The Birthday Girl
Eleven years ago at this very moment, I had been a mom for a whole 7 hours or so. I will never forget the first time I saw you- especially the head full of dark hair you had. I was overwhelmed with both incredible love and fear. I didn’t really know if I had what it took to be your mom, and later on I found out exactly what it would take.
Precious Hannah, you entered the world when you were good and ready (with a little nudge from the doctor who could not believe you had not graced us with your presence) and quickly let us know you weren’t happy about it.
You also left this world when you were good and ready (long past when the doctors predicted you would take your final breath) but this time you didn’t make a sound.
As I imagine what you would be like as an eleven year old, I know you would still have your sweet and sassy sides. I can just see you wanting to dress up in a cute outfit but being ready to trade it for comfy, rough and tumble clothes. I’m pretty sure you and your brother would be best friends one minute and fighting the next. You would love music, books, and all things summer.
If I could actually talk to you today, Hannah Grace, I would tell you that your life mattered and still does. I would share two things I just heard on what would have been your birthday. I was told that doctors at the hospital where you fought your battle still talk about you and use your story to teach others and that the blood drive held in your honor inspired a father grieving the death of his child from leukemia to use his pain for good. What huge gifts for your momma to receive on a day where I especially grieve the years we haven’t had.
I would tell you I’m so thankful I got the chance to be your mom and how you live on in so many ways through your brother and the sister you never met. The best part would be telling you that, one day, we will be together again and there will never be any more goodbyes.
I love you, my sweet girl.