Dear Harleen,

I get asked a lot that if we knew the outcome before you were born, would I have continued my pregnancy with you. The answer is yes, a million times, yes. We knew the outcome of your condition before birth. We were told to prepare for you to be stillborn or to pass shortly after birth. However, your daddy and I still opted to give you a shot at life. I didn’t feel right not giving you that shot. Your condition just made you infinite times more special to us than you already were. Yes, the pain of losing you is indescribable, but those four months and 18 days with you were more than we were even told was possible. I will ALWAYS remain grateful for those months. I would go through it again if it meant being with you. I would walk a million miles if it meant seeing you again.

I know there was nothing I could do, but it doesn’t mean that I won’t wonder about what-ifs. I know you’re pain-free and without the oxygen tube, but I will never stop wishing you were here. This hole in our hearts will never go away, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t continue to push forward with our lives in hopes of making you proud. My smile may waver, my tears may swell over my eyes, but I will always keep pushing forward for you.

Sometimes the pain of missing you is like the world is crushing me. Some days, I find myself struggling to breathe at the thought of living another day without you. Some days, I can’t bring myself to get out of bed, so I stay in bed, curled up with your teddy bear with my pillow being soaked by my tears. Some days, I awaken from a deep sleep to hold your daddy close as his gut-wrenching screams call out for you in his sleep. Other days, the quiet overwhelms me.

Lately, there are days my mind tricks me into thinking I hear you crying. Those are the hardest days. Those are the days when just opening my phone causes me to break down. Those are the days when I need to visit your grave, even though reminding myself you’re gone, kills me all over again. I guess it just goes to show that maybe I am stronger than I give myself credit for.

As I sit here, listening to the music we played at your funeral, my heart is overwhelmed with pain, but it reminds me of your life. Your life was so powerful. Your story is still being shared. Your smile was capable of lighting up even the darkest rooms. Your laugh was one of the most melodic things I had ever heard. Your eyes were the most heart quickening shade of blue, and your daddy & I were preparing for when you were a teenager.

How do you love when your heart is broken?
How do you speak when you feel outspoken?
I can forgive and be forgiven
By learning to heal with a heart wide open

These are lyrics from Nothing More’s song “I’ll Be Okay.”

When you passed, I had to learn how to heal with a heart that had a hole where you were. The hole your passing left. I had to learn how to love, even though my heart was broken. It was like everything I had learned over the years about keeping my heart guarded and learning to stitch it up again, left me.

Nobody prepares you for the loss of your child. Nobody’s words seem to describe the ache and pain you feel not only in your heart but in your body. No matter how many times I hear “I’m sorry for your loss” or “She’s pain-free now” or even “She may be physically gone, but she’s still here spiritually,” it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Nobody prepares you for the moments when the pain becomes unbearable, and you drop to your knees struggling to catch your breath. Nobody prepares you for the moments in the first year when you see a baby and it’s like a smack in the face from the universe.

I wasn’t ready for you to go. None of us were. When you passed, and your daddy took you from my arms, my world froze. My emotions froze. It wasn’t until you had been gone a couple of months before it finally hit me that you were gone and when it did, your daddy was there to catch me. You may have been a daddy’s girl, but you were the literal extension of me. You were everything I ever was, and now you’re gone.

Harleen, I love you with everything I am. When you passed, a large piece of myself went with you. You are the most beautiful angel a mom could ever ask for. My sweet girl, my dearest daughter, may the skies always be gentle enough for your wings to spread. May the clouds be soft enough for you to rest upon while you watch those that love you, live on. May the laps of your grandpas and grandma who are up there with you, be enough until Mommy and Daddy can spread our wings with you. We love you.

Always and forever,


Previously published on

Photo by Cameron Ahlvers on Unsplash


About the Author: Samantha is a mother of 5. 2 rainbows, 3 angels. Harlee’s memorial page can be found at: and Samantha’s blog is: