It was only 366 days ago that we were excitedly planning your arrival. Friday, July 13, 2018 started like any old day. I had an early appointment at the OB so I gave a casual “see ya!” to the family and headed out the door. I had no clue everything was about to change. I didn’t know on the drive to the office or as I sat in the waiting room, as they took my weight, as they checked my blood pressure ---- those were the last moments of before. Then the medical student, searching for your heartbeat --- and finally those awful words.
How can it be? Most days I still wonder, it doesn’t make sense. How can it be our perfectly healthy beautiful girl went from earth to heaven in the safest place in the world? In one breath we were planning a life with you, and in the next breath, life as we knew it was over. The way a new parent waits with bursting expectation to see their new baby is what I feel like everyday -- on the verge of meeting you and lost in dreaming up what you would be like. I’ll wonder every single day of my life.
Today, instead of picking out a fluffy tutu, we visit your tree. We look in the sky and in the sunset and wonder ‘is that her?’. Instead of watching you smash your cake, we’re eating it without you. Instead of rocking you to sleep, we go to bed with aching arms and heavy hearts. I see your absence in every photo, in the unwelcomed stress behind your parent’s eyes, in the way your brothers know when I am really longing for you. I see your absence in the car, where your car seat should be. I see it in the pink room with the empty crib still waiting for you. Your absence is part of every conversation. It is in every deep pang and every glorious joy. For the rest of my days, even the most glorious moments will be shadowed by your absence.
In that one instant we lost more than you, sweet girl. We lost the way things were, we miss pretty much everything about what life was before. I am more guarded, more cynical, more skeptical. I am tired, and I have less patience for things that just don’t matter. Every conversation with God is through a new lens….everything I believe is examined more closely now. I’ve lost the ability to wait hopefully with my friends as they bring little ones into this world --- I’m tainted by the truth of what could be. I’ve lost my ease around people, conversations are work, I’m on guard for if they will ask about you. My mind is too often swept away, I can’t think in a straight line, can’t find the right word I want to speak, can’t remember and can’t forget.
But, I can’t say that losing is all that has happened over the past year. Because of you, Abby, we have also gained. We have gained countless friends with stories far too similar to ours. They wake up each day aching for their child much like we do --- and they put one foot in front of the other. They send an encouraging text or a truthful cry for help --- and in doing so we remember we are not alone. We have gained deeper friendships with others that have found unique ways to love us and support us in this difficult season. They are the brave ones that have set aside much to walk in this lonely valley ---- they write on the 13th of every month, they sat with us apart from the crowd when the crowd was just too much, they watch the boys, they listen, share, remind us its okay to fall apart. We have gained a new understanding of the preciousness of life, how quickly it can all change and we pray that we live the rest of our days holding that ideal so tightly. We have gained an ability to draw the line in the sand, to say enough is enough, especially with people who are committed to misunderstanding. We have gained a longing for heaven, how could we not, when that is where you are. I’ve gained a fearlessness of death ---- when the worst has already happened, there is somehow less to lose. I’ve gained a longing for alone time, quiet time, where I can process my grief, write, think, miss you. I’ve gained an abundant respect for my husband who gives me that gift among many. And while I am grateful for my living children everyday, I’ve gained an appreciation for how they keep me laughing and for how they keep me present (often with requests for juice boxes and fruit snacks). I appreciate that the past year would have been different without them here.
And it would be so nice if the gains made the losses disappear, but it just doesn’t work that way. I’m grateful for all we’ve gained, there are blessings and good gifts in the midst of tragedy, but the tragedy hurts oh so bad. People talk about the new normal and I'm not sure if we're there….if we are, I had no idea the new normal would still hurt so bad. And so, my baby girl, I’m not sure how to conclude, there really is no conclusion. I hope you are honored and joyful over how we have honored you on your birthday. There will be so many that encourage us with “look at all the people you’re helping,” and maybe that’s true. But, right now that doesn’t matter --- because all that matters is you. I miss you so much. I love you sweet baby. Happy birthday.
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