• 3 years old

    Dear Morgan,

    What can I say? You are three. I can sometimes close my eyes and just imagine what kind of 3 year old you would be. Would you have dark hair like your sisters? Hazel eyes or blue? Would you be sneaky like Brooklyn or tom-boyish like Taylor? Or would you offer that “in-between” balance of the two? There are so many different nuances of you that I am left to use my imagination. I wish you were here so I could hug you and kiss your sweet cheeks. And to listen to you giggle while you open your presents that, i’m sure, we would have showered you with. Because you deserve that, Morgan.

    I have spent the last three years wondering how this could happen to us. But how selfish are we to think that your death happened to us. It happened to you. It is your death. I am so sorry you were robbed of a life – one that you fought so hard for. I had no idea your little body was struggling, Morgan. I would have advocated for you so much better if I knew what I know now. I would have pushed for answers about the discomfort you were obviously feeling. I would have told them to perform an echo cardiogram and to test for myocarditis. So many things I could have done if I had the knowledge I do now. I am so sorry I did not know.

    I am still, after all this time, waiting for you to visit me in my dreams. I would love to see you. To feel your weight as I hold you close. To smell your sweet baby smell. Just for a moment, in a dream. That would be so great. I know you will come one day and visit me. Maybe you are mad – upset that I didn’t know how to save you. But understand that I would give my own life to bring you back. I would change places with you a million times over, Morgan. Please come and visit me.

    I love you sweet girl. I hope that there is cake, ice cream, balloons and a lot of friends up in heaven celebrating with you today. Happy birthday munchkin. <3

     

    Love always,

    Mommy

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