18, Our Baby Girl

One more day, and I ask you to join me, help me. It’s her golden birthday and I want her to feel you here, feel your love, our love surroundings her.

I’ve looked for three weeks, which is amazing since last year I couldn’t even think about gift giving, or card writing or even saying “Happy”.

I went one last time to look at the jewelry counter, to find the perfect gift from us. There is was, a perfect delicate necklace Made in Italy.

18 She’s turning 18

You wery always thoughtful about buying special cards. So I walked to the bookstore and slowly looked over all the cards until I found one from us. I approached the register to pay and Andrea Boccelli began playing overhead. I lingered to let the song finish, to feel us together, there, buying her card.

Roses, I found white roses from us.

18, Our baby girl is turning 18.

She was conceived with such intention. Your heart would have done anything to comfort mine. I had miscarried our little one. While you quietly grieved our loss, you watched me in soul pain. You held me through it, cradled my heart, and did all that you possibly could to allow me time to grieve, recover physically and then to bring joy to my soul.

She came on the wings of death.

It sounds dark and foreboding.

But I’m asking you to help me now,

As you did then

To grieve and to live.....

as I grasp this reality of our story.

She came on the wings of an Angel,

a little bird who brought moments of confusion and joy, then suddenly flew away.

That was how I felt and described the loss back then.

She came embraced and surrounded by our hearts in agreement with heaven's heart.

She came despite grief.

She came despite our age,