Seven and a half years ago we excitedly dreamed of October 1. We expected to welcome a little girl to our family as fall arrived. We would be adding another October birth to our family celebrations. My brother would have a niece to share his birthday.
We blissfully dreamed of the sweet baby who would be the light of our lives. She would be my parents' first granddaughter, a baby sister for our toddler who proudly wore his "Big Brother" shirt, a little girl to add sugar and spice to our home. We dreamed of adding October 1 to our short list of best days ever. But instead of welcoming our precious daughter on October 1, we held her and cried as we said goodbye on May 23. Our sweet dreams for our daughter turned into a parent's worst nightmare with her preterm birth and death.
Oh, October 1st! What promise you once held! I wish so much that Elena was here to share this day with her uncle. I wish we were celebrating two birthdays today. Instead I dream of our reunion in heaven someday. What a special birthday it will be when I finally get to celebrate it with you!
Sweet Elena, today should have been your 7th birthday. Seven! How is that possible? I always wonder if you would have been my girly-girl in a house full of boys or if you would have disliked dolls and dresses and ribbons and preferred instead cars and jeans and t-shirts. What I wouldn't give to know! To hug you tight and kiss your blond head and love you so much no matter who you became. I may not get to hold your hand here on earth, but I will love you forever and can't wait to wrap you in my arms again someday and never have to say goodbye again. Until then, I will keep you in my dreams and in my heart.
Monday, October 1, 2018
Monday, August 20, 2018
The First Day That Never Is
The house is quiet today. I dropped off the boys at their schools this morning - a third grader, a kindergartner, and a primary Montessori student. I made an impromptu stop at the grocery store on the way home to pick up some bread and fruit for school lunches for the rest of the week (and to delay the coming home to an empty house). I didn't have to say no to any requests for junk food or junky toys or referee any arguments over who got to ride in the cart or encourage anyone to stay close to me instead of running through the aisles like miniature crazy people. Funny how that's not as wonderful as it sounds. And now I'm home with the silence. I think I would enjoy it more if the silence was because ALL of the kids were at school. But the silence screams of the little girl NOT in first grade, the little girl who'd be at the same school as her big brother, the little girl who will never come home and tell me about her first day of the new school year.
I know and do not take for granted how lucky I am. This afternoon I will get to drive to two schools and pick up three boys and bring them home. I will get to hug them tight and tell them how proud I am of them and how much I missed them today while they were at school. I will get to hear about my baby's first day in a big boy class. I will get to learn about my rainbow's first day of kindergarten and what it's like to be the big kid of the class. I will get to listen to my sunshine (whose first day was mid-week last week) tell me about the start of his first full week of third grade. I know what a blessing it is to watch them grow and learn and set off to school and come back to share it with me.
But I don't get to pick them ALL up from school. My little girl will never come home from school to tell me about her day. I'll never get to hug her tight and tell her how proud of her I am and how much I missed her during the day. I won't ever get to brush her hair into pig-tails or tie a ribbon around a pony-tail for her. There's an entire class of kids whom I don't get to drive on field trips or take pictures of at class parties... an entire class of friends that don't realize she's not there because she never got to meet them. The missing of her and everything that should have been ACHES. It aches every day, and some days, like today, in the quiet of an empty house, my game-face disappears and the aching streams down my face and rocks me to my core.
Oh, sweet Elena, how I wish I would get to pick you up from school with your brothers! The passage of time only illuminates how much more we're missing with you, how much more we wanted to experience and share with you. I love you so much Elena, and I can't wait to hold you in Heaven where all this aching and missing won't matter any more, and I won't ever have to say good-bye or miss you again. And just for the record, I'm proud to get to be your momma, even if you're not here for me to tell you.
I know and do not take for granted how lucky I am. This afternoon I will get to drive to two schools and pick up three boys and bring them home. I will get to hug them tight and tell them how proud I am of them and how much I missed them today while they were at school. I will get to hear about my baby's first day in a big boy class. I will get to learn about my rainbow's first day of kindergarten and what it's like to be the big kid of the class. I will get to listen to my sunshine (whose first day was mid-week last week) tell me about the start of his first full week of third grade. I know what a blessing it is to watch them grow and learn and set off to school and come back to share it with me.
