This idea just hit me completely out of the blue, so tell me if you liked it. There's a touch of angst along with the hurt/comfort, but fluff too. I apologize for any inaccuracies in the piece, but I do not have any experience with this subject at all, so I simply wrote what came to me. Please do not leave a review telling me this or that is wrong.

Warning: this story contains some miscarriage related health problems, which may make some readers uncomfortable, especially if they have gone through these problems themselves.

I do not own Glee, okay? Would I be on here if I did? (Hint, hint: the answer is no.)

Dearest Sophie,

Today is your first birthday, baby girl. Not long ago, I never would've thought I would get to this moment, to see my daughter turn one. But it's happening, and I feel like the happiest person in the world. You saved me, baby girl, you and your daddy.

It was right after your daddy and I got married when I found out I was pregnant. It hadn't been planned, but we were happy. Of course we were happy. We were in love and financially stable, and prepared to bring a child into the world. One with your daddy's eyes, I had swore, and one with my nose, your daddy had insisted. We were so happy, baby girl. We were already proud parents.

It was supposed to be a routine check up, I had just passed my two and a half month mark and the doctor just wanted to see how I was doing. We didn't think we had anything to worry about. But, then they couldn't find a heartbeat. They told us the baby had passed away at eight weeks, and I immediately burst into tears. Your daddy tried to be strong and he held me as I cried, which felt like it went on for an eternity. But sometimes, I would wake up in the middle of the night and hear him crying to himself, just as devastated as I was. We wouldn't have a baby with his eyes or my nose; our child had been taken from us before it's time.

When it was time for me to give birth to the baby, it was a bright and sunny day, and that fact alone made me weep. When your older sister was placed in my arms for the first and last time, I noticed immediately a carbon copy of my nose on her precious face, and that killed me inside. I will never know if she had your daddy's eyes or not, I didn't have the courage to pry one of them open and see. I tried to convince myself she was only sleeping, that was all it was, and that soon my very tiny eight week old baby would wake up and her eyes would flutter open. But I knew deep down it wasn't true. Those eyes would never open. She would never live. She would never get that chance.

I let your daddy hold her and for the very first time since I got the news of my miscarriage, he openly cried in front of me. Your daddy hates to cry in front of me, but that time he did. So, we simply cried together over the loss of our child. Then, the nurse came and took her away. We never saw her again, expect for when we were lowering her into the ground in the tiniest casket I'd ever seen.

We both knew we should name her, just so there would be something on the gravestone that marked her resting place. At first I refused, I didn't want to be even more attached than I already was. But I changed my mind at the last minute; I knew I couldn't just let the gravestone say 'Baby Hudson'. She deserved a name; I wasn't going to take that away from my daughter just like how her life had been taken away. So, your father and I agreed on Starr, because that's what she would be: a star watching over us always.

After Starr's death, I was a wreck. I was half the person I used to be, I felt as if a part of me had died with her. Your daddy tried to comfort me, he told me everything was going to be fine, that we could have another baby when I was ready and we both had healed. I pretended to agree, but I didn't believe him. I felt like it would never be fine, that things would never get better. And even if it did and I was able to bear another child, how would I know that one wouldn't be taken away from me too?

It was hard to keep going, most days I couldn't even get myself out of bed. At night, I would find myself unable to sleep, and I would just stare at the ceiling, wondering why this had happened to me. Sometimes, I even swore I could hear a baby crying, and when I told your daddy this, he would just look at me with pity, and tell me that it wasn't real; that it was all in my head.

I hated those looks. I hated that hopeless feeling I had. I hated him for moving on already and being able to live life while I couldn't. I hated the doctors for not being able to save Starr. I hated God for taking her away from me. But most of all, I hated myself for not being able to protect the child that had once been growing inside of me.

