From 9.15.2022
Happy birthday my dear.
I was not sure if I should post this, or even write it for that matter, but the guy I really love reminded me that my words matter, and to be unafraid of my vulnerability. So here it goes..
In third grade I wrote a poem about you. It was beautiful really for a young girl who didn’t quite understand the power of grief yet. I’m not sure why I’m even telling you this because I know you already know. I talked about heaven and all the stars, whatever it’s supposed to look like up there, where you would be now.
And while I still wonder about so many of those things I have to admit,
I really miss you.
Today I’m 26 and I’m the age you were when
I came from you into this world. How strange it is to not have the person anymore of whom you and your sister are supposedly spitting images. What I didn't write about in third grade is how I would give anything to drink a beer with you now, to hear the inflections in your voice. Are they like mine? Do you hold the bottle the same way? Do you peel the label off like I do too?
Would you be proud of me? Or would you wish I’d be doing more? The latter haunts me. I don’t think it’s true. I know you are proud, and I have to hold onto that more.
I wear your jackets, your sweatshirts, your shirts and sweaters. The groves made by your feet in your Birkenstocks (yes, they are back in style) align perfectly with mine. I listen to your favorite songs (or what I am told they were). I try to laugh loudly and live freely, as I know you would have. I watched an old video of you collecting sea shells along the Florida coast, entranced by your innocence and sheer adoration for a life you were unaware you’d only get a limit of. I strive for such naïveté. You never ceased to find joy even when the darkness had crept in.
And as those who know such loss certainly understand, sometimes I miss you so much my chest actually hurts. My heart aches and is quickly replaced with the guilt of knowing you would want me to wipe away the tears. To be happy.
And mommy, I promise I am.
I have such a beautiful life, all because of you. Brookie, too. With the life you presented for us, you also gave us the best father, who allowed us every opportunity our fingertips could touch. You sent us another mother, only the most selfless of women, to be a shining light in our paths. You gave us such strong families (while shedding those who did not belong), and provided the deepest friendships for our souls. I know you helped craft the loves we each now have, the men who hold our hearts together in the most perfect ways. The guys who challenge us, who care for us, the ones who you would have really loved. I swear they can feel you too at times.
And though I yearn to see you in my dreams, I know you are always with me. You’re that feeling of spontaneity, the urge to dance in public. You are the motherly moments with others, the “are you sure you’re okays” and the hugs that follow. You’re the competitiveness which drives me, my need to always win. I see you, also, in the patience of Brookie and the forgiveness she often carries, and her protective nature of those she loves.
You are everything and anything. You are us, we are you.
I am sorry your life was so short, as I can only imagine what a big life you would have lived. I hope you know you still managed to impact so many people, even in the little time you were here. And Brookie and I will do our best to live as big as you did. Always.
Happy birthday my love. Thank you for everything you’ve given us.
Until we meet again,
your little girl
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