But I don't get to pick them ALL up from school. My little girl will never come home from school to tell me about her day. I'll never get to hug her tight and tell her how proud of her I am and how much I missed her during the day. I won't ever get to brush her hair into pig-tails or tie a ribbon around a pony-tail for her. There's an entire class of kids whom I don't get to drive on field trips or take pictures of at class parties... an entire class of friends that don't realize she's not there because she never got to meet them. The missing of her and everything that should have been ACHES. It aches every day, and some days, like today, in the quiet of an empty house, my game-face disappears and the aching streams down my face and rocks me to my core.
Oh, sweet Elena, how I wish I would get to pick you up from school with your brothers! The passage of time only illuminates how much more we're missing with you, how much more we wanted to experience and share with you. I love you so much Elena, and I can't wait to hold you in Heaven where all this aching and missing won't matter any more, and I won't ever have to say good-bye or miss you again. And just for the record, I'm proud to get to be your momma, even if you're not here for me to tell you.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Travel Memories
Not a single day goes by without me missing my little girl. Seven years. How is it possible that it has already been seven years? As noisy and busy and chaotic as our house tends to be with three extremely active little boys running, jumping, bouncing, flying, light saber battling, nerf gun shooting, and otherwise tearing through the house every waking moment, I miss the added chaos of a little girl in the mix. I'm sure it would be even wilder, and our house would certainly be crammed full with even more toys (dolls, princess dresses, jewelry kits), but what I wouldn't give to have that crazy and that mess! The boys miss having a sister. All three of them talk about her often. They even ask if God will send another baby, another girl, so they can have a sister on earth. Sweet boys.
My husband and I were talking last night about traveling, past and future, and the memories we've made and hope to make. I shared with him one of the happiest moments of my life. We were in Germany when our Sunshine son was 13 months old. Our first stop was Berlin, and we enjoyed an amazing bicycle tour. After the tour, we walked to the Lustgarden (a green space with a pretty fountain across from the Berliner Dom). We sat on the grass and enjoyed relaxing, people watching, and, for me at least, soaking in that I'd finally made it to Europe, specifically Germany, a dream I had had since I was a little girl. I was married to an incredibly wonderful man, we had this sweet little baby, and we were traveling the world without any worries (at least for a couple of weeks before we had to return to reality). Life was perfect. I was truly happy and completely content. I knew life could only get better when we were doing it again with our next little one. Only our next little one would never get to go....
Just a few weeks into our pregnancy with Elena, I was already dreaming about another European excursion. We'd need to go before baby turned two so that we could get that huge discount on infant overseas airfare. And we definitely needed to make it happen; after all, big brother was a seasoned traveler with the passport stamps to prove it, it would only be fair to let this baby get some stamps as well.
Our next big trip wasn't to Europe, nor did it include the baby we so badly wanted to bring. I actually should have still been carrying her. In a perfect world, we would have gone to Disney World with our friends while I was big and pregnant. In an alternate scenario with a happy ending, we would have missed Disney altogether because I would have been lying in a hospital on bedrest until October. But as our real world turned out, we went to Disney in the midst of our grief because it had been planned, because I didn't know how to face my son's birthday and planning a party and entertaining family, because I didn't know what else to do.
