Hey baby girl. It’s your birthday! I cannot believe it has been four years since you were born. I can only imagine the party you are having in Heaven today. I have some friends who have babies up there with you now, and I know you are the best of angel friends.
Today we went to the cemetery where you were buried. We brought you a balloon and a plant. Ava loves visiting you there. Today when we arrived we told her it was your birthday. She was so excited and kept saying, “Happy Birthday Sissy!”. She’s only 2 and a half but she’s so smart. I hope and pray that you can see these things from Heaven. She talks about you a lot and cannot walk by a photo of you without kissing it. A couple months ago she asked me if you were going to school with her. I’m not sure how to answer her questions, but I believe you are making yourself known to her. And for that I thank you. She loves you.
This year you should be in Pre-K. I teach Pre-K. I’m not sure how I’ve made it through the first few days of school thinking about you and how you should be with these kids. They should know you, because you should be in their class. I find myself just observing them and wondering which one would be your best friend. And wondering what you would look like. I know you’d be so beautiful, smart and so sweet.
I’ve started volunteering at the hospital with a support group for mommies and daddies who’ve lost their baby. I haven’t let your death be in vain. I’m using what I learned from it to help other people. And as much as I’m honored to be helping people, because I know how valuable that help is, I wish I didn’t know how to help them. I wish you were here instead and I could help people in ways related to other topics of a typical 4 year old. It’s been 4 years and your death is a part of me. I live with it. Life is good. But some days I cry for you. Some days I still get angry because you are gone. Days like today, I’ve done both. I could live for another 150 years and never understand why you had to die. I feel you though. I’ve written in the past about the signs you send me. The butterflies, the cardinals, the smells. I feel you baby girl.
The 22 minutes you were here are forever etched into my soul. Every year on your birthday we have a birthday treat. This year Ava wanted cupcakes. So we had vanilla cupcakes for you. And every year on your birthday, daddy and I sit at the dining room table with all of the lights off. At 8:08, the time you were born, we light a candle between us and put it next to your picture. We leave it lit for 22 minutes. During those 22 minutes we talk about the night you were born and we sit in silence for you part of the time. At 8:30, the time you died, we blow it out. Those 22 minutes always go by so slowly. I wish the 22 minutes you were alive had passed that slowly.
I love and miss you so very much. Please keep sending your signs to us. We cherish them.