to the 2 a.m. wake-ups and yes, even the tantrums, because all at once, they reminded us that your parents never even got to hear you cry. You showed us, in your own quiet way, how to better love our children. You see, I thought I knew how to hold my son. I even thought I knew exactly what he smelled like. But this past week, I realized how many times I have held him without really holding him. And so I took the time to memorize everything about him- every fat roll in his thighs, every dimple, the way his lips pucker when he starts to snore. I learned that no matter the time of day, he smells like the perfect combination of baby powder and banana. I thought I knew my daughter inside and out by now, too.. But in these past few weeks, I've caught myself staring at her while she draws and scribbles. Mesmerized, I've watched her as she reads books to her Elmo on her bed. I've listened to her tiny voice inflections and noticed how when she laughs- when something is really funny to her- it starts in her belly, uncontrollable, and bubbles it's way up into a shriek and at the very end, she'll stick just the tip of her tongue out between her teeth. And I noticed for the first time, the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel-brown eyes. I've stood outside the door to her room almost every night this week, just to listen to her sing herself to sleep.

Sweet Corbin, I'm so infinitely sorry that it took your sleep to make me realize what I have right in front of me. I'm devastated that not even your doctors have any answers. And if I'm honest, more than a little part of me is angry with a God that I claim to believe in that would even allow you to only be here- but not really here- for such a short time. My only prayer right now (because I don't know how or what else to pray) is that your mommy and daddy can find even an ounce of comfort in knowing that your precious life has touched so many others- even those that only saw your sweet face in pictures. You are loved, little one, and you will be forever missed.


12/28/2011-1/25/2012