TyTy's Hope

Dear Tyler, My most precious angel,

This is what I want to tell you today.
Your dad and I have been talking about adopting. After going through a process we found out between waiting list, and the chance of adopting a newborn would be so small and costly, we found another route. Going through the state if you adopt a child who is disabled, or has health problems it's likely, and less costly to adopt, which brought up the question, could we love a child, have a child, bring a child into our home, that we could possibly lose again, and make us feel the pain of loss again? The pain that's so deep, that when you allow yourself to swim in it, you are taken back to the day you watched your baby take his last breath? Could we? I shut my mind to it. My mind was closed. I said no, and I don't want to discuss it further.
I've been sick the last three weeks, and I was pretty out of it. Your dad took me to get medicine, and I was spacing, and looking out the window, I asked myself, could I really take that risk again? Then it led to the question that will probably sound awful. Would I love another child knowing I will feel that pain again? Would I go through watching a child fight like you did, only to lose, and feel this pain again? And when I let myself think about it, when I thought about how much I love you, and how much happiness you gave us, and how many times I laughed at something you did, and then the pain came, and when I asked myself would I give up the happiness I felt when I held you for the first time after the long and hard pregnancy, would I give up rubbing your rough feet so they would feel better, would I take away the feeling of being a complete family for two years, would I take away the look you would give me when you were going through a bad test and I could see you knew I would take care of you, would I take away hearing you laugh so hard I couldn't help but laugh even though I didn't know what you were laughing at, would I take away the feeling of seeing you tip your head and smile at me, would I take away how proud I was of you when you smiled through all the pain, would I take away the feeling of my heart melting when you grabbed my finger and wouldn't let go, would I take away seeing you with your eyes like mine smiling and then sticking out your tongue, would I take away that last Christmas Eve when you were on the table with your spoons listening to the Grinch soundtrack laughing and smiling, and finally what I miss the most- would I take back seeing you look up at me over your bottle as I fed you, You would stare at me while you were in the crook of my leg, and I would look into your eyes, and you would smile around the bottle, and I always, no matter how bad it was, in the hospital, out of the hospital, tired, beat, worn down, frustrated with being overwhelmed, I was always so happy you were in my arms. I realized then that although the pain is so deep you don't think you can walk another day with it, I wouldn't take any of that away, none of it. And then the biggest realization came, you gave so much happiness, and so much love to us in that two years, that the pain is something I would take on rather than lose the good we had in the time you blessed us with your love. You gave us the greatest gift anyone can, and even though you're gone you left us with something so amazing. You left so much to us. You gave us the power of love that helps carry pain. You allowed us to see that even through the unbearable pain we carry without you, that your love and the spirit you carried here and the spirit you carry now gone, makes this pain something we wouldn't give up if it meant giving up anything about you. You left with us something that it took me three years to figure out.
You know what this is? We always said TyTy's hope. You left us hope TyTy. You left us hope that even through the greatest pain that the love that came with it is unmeasurable. You gave us hope.
So in honor of you TyTy, every day I'm gonna tell myself to hope. Every day will be a new hope in honor of you and the family you left this to.
Today I hope that I can carry my pain quietly so that this Christmas I can show my kids that they are enough to help me enjoy these holidays. That even though you're not here, they are, and they can make me smile, and put up a tree, and make snowflakes, and bake cookies, and light the Christmas tree with your star and picture on it. My hope is to give us our spirit back. I may not be able to do it, but hope is eternal right? You taught me that.
Thank you Tyler. Thank you for my hope. Thank you for your love and spirit, and thank you for letting me be your mommy. I love and miss you so dearly Tyler.

Love,
Your mommy