Almost Three Years

Hi, it’s me. (The strange girl that used to keep a blog here!)

I have some thoughts I need to share as we approach another birthday without my sweet daughter Lucy. It’s hard to believe that it’s almost been three years since we met her. I see other babies and I still wish she was here. That her fate would have been different. That her purpose was to live here on Earth for a while with the rest of us, instead of being swooped up to heaven within her first week.

A friend of mine’s almost-three year old is building sand castles on beach trips and playing in the dirt. I wish I had my little almost three year old and her extra set of dirty little finger nails to scrub. My almost-three year old nephew is talking up a storm and is a master of breaking toys. He’s like an adorable mini-Incredible Hulk. I wish a could carry on silly (and sometimes completely irrational or repetitive) conversations and tend to a game that doesn’t work like it should because someone didn’t use “gentle hands.” I just love the 2- and 3- year old age of discovery. So if I stare at your three-year old for longer than I should, know my mama heart is grieving, and also receiving. I'm taking in all the goodness, and sweetness, and maybe even rottenness that three can bring.

So, here’s something about the almost three year mark: I still struggle with how to talk about our family. When I go somewhere with Avery and someone asks me, “Is she your only one?” I pause, my palms sweat, my heart races. How would that person know that they asked me such a loaded question. In one fleeting moment I analyze everything about that stranger – and decide how much I share. Now that I have a third child it is very easy to gush about my beautiful 10 month old son. Because, well, he envelopes all that is good, and joyous, and fun. But it hurts to not include Lucy. And it hurts to include her too. It is painful to open up my heart and soul to a stranger -- for me, yes, but also because it feels like I'm dropping a bombshell on that person. I tell them I have a daughter that I lost as a baby… and then I sit back silently asking them to choose a reaction – and plead that they make it good and acceptable to a grieving mother. That’s not how I FEEL, it’s just what it feels like.

Recently my 5-year old daughter taught me something. She taught me how easy those conversations can be if I allow them to be. She was chatting to a neighborhood girl much older than she when she just said, “I have a brother AND a sister.” She continued after thinking for a minute, “They are both babies. But my sister is in heaven. She came second but she will always be a baby.” The older girl said, “You know, that’s ok.” And my daughter said, “Yep,” and then continued on to the next topic. This was so cool to witness the ease and confidence.

Also, one day Avery’s Pre-K teacher told me about Avery coming up in the middle of an activity and said that she really missed her sister Lucy. Kathy, her teacher, said she pulled Avery up into her lap and told her all about her own daughter, who also went to heaven a long time ago when SHE was a baby. The tears fell from my eyes as she shared with me about how close to home our story hit. About her own sweet daughter that never got to live here on Earth. And she said that though it had been a long time ago, Avery opened her wide open – the feelings were still deep and the void was still there. It hurt less all these years later, but the pain was very real. She confided in a friend of hers how this little girl in her class had brought her back to a time in her life that she so rarely shared anymore.

Then Avery's teacher Kathy shared something else with me. It was about one of her living daughters. Her grown daughter had told her recently how much it affected her life knowing that her mother lost that baby all those years ago. She told her mom that she thought about her missing sister a lot and imagined how life would be different growing up with her. She mentioned what an impact it had on her life and how she lived.

When I worry about my kids not having their sister here to share a bond with, I will remember that THANKFULLY there is no line between heaven and Earth that keeps love confined. When you keep someone’s memory alive, you are doing incredible things for others and connecting with people in unexpected places. You are creating a space for your children to think and imagine and dream. And hope. And pray.

I don’t know that it gets “easier” to talk about your family when death is a part of your story. So, we will see how it goes. No matter the choice I make in that split second when someone asks about my kids, I will make the one that is right for me at that very moment. It doesn’t always make sense, but that is a part of what makes me, me.

I’m so blown away by what my kids… all three of them… have to share with me, and the world. Share on, my little ones. Shine so bright that the whole world can see! I will continue to learn from you.