I know my baby’s death was hard on you. It was hard on me too.
I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable when I say their name. To be honest, it makes me uncomfortable that you won’t.
When I mention them, I know you feel the need to change the conversation because you’re sad. I’m sad too. That’s why I keep bringing them up.
I know the fact that my baby just suddenly died is scary for you.
When it actually happened to me, I was scared too.
I hear you when you say you’ve never dealt with this before. Neither have I. This is the first time my child has died, I’m trying to figure it out too.
I’m sorry it’s awkward to be around me because my baby died. It’s awkward for me to answer questions like “How many children do you have?” and “Was there anything you could have done?” I get it.
I know that you really don’t want to hear about my sad story right now. I really wish I didn’t have to tell it.
Thank you for letting me know that you think it’s time for me to move on and stop dwelling.
I imagine I’ll move on when I stop loving my baby. I’ll keep you posted.
I know you have been waiting for me to “get back to normal.” There are times I wish I could go back there too.
I’m sure your intentions were heartfelt, but they have left my heart feeling broken.
I’m sorry that this letter is difficult to read. I assure you it has been difficult to write because I love you and I was expecting more from you.
Again, I know this has been hard for you–it’s been hard for me too.