I Miss You and I Love You


The following is entirely personal, and largely depressing, if you aren’t interested or up for either of those things, I’d suggest stopping now and reading a different post.  Just want to make sure you know.


It’s been a year since Erin and I lost Beanie.  We lost Beanie at 32-weeks of pregnancy.  It was, it was nothing we could’ve changed.  The problem that took Beanie from us was started before we even knew Erin was pregnant, and we knew before her period.  It was ultimately just bad luck, very bad luck.

Having said that, it doesn’t change much, it doesn’t really change anything.  I don’t know if I would change anything.  We could’ve found out sooner, maybe it would’ve hurt less, maybe it would hurt less now, but I wouldn’t have had those blissful months.  I’ve never had months that happy.  I think I will in the future, but those were wonderful times, and I don’t think I’d take those away.

Time has, as time does, dulled the pain.  I’m thankful for that.

Getting in the car and crying the whole time was just…it just was.  The car is my thinking time, and for many months if I was alone in the car, I was crying.  I think I can driver safer today, not crying.

But there is still pain.  I’ve found a peace with pain.  An embrace of it.  Crying, today, in some ways, it doesn’t hurt.  It feels honest.  It hurts to talk about losing Beanie, every time it hurts, but that’s not “bad”.  It just is.  I enjoy talking about her actually, at least on occasion.  I may cry while doing it, but it feels good to do it.  It’s something I don’t think people get, but they just need to trust me here.

I do think about her.  I think about her a lot.  Not everyday, not for days on end on occasion, but I probably think about her more days than not.  She’s my baby girl.  How could I not?

I do wonder what she would’ve been like, as a child, as a teenager, as an adult, I wonder.  I wonder, as is I think natural, about those lost potentials.  I miss that I’ll never experience those with her.  I would’ve liked too.

I’ll always wish I could’ve.  And that’s good.

At the end of the day I’ve learned somethings, they may very well be of no use to anyone but me, but that never stopped me from sharing before.  I’ve learned much purer versions of many emotions, namely love and fear.

I can’t say I know love like many parents know love, but I have an inkling of how little I know of love.  I love many people in this world, and many experiences, and many things, and I know I know very little about that word.  I just have a taste for how powerful it can be.

Maybe what I’ve learned more about, for better or worse, is fear.  I think I can pretty comfortably say I understand fear.  I’ve learned to understand fear in and out.  With this current pregnancy, oh, for those who don’t know, Erin is 24 weeks pregnant, it’s good stuff.  But with this pregnancy, Booger, I can feel the terror, shear terror.  Slight pains, slight things that the perinatologist is keeping an eye, and he is very confident everything is dandy for us, but I live in fear.  I’ve learned how randomly things can go wrong, horribly wrong, and I fear that moment, I fear that moment coming into existence.  Logic be damned, it terrifies me.

I’ve never been a person to live in fear.  I respect and listen to fear, it’s a good emotion, it’s an informative emotion, but it definitely has a much stronger pull in my life today.  I’m not unusually scared of climbing a cliff, I’m not scared of a car getting to close, I’m terrified of anything that happens to Erin and Boog, a slip and fall, a strange pain, anything, anything different that isn’t easily and quickly definable as “normal”, anything that could be “a sign”.  It’s an amazing, a powerful, feeling.

But for all this, let me again be very clear, I wouldn’t, even at the hardest of time, give up my time with Bean, as third hand as it may have been.  (As a guy, what else can we do but feel a stomach a move?  It is a wonderful feeling though.)  I don’t want you to think, after the previous paragraphs that I’m worse off for the experience.  I’m different for it, but I’m happy to have had it.  She was my baby girl.

I just wish I could’ve had a lifetime with her.  I never can, but I’d do almost anything too.

But it was what it was, and that can’t and couldn’t have been changed.  That much I know.  My job today, everyday, one of many actually, but the important one, is to, while honoring Beanie, to create a happy life for Boog to come into.  I can’t do anything for Beanie but love and honor her memory, but for Boog, I can do a lot for Boog, and I’ll do whatever that is, whatever that must be, because I want Boog to have a great life.

And I can’t provide a lot, but damn if Boog ain’t going to at least have the love of it’s Papa.  (Mama’s going to do the same I’m sure.)  I’ll at least make sure of that Boog is well loved.

And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do in this life.

But I will also always miss my little Beanie.  I love you girl.  You did have that, you always will have that.



Later Addition, Erin, Mommy’s Post

7 Responses to “I Miss You and I Love You”

  1. Aunt Becky says:

    What a beautiful tribute to your daughter. We miss her terribly. Love to you, Erin, The Bean, and Boog.

    Sending you all the love and light I have today and always.

  2. onceamother says:

    a beautiful post. a beautiful girl. sending you many prayers of support today. i am so sorry your little beanie is not here with you, but the time that she was here, and in the year since, she has been loved, and she will always be loved and remembered, and that makes you a special and amazing dad.

  3. 100daysinbed says:

    Good God, if that is not the most powerful and beautiful thing I have ever read on the web… or anywhere. I relate so much. I’ve experienced a lot of unexpected loss but no one has ever boiled down exactly how I feel that I am always grasping to express.

  4. Heather says:

    What a sweet, beautiful little girl you have. We lost our son at 20 weeks… and you’re so right, the pain becomes a part of your reality, a part of the way things are and, in it’s way, a comfort. It’s another small thing we have left of our babies… a tiny piece of the lives they so briefly held. We have nothing left of them but the pictures and the pain, and so it becomes a positive in some strange way. The loss of a child warps everything, and we are never the same.

  5. What a beautiful daughter you have. We also lost our only son, Emerson, at 20 weeks. It will be 9 years this Saturday. The pain is still there, not as raw as it was in those first few days and weeks, but it is there. And the fear, I wish I could say it goes away, but it is always in your face. Like you said, any strange pain or unusual feeling caused me more dread during my other pregnancies than I ever could have imagined. I had three more perfectly healthy pregnancies after we lost our son, but they were all treated as high risk, which only added to the fear for me.

    I hope you and your wife have a very healthy pregnancy. Sending you thoughts and prayers of support.

  6. Cindy D says:

    That was beautiful! It made me cry. My heart ached for you and Erin. I certainly will pray for you and your family. You probably don’t remember me I’m your dad’s first cousin. I visited your family when you lived in Madison. Who knew you were going to grow up to be such a cool person? But you sure are and Erin must be too if she’s with you!

  7. Josh Hawkins says:

    Thank you everyone for your kind words. Erin and I appreciate them greatly.

Leave a Reply