I felt it was an easy birth. I didn't expect it, but it was. The pains were instantly removed by the unspeakable love that a mother conquers, the first moment she holds her baby in her arms. The power of that feeling is compared to nothing, nothing. What I did not expect was the great joy and desire to celebrate. I didn't expect that kind of joy.
As I wondered why I wasn't crying yet, a shadow came around me to say that I looked pretty enough to die inside my body. Then reality hit me quickly. I would never hear your cry for life. I knew this before I was born, but the feeling I had was quite different.
The midwives left us alone and we took you in the arms, me and your father. We slept with you for a few hours and then left the hospital empty-handed.
I can't describe how sad it was inside that feeling. I don't even want to write about it. I just remember the enthusiasm of the young, proud parents holding their own hands. Encouraging them to leave the hospital and start a new life. Ah, how I wish I could be like them.
We returned home empty-handed. The belly once seemed to still move from your strokes. I woke up when you were crying, but in truth, you were never there.
Today, many years have passed. I want to believe that you are the angel on my shoulder, just as the midwife described when she saw you. I want to believe that you rest with your grandparents, forever in peace.
I failed! I couldn't give you a life. I still don't know why and maybe I'll never know. Things just went very wrong. Excuse me, my dear daughter.
I have made a promise to myself and to you. The shadow of your death, never extinguish the light of the short life you had. For as long as you existed within me, we lived, two hearts as one complete. I still feel you are alive. You were destined to be, though for a short time.
Forever, I will bear your name as a torch of love!
* Note: This letter is adapted from The Guardian