Several months after Starr's death, my condition had only gotten worse. One day, while your daddy was at work, I was in the worst funk yet, and so I decided that I was going to drown myself in the bathtub, just finish myself off. Obviously, I didn't go through with it. When your daddy got home, he found me there, naked and crying in the full bathtub, my head just above the water, and my grip on my stomach so tight I had left two red handprints on my abdomen. It was that day your daddy had forced me to get some help. This behavior was not normal, and I needed to see someone before I hurt myself for real.

The doctors diagnosed me with postpartum psychosis, an extremely severe form of postpartum depression. I had never thought I could have postpartum, since I had had a miscarriage; it had never crossed my mind. After that, the doctors sent me to a specialist for treatments.

The specialist showed me that Starr's death was not my fault, that there was nothing I could've done about it. While the passing of my oldest child was a devastating loss, and I would probably never fully get over it, I had to move on with my life, I could not dwindle on the past forever. Even though it didn't seem like it then, things would get better. And eventually they did.

I found out I was pregnant again when Starr would've been a year and five months old. At first, I did not tell your daddy. He didn't find out until he found me throwing up in the bathroom one morning. That was when I tearfully told him the truth, confessing I hadn't wanted to tell him in fear he would think I was trying to replace Starr. We sat there on the bathroom floor for a long time, his arms around me as I volleyed back and forth between crying and puking. Finally, your daddy smiled at me and said: "You never had morning sickness with Starr. This means the baby is growing." That only made me cry harder, but this time they were happy tears. To have some reassurance that the baby growing inside of me was healthy was a feeling I can't describe. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

My pregnancy was not an easy one. Early on, I had severe morning sickness and would throw up all day long. By my fourth month, I had already gained a lot of weight. Sometimes your daddy would find me sitting in front of the mirror in our closet, unclothed and hysterical, weeping about how ugly I was. The ultrasound technician even thought I might be having twins, which caused me to break down, accusing him of calling me fat. That was nothing compared to the end, though.

I began to experience high blood pressure at thirty weeks. The doctors monitored me closely, and when I was thirty four weeks they asked me to collect urine so they could test it for high protein levels. It was then I was diagnosed with preeclampsia.

Preeclampsia is a dangerous, possibly life threatening complication that develops late in a pregnancy. It causes high blood pressure and problems with the kidneys. The only cure is delivery. Since my case of preeclampsia was so severe, I had to have a C-section immediately. I even had to be put under during the procedure in order to prevent myself from having a seizure.

I remember the first thing I saw when I woke up after the C-section was your daddy. He was crying and for a moment I thought the baby had died, but then he looked at me, smiled and said: "She has your nose and my eyes." Then I started to cry too.

You were a tiny baby; not as tiny as Starr of course, but still tiny. You were only five pounds, three ounces, but the doctors said that you were doing very well for a preterm baby. At first you had some trouble breathing, but I got to see you and hold you less than an hour after I awoke. Your daddy was right, you had big amber eyes like his and a Jewish nose like mine. You were so beautiful, baby girl. You still are. I was in love instantly.

We decided to name you Sophie Joy Hudson. Sophie was my idea, after the character from Mamma Mia, and your daddy chose Joy, because you brought us great happiness, which is exactly what 'joy' means.

And now, today you turn one. You have grown so much since the day you were born. You still have your daddy's eyes and my nose, as well as your daddy's lopsided smile and a full head of downy brown curls the same color as my hair. You are always smiling and I don't think I've ever seen you sad. You're a Daddy's girl already, and most definitely have your daddy wrapped around your little finger. He'd do absolutely anything for you, we both would. Right now, he's helping you blow out the single candle on the cupcake while you laugh at absolutely nothing. It warms my heart to see little moments like this, to hear the sound of your laugh.

Finally, don't ever forget that we love you, Sophie. You saved me; you brought me back to life after the loss of your sister. Most of all, don't ever forget your older sister Starr, who will always be watching over you. She loves you too, I know she does. You may not understand it all now, but someday you will. Someday I will give you this letter and you will understand just how much you are loved, what a savior you really are. You are my world, baby girl.

Love, your mommy,

Rachel Hudson *