A few months after our Rainbow/subsequent son was born, my husband had to travel to Italy for business. It seemed the perfect opportunity to piggyback a vacation onto the tail end of the business trip, allowing us to get to Europe again and only having to buy two full price tickets. That trip was far from wonderful (more often than not it was downright miserable and was the basis of our decision to never try to piggyback a family vacation onto a business trip again), but we still took some decent memories from it, and we got to write Elena's name in the sand on a beach outside of Venice, which was pretty neat. But there was another memory as powerful as my Berlin memory if not as sweet. The power lay in the potential of the moment, because I truly believe had Elena been there, it would have surpassed that Berlin moment as the happiest travel memory of our lives. We had hiked up to Parco della Rocca Borromea overlooking the town and the lake. My husband and I sat at a picnic table with a snack from the tiny restaurant up there, sipping wine, enjoying the beauty and the solitude, my sweet Rainbow in my arms, my Sunshine playing on the playground with the sunlight on the lake glittering as a backdrop. I remember thinking how beautiful the trees were, how beautiful everything was. And I cried thinking of how almost perfect this was. And even though I held my sweet baby boy in my arms, my arms still ached from the missing of her weight in them too. She would have turned two while we were there. We celebrated her birthday in that beautiful little town in Italy, and it should have been perfect, and I felt like I was dying inside. I had made it back to Europe after all, but I hadn't gotten to bring the baby I had longed to take.
So many dreams, so many plans for her life and for our lives together - and they'll never be realized. So many memories that will never be made. I miss you Elena, and I love you always.
My husband and I were talking last night about traveling, past and future, and the memories we've made and hope to make. I shared with him one of the happiest moments of my life. We were in Germany when our Sunshine son was 13 months old. Our first stop was Berlin, and we enjoyed an amazing bicycle tour. After the tour, we walked to the Lustgarden (a green space with a pretty fountain across from the Berliner Dom). We sat on the grass and enjoyed relaxing, people watching, and, for me at least, soaking in that I'd finally made it to Europe, specifically Germany, a dream I had had since I was a little girl. I was married to an incredibly wonderful man, we had this sweet little baby, and we were traveling the world without any worries (at least for a couple of weeks before we had to return to reality). Life was perfect. I was truly happy and completely content. I knew life could only get better when we were doing it again with our next little one. Only our next little one would never get to go....
Just a few weeks into our pregnancy with Elena, I was already dreaming about another European excursion. We'd need to go before baby turned two so that we could get that huge discount on infant overseas airfare. And we definitely needed to make it happen; after all, big brother was a seasoned traveler with the passport stamps to prove it, it would only be fair to let this baby get some stamps as well.
Our next big trip wasn't to Europe, nor did it include the baby we so badly wanted to bring. I actually should have still been carrying her. In a perfect world, we would have gone to Disney World with our friends while I was big and pregnant. In an alternate scenario with a happy ending, we would have missed Disney altogether because I would have been lying in a hospital on bedrest until October. But as our real world turned out, we went to Disney in the midst of our grief because it had been planned, because I didn't know how to face my son's birthday and planning a party and entertaining family, because I didn't know what else to do.
A few months after our Rainbow/subsequent son was born, my husband had to travel to Italy for business. It seemed the perfect opportunity to piggyback a vacation onto the tail end of the business trip, allowing us to get to Europe again and only having to buy two full price tickets. That trip was far from wonderful (more often than not it was downright miserable and was the basis of our decision to never try to piggyback a family vacation onto a business trip again), but we still took some decent memories from it, and we got to write Elena's name in the sand on a beach outside of Venice, which was pretty neat. But there was another memory as powerful as my Berlin memory if not as sweet. The power lay in the potential of the moment, because I truly believe had Elena been there, it would have surpassed that Berlin moment as the happiest travel memory of our lives. We had hiked up to Parco della Rocca Borromea overlooking the town and the lake. My husband and I sat at a picnic table with a snack from the tiny restaurant up there, sipping wine, enjoying the beauty and the solitude, my sweet Rainbow in my arms, my Sunshine playing on the playground with the sunlight on the lake glittering as a backdrop. I remember thinking how beautiful the trees were, how beautiful everything was. And I cried thinking of how almost perfect this was. And even though I held my sweet baby boy in my arms, my arms still ached from the missing of her weight in them too. She would have turned two while we were there. We celebrated her birthday in that beautiful little town in Italy, and it should have been perfect, and I felt like I was dying inside. I had made it back to Europe after all, but I hadn't gotten to bring the baby I had longed to take.
So many dreams, so many plans for her life and for our lives together - and they'll never be realized. So many memories that will never be made. I miss you Elena, and I love you always.
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