In the Middle of My Birthday
Friday was my birthday.
Last year on my birthday, I was pregnant. Big and hopeful and so sure of what was coming. I was just weeks away from bringing my sweet Haven home.
I had no idea it was the last birthday I'd ever get to spend carrying her.
It's been almost a year now. But no one tells you how hard this first year is — full of all the firsts that my little girl is absent from.
My birthday morning was spent in bed with Sully and Marco. The three of us all tangled up in the blankets, giggling, nobody in any hurry to get up. I loved it. I loved every minute of it. But I knew who was missing. The whole time, I knew.
I keep expecting grief to pick a lane. To show up on the hard days and leave me alone on the good ones. But it just doesn't work like that. Instead, grief is driving on both sides of the road, swerving back and forth through every lane, occasionally maintaining a straight path before it swerves back in again. And it found me in that bed while I was laughing with my boys.
Then we had my party. The room was loud. Cousins running everywhere, friends all around me, people hugging me and wishing me a happy birthday. It was exactly the kind of day I would have asked for. And Haven wasn't there.
I kept looking for her. Not in the literal sense…I’ve lived with her absence long enough now to know she’s not there. But I looked for where she would have been. Sitting in her Grammy’s lap. Being passed around the room, held by all her aunties and uncles. Running after her brother.
This time last year, I would have never imagined I’d be celebrating this day without her. And these days of what should be a celebration are paired with an ache that consumes me.
I still don’t know how to do any of this. To live without her. To move forward and keep celebrating. To keep living.
I smiled. I said thank you. And I meant it. AND I missed her the entire time.
~~~~~
Haven, I had the sweetest morning with your dad and your brother. I wish you were in that bed with us. I wish you were in that room laughing and running and playing. I look for you everywhere.
It's been almost a year, baby girl, and I still miss you like it was yesterday. I'll keep saying your name. I'll keep looking for you. I love you.
