I first saw your face four months ago, today. I have seen that beautiful face everyday since. In my thoughts, in photographs, and, as I go about my day, in the many babies of the world. Sometimes, I see myself in the parents of these babies - and I wonder.
What kind of parent would I have been to you? How would I have helped you through the difficult times in your life? I picture myself drawing on all of my experiences to give you comfort, encouragement, and the strength to get through anything.
But none of my experiences can help you get through death. I do not understand it. Although I like to hope that you still exist in some form (other than in our memories), I feel powerlessness at being unable to help you through the next step of your existence. And that's a difficult thing for a parent to feel.
I didn't have the chance to comfort you in life, and I am stuck with an unquenchable need to find some way to do it. So I find work that, had you lived, might have brought you a bit of additional comfort. I work around the house - the home you never got to see. I paint. I fix things. I make it a little bit better, bit by bit. It helps, but it also makes our home more and more different than it would have been were you still with us.
As time goes on, the differences between the life we lead today, and the life that we should have led together get bigger and bigger. While that makes me sad, my daughter, you should know that me and your mom's lives are still better for having had you in it, if only for the briefest of moments. I feel so much love for you, Anya, more than I knew I could feel. Thank you for bringing me this love.
I miss you. I love you. I carry you in my heart every day.