She would be nearly 8 ½.
I’m so detached from other girls her age. Ever so acutely aware but
zero connection to how who they are
might relate to who my daughter might
have been. It’s simply too
big a divide. To wonder what 2,920
days of life would have made her into.
Who MY genes would have made her into. The crushing primal wanting to know who Brad and I
could create together still weighs like an elephant on my chest – if I let
myself think about it. Which I
don’t, except on days like today when I’m granted the gift of time to
myself. In the reflection of how
wildly grateful I am to be a mama to those two crazy beautiful children, today
I cannot help but wish for my first.
To play at the edge of the Wondering Abyss. Flick a pebble in with my toe and, despite myself, hold a
flicker of hope that this time I’ll get an answer back that would tell me just
one thing about her.
Until suddenly the plane in which I live flips and I’m several feet down
the pit, hanging onto the roots, flailing, tears streaming and mouth agape in
the same silent scream of horror and disbelief that we lost her. Forever.
Not quite as quickly I choose to flip back to my
here-and-now. I don’t
want to spend today visiting my old friend Grief. Today I want to quietly sit in the tender piece of me that
holds her always, while simultaneously being fully present to my two living
miracles. I want to soak up every
delicious and wondrous moment of their quirks, silliness and gifts. Of their love for me. Of their dependence. Of their belief that I will always be
here to tend to their every need. To bask in their
knowing that they are My Most Important Thing. In all my failings as a mama, my children most certainly
know that this house and their parents are safe places to land. They can be who they are even
when it’s hard. Even
Anna. Whoever she is out
there, whoever she might have been here, the Anna she IS has a place here. I really do feel she has actively
staked her claim and space in our family as much as we have done for her. She lets us know she’s here in her own
way…
Oh how I wish for you still, babe. How I long to feel your arms around my neck as I look out
the front window to the house across the street, whose owner is deep into the
business of becoming a mama herself right now – at the same hospital you were
born. Her babe decided to
come six weeks early, and anxious fear-cum-hopeful anticipation is high in
me. How I hope to be able to tie a
giant ribbon of pink or blue around their tree to welcome them home, rather
than gather the ragged pieces of her Being into my arms in silent solidarity. I would not know how to do that
if it weren’t for you, my darling girl.
You are how I learned true compassion. You taught me How to Be Human. Not that I’ll ever be done learning, but…you have shaped me
into a better person despite all my kicking and screaming and railing against
the very thought. I’m still
not ready to say you were meant to die.
I’m not ready to accept that God approved this little proposal to give
you to us only to take you in those last minutes in order to open me up. As of now I will ALWAYS balk
against my brother’s “God did this to bring you back to him” (Jesus H, what
bullshit). But I do
acknowledge, with actual peace, that you have broadened my soul.
I love you Anna girl. Deeply, scorchingly, forever.
