To my girl, On your third birthday. There isn't a day that goes by that my heart doesn't break a little more wishing you were here. Wishing you were here to make a huge mess with your cake. I wonder if you would like vanilla or chocolate, or if you'd want pink sprinkles or purple sprinkles. Would you be tall like Lainie or petite like Ruthie? What does your hair look like? How long would it be? Could I braid it or would you like it down? Would you be blonde or brunette? Would you be getting ready to start preschool and walk in with Lainie holding her hand?
Would you like to ride your bike? Would you like to kick a soccer ball? Would you love to surf? Would you like dresses best? Would you like to twirl and dance? To get muddy and dirty?
I wish I knew the answers. I wish I was living those answers instead of sitting here in a pile of tears wondering and grieving the fact that on this earth I just wont get those answers and being okay with that.
Time doesn't change the ache. It doesn't dull it, it doesn't lessen it, We've just learned how to carry it. Every day we carry it and every day we will. Missing you will never change. There are days where I lean heavily into the truth that I am one day, and one birthday, closer to celebrating with you, and I can celebrate that. Tonight, my Ellie girl, I am just sad. I just want you here. I want to be making a lopsided cake and see how excited your sisters and brother are instead of holding up a picture and taking them to the cemetery. Its not how it is supposed to be, yet this is how it is. We are joyful and we are thankful, but we will always miss you.
I think writing this unleashed and allowed a flood of emotions I had secured back just to survive. Today I can't even look at a picture without crying and that is okay. Perhaps by Friday I will have it together a little bit more and can put on a smile and sing with your sisters and brother and help them celebrate the fact that you were born and that you're having the greatest birthday party ever. I will, God always allows me that. He lets me feel harder leading up to these days and then feel his love more on the actual day through you and so many others who love us so well. It doesn't make it easier, we've just learned we do hard. We always will.
I don't usually write about the hard part as much, it allows the hurt to come just a little too close, but it is good for me. It is good to get it out. I will always be sad that I don't know the jokes you would tell, that I don't get to hold you when you fall, that you're not here. I will always miss you. I will always think of what you would be like today when you're just about 3. What would your voice sound like, would you throw your head back when you laugh? Would you be shy or outgoing? Would Ruthie still make you smile every time you see her?
I am always thankful for the time I had with you, and the time i have with you. Those who haven't lost a child I don't think can ever understand that (thankfully). There aren't words to explain it. You are here and you are not. That is hard and it always will be. You have shown me so much and you continue to teach me. Other days I will write about that. Today, I'm just missing you.
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