time and grief

Baby girl, 

Your little sister is older than you now. I think about that a lot. She’s crossing bridges that are lost to you, as she travels toward her future.

What a crazy thought, that she could outgrow you, outrun your life experiences. And someday your baby brother will, too. 

It’s almost another year. Time crawls, sprints, drags on in a world without you. Your life is frozen in our memories and recently I find myself worried that I’ll forget the details. 

I can’t imagine how that would feel. And what if I didn’t even realize that you were slipping away? I can’t lose any more of you than I already have. 

I miss you. I would have done anything to keep you. All this time later and I can reason through your loss, I can talk about it. But I don’t understand it. I mean, I do scientifically, but not in that cosmic plan kind of way that we all keep trying to divine about our own lives and those of our loved ones. 

I want you home with us. I want to plan trips to see you wherever you are and relish in your adventures. I want to hold you while you cry and celebrate your victories.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every moment that I was too focused on something else and didn’t see what I should have been seeing. I’m sorry for everything that failed you. I’m sorry for all of the times that I failed you. I’m so sorry. 

I’m sorry because I know that I’m a better, more patient, more understanding person now and I wish this version of me had been there for you.

I’m sorry for the dark, sad things you thought about yourself. Sorry that you even had the opportunity to make those choices that led you away. 

I’m sorry that I don’t get to hug you anymore. Or hear your voice or your laughter. And I know that’s selfish because maybe you’re just at peace. 

It doesn’t get easier. But I still wouldn’t trade one moment of our lives with you for this grief. 

I carry you in my heart, every day. 

Love,

Mom