I will always remember and never forget.

October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. A day that I wasn't even aware existed until just a few years ago.

I have written a couple of blog posts in the past about the loss that Denis and I experienced in January of 2009. For any readers that may not have known, our loss was rather sudden and of course unexpected. To save you from a long and emotional back story, I will just highlight the details you may need to know in case something is mentioned later on that might not make sense unless I let you in on a few events. On January 11, 2009 we kicked off our annul 21 day fast at our church. That night I had a dream. A very vivid dream that I was pregnant, and that in my dream I was warned that if I went forward with this fast my baby wouldn't survive. I woke up Monday morning and I couldn't shake this horrible feeling. I happen to have some pregnancy tests on hand, so I thought to myself, "Just take one. You'll feel better knowing for sure one way or the other." So I did. Low and behold, 2 beautiful pink lines started back at me. Without another thought, I ran into the bedroom and shook Denis awake. I know I had the goofiest grin on my face as I shared the news. It was one of those moments I had only ever imagined in my head, and now it was really happening. We made plans to meet for lunch that very afternoon back at the house and I took yet another test (cause I'm crazy like that) and in a matter of a lunch hour, we had a plan. A plan to save money. A plan to tell our families around Valentine's Day. We made plans. Big plans.

That night our big plans came crashing to a halt. I started bleeding. Nothing too alarming, but I knew something wasn't right. The bleeding worsened so we went to the doctor the next day and our fears were confirmed... our baby hadn't survived.

It wasn't until after Norah was born that we made the news of our loss public. I had been asked to be in a video for Mother's Day in 2010. It was then that I first spoke of our miscarriage. Even though it was very emotional for me, I knew it was something that had to be done. Because there was this very real piece of me that believes that talking about that first little life I had living inside of me was the only thing that kept my baby's memory alive. The pain is still very real. But the pain is my reminder that my child did existed. That there is a part of my heart that will never be owned by another. No one could ever replace that loss... that space is forever reserved by the child who first made me a mother.

A few months after the miscarriage I begged God to show me if our baby was a boy or a girl. I don't know why this was so important to me, but I was desperate to know. I've never heard God speak audibly before, but He does speak to me. But every time I pursued Him about this particular subject, I "heard" nothing. It was around my birthday in 2009 that I had another dream. Another very vivid dream about our sweet baby. In this dream my baby lived to breath it's first breath. It was a beautiful baby girl. She had the most beautiful face I had ever seen. She even had a name. Maria. Moments after I heard her name spoken I woke up, my pillow soaked with tears. Now. I am not saying that the Lord gave me this dream. I am saying that only 2 dreams have ever been had about my baby. The dream about being pregnant with her, and the dream revealing her gender and name. And to me, that says something.

Maria: the Hebrew meaning is "Bitter"
In order to complete her name and bring "closure" to the meaning, I gave her the middle name Alison, meaning "Sweet." (My older sister's name is also Allison)

For the last 3 years, on October 15th I write a letter to Maria.  In each letter I dream about who she would be and what she would be doing. She would have been 3 this Fall. I tell her about her sister and about her daddy. I tell her all my secrets. She is one incredible secret keeper. I talk to her about my fears and my struggles and my thoughts about the future. Last year I told her to make sure she took special care of Anthony Jr, Malia and Nathan D'Imperio. (The sons and daughter of a great friend of mine). I ask her questions in hopes that one day she will answer them all. Every night I go to bed, turn my bedside lamp off and I glance at my Willow Tree Angel of Remembrance that sits right next to my bed. This is the tangible object that I have dedicated to her memory. My sweet Maria watching over me as I sleep. Each night I secretly hope she will visit me once again in my dreams. But even if I never dream of her again here on earth, one day I will get the chance to hug her and squeeze her tight and laugh ourselves through eternity.

It was 7 months after we lost Maria that Norah was conceived. She was part of our healing. I think often about the fact that if Maria had been carried full term, Norah would never exist. It hurts my mind to try and wrap my head around a world with no Norah Kathleen. I miss Maria everyday. This is why her name means "Bitter Sweet." The taste of losing her will always be bitter. But her short life saved mine. In losing her she showed me that there is nothing in this world that I wanted more than to be a mother. She opened up the doors and prepared the way for Norah. Every life has a purpose. Maria must have fulfilled hers in just 6 short weeks before Jesus brought her home. Her purpose, to restore hope to my world. It's crazy that it took such a vast amount of pain to bring me hope. I think Dillion Lovall said it perfectly though... "He makes broken lives beautiful."

Mommy loves you Maria. So does your daddy and your little sister.

Until we meet, I will always remember and never forget. Not ever.