Today I sat with my girls and read them the following letter from their Dad. I closed my eyes and saw their smiles.
From my Husband…
Kalli and I continue to do our best to face each day following the loss of our beautiful angels, Adele and Josie. I miss those girls more than I can ever express and I think about them first thing every morning when I say my prayers, put on bracelets with their names and the last thing I do before I go to bed every night.
We are certainly in the first inning of our recovery, but I am proud of my wife and me for how we've handled the worst imaginable pain. I have no idea what to say to people when they ask how we are doing. The closest thing I can think of to say is that we're hanging in there. However, I will say that I've done a lot of reflecting, praying and meditating about what it means to be "strong." It is a frequent label that people have given to me and Kalli throughout this journey. Strong to me has everything to do with getting up in the morning, going to work, finishing our home, interacting with people, being semi-social and showing ourselves and our girls that every day is an opportunity to honor their memory through our daily lives. It would be far easier to isolate ourselves at home for an extended period of time, but we are doing everything that we can to integrate their memory into our lives. I know deep down that we are making them proud.
I am a Dad, Kalli is a Mom, we will give them future siblings and those girls are forever part of our story. I love them with everything in my heart.
To my beautiful wife Kalli, I see you always, I hear you always, and I acknowledge our collective pain. I know the hardship behind those eyes and that smile, and I will do everything that I can to support you. We understand new parts of life that will make us band closer together in the long run. When I said those vows on our wedding day, I only considered that there would be highs ahead and small blips of lows. I now understand what it means to be a team and a partner through thick and thin.
We continue to try every resource imaginable to help cope with our loss. There are many days I wake up praying that this was all a bad, twisted nightmare. If it wasn't for my amazing wife's courage to write a blog post the day we entered our horrific scenario, I can assure you that I would have kept this all as quiet as possible. I've always been a private person and I commend Kalli for opening up to our journey, because it has not only been therapeutic, but we've heard from some incredible people with unfortunately similar stories, who give us resiliency and an open forum to connect. Many of those people are several years ahead of us with stories of positive future outcomes.
I want to write a book someday about everything we experienced and what we’ve learned. I'm often reminded of a book I read back in 2020 called "When Breath Becomes Air." It is the most impactful book of my life. An incredibly powerful story, not for the faint of heart, about what truly matters in life. Sharing our deepest pain in a public way has been our way of showing what matters to us more than anything: each other and building a family.
Today is the girl's due date and it stings a bit extra to think this could have been the day our new chapter of life unfolded. I often feel stuck between a rock and a hard place, do I talk about the girls, which brings about difficult feelings, or do I try to swallow their memory at that moment because the pain is completely overwhelming? Today, I am electing to tell the world about our beautiful girls. It is difficult, but necessary. Admittedly, I wish I knew more about them and one of the most difficult parts of our loss is thinking about who they would become, what ice cream was their favorite, how we would interact, what sports would they play, and what joy we would share with each other. I dreamed of coming home from work to Kalli, HoneyBear and the girls sleeping together on the couch.
Josie we knew for 14 hours. She joined the world with a full head of black hair. She was so tranquil and calm. She took deep and slow breaths compared to her twin, Adele. Almost as if she was meditating. I loved watching her chest rise and fall so slowly. She had olive, mediterranean skin. I could tell she was a thinker, I could tell we would swap lots of books and have deep conversations.
Adele was the life of the party for 30-days. From the moment she came into this world, she had fire. It was so fitting, as her name meant "fiery." She kicked and punched endlessly and tried to take out her breathing tube non-stop. She was feisty, but elegant. The doctors and nurses all called her "Miss Adele" and we all played "One and Only" by the singer Adele and let the emotions pour out every single day. I called her "Delly" as a nickname. She and her sister came into the world at just over one pound. Because of her small, but mighty nature, she reminded me a lot of the former Cavs player, Matthew "Delly" Dellavedova, who was on the smaller side, but gave his heart and soul to the team. She had these gorgeous blue/greenish eyes -- they looked a lot like Kalli's. She had just as much hair as her sister. Her skin was more pale than Josie, about what I expected for a baby. I will never forget changing her diaper, feeding her or her sweet smell. I only got to hold her once, but it was the greatest feeling of my life. I knew she loved it too because her vital statistics went into perfect harmony, they were usually always in flux, but not when we connected that day as Dad and daughter. Perhaps my favorite story about Adele is one day when her vital statistics were going in the wrong direction and the nurses and doctors were working tirelessly to save our little girl. Kalli thought maybe she needed her diaper changed, but they insisted she had just gone to the bathroom. Kalli took matters into her own hands, checking her diaper and finding a nice surprise. After she was changed, her number jumped back into favorable territory. Mother knows best.
I am proud that Adele was alone for zero seconds during her time on earth. One member of the Bass/Sternberg family was with her 24/7, including a rotation of me, my Dad and Dad-in-law who stayed up with Delly all night as the doctors worked on her and needed us to make snap medical decisions. Kalli, Mom and my Mother-in-law always made sure our baby girl was showered with love every second of every day. Those days were tough, but have given me a new appreciation for the miracles in the world.
To our family and friends, thank you for your continued love and support through so many different avenues. It makes us the happiest people in the world to know their legacy and love continues in all of you. To say their name in a positive light reverbates to our family.
There is so much more to say, but the purpose of this note is to tell a little bit about girls. To honor them, to share their ethos into the world. Those girls love us and we love them. I commit my entire life to making those girls proud and to find reasons to make our family smile. This quote landed in my inbox a few days after Josie passed away and has been a source of inspiration to me. Maybe it will help someone out there too:
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”
Today I am thankful for…
My wife
Our families
Only a few more days until football
The All In podcast
Being a girl Dad
Love, JB
I wish you and Kalli strength as you grieve your beautiful angels and begin this life known as a new normal. You will never forget Adele and Josie and all that they meant to you.
My hearts hurts for you- but I am profoundly thankful that you have shared such beautiful words about your girls and your families. You are all so strong- I am in awe. My father used to tell me that no matter what has happened today, the sun will rise in the sky tomorrow. It was his way of saying, there is always hope in tomorrow. I wish you continued healing, and lots of hope for all the tomorrows ahead.