Dear Olivia,

The three hundred rock brackets and hand stamped envelopes are done. I’ve moved onto making an Olivia photo board timeline. I printed over 800 photos and plan to display at least 500 of them at the service. Your dad and I spent four hours  printing pictures of you, our family, friends with you and your favorite SNAP and BBF camping memories. A hour for each year of your preciously lived years. I loved taking pictures of you, posting them on Facebook and Instagram, sharing them with the world. You’ve always made me the proudest mom on earth.  

Great Aunt D, Auntie Helena, your brother and  daddy have been with me everyday since you left. They keep me from falling into a very dark place and Caba reminds me that he still needs his momma. He misses you as much as the rest of us, but doesn’t know how to talk about it. That’s what happens when your 2 1/2 years old. I worry that he won’t remember all the good times he had with you and how much you both loved each other. Of course there will always be stories, but that’s not the same. 

I miss you and think about you constantly. I hope that never stops. I have all sorts of weird thoughts in my head about your passing. I shared some of them with your daddy, who likely thinks I’m stranger than I already was, but it makes me feel more sane to talk about it, kinda like how I feel the need to write you these letters. I wrote you letters when you were in my belly too. Those are in a small blue journal hiding in our house. 

I love you, Livy. Many other people love you too. I can’t believe how generous our extended family and friends have been during this process. We’ve had dinner brought to our house every night and many people who cared about you or love our family have made a wide range of contributions in your memory. We are so incredibly grateful. 

You’re still at the hospital, but your corneas and other soft tissues that could be donated have been taken. Your autopsy is still underway, but once that is done you will be given a short ride to Chapel of the Chimes. It will be your final car ride…something you loved so much. I’m sad that we wont be able to take it together. 

Always,

Momma