Today marks the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week, and we have done our very best to talk about you as much as possible, and to as many people as possible. It’s been almost 10 months since you left us, and every day of those 10 months has hurt. Some days just a little bit, some days a lot, and some days its unbearable. We miss you every day, but we are determined to let your legacy be a positive one. Since you left this world we have walked the three peaks and waved your #TEAMPIPPA flag along the way. We have organised a family fun day, where families bounced and danced, had their faces painted and been amazed by magicians. We sent hundreds of emails, to hundreds of people (some of them mega famous Hollywood people) and told them your story. We began painting rocks with your name on, for people to take all over the world. We have raised a huge £16,000 for charity, this is going to help other tiny and poorly babies and their families. We have started our small non-profit, Pipsqueak’s, so that we can do more fundraising in your honour. While we ache with sadness that you’re not here, your death will have a greater meaning.
Penny is on the verge of walking now, she is ready to take her first steps. We always dreamed that you would do this together, and often imagined you walking hand in hand. All the things we wished for have been lost, and that’s not going to change, or get any easier. Your Daddy will always think of you as his little baby girl, but I often think of you as an adult. I feel sad that we will never have the chance to have the relationship that Nana Pat and I have, so instead I try to imagine you as a woman now. What would you think of your sisters? Would you roll your eyes at Evelyn’s terrible jokes? Would you cheer for Penny as she takes her first tentative steps? Would you be embarrassed by your Dad’s singing in the car? Would we go to the theatre on special occasions? I like to think that we could talk for hours. You’d pop into the house to pick something up, and you’d stay for hours. You’d bring your washing round at the weekend when you were away for university. You’d be asking your dad for a lift into town so you could go out with your friends. I know these things can never happen, but an imagination is a wonderful thing.
I could sit for hours and think about what could have been, but instead I’ll tell you what I know. I know that wherever you are now, that you are free from pain, and I know that big T is looking after for you. He was there when you left us, and told me that he’d look after for you and that everything was going to be alright, and I believe him. Everything is going to be alright.
We love you, we miss you, and we will carry you with us for the rest of our lives.
Lots of love,
Mummy and Daddy xxx