The hall was full of people sitting in chairs facing the stage. The leaders sat on stage at a table looking over the crowd. They held papers in their hand, they were reading names and stories and matching families together.
A man held his paper and read the description, "There is this baby, she is amazing. You will love her more than anything in the world. She will change your life. You cannot keep her, but her love will sustain you for a lifetime. And it will be worth it."
I felt my heart jump out of my chest as I jumped out my seat to proclaim, "I'll take her! I will take her!"
And so went the story of our beginning. I was her mama, she was my girl.
That dream plays over and over like a record in my mind. I don't even know where it stems from. I don't remember dreaming it, only knowing it- as if it were any other memory in my mind. I no longer question this thought, I only love that perhaps in some other dimension this is how I was given the most beautiful girl in the world.
I chose her. She chose me. Whatever your beliefs, it does not matter. Whatever gives you peace in the most dire moments of your life is private, personal, and without need for judgement or confirmation.
To wake each year on August 9th (and the days leading before and after) are more than bittersweet, they are heartbreaking, soul-crushing. Remembering the time that I didn't know that my life would irreversibly change, the innocence that was so quickly lost, and the short time I had to parent my daughter, rips my heart out.
Celebrating the birthday of your child who has died mimics the weight of an elephant upon one's chest not allowing breath to escape.
It is not fair for you to always see the strength that remains and the good that is done in honor of Ruthie Lou. All of those things are important. All are valuable. All are true. But it doesn't make it ok, it doesn't mean I am ok. There is also the very real human mama heart that breaks to live without my baby. All the things that I do are the only way I can parent my child-my child who is no longer living. My baby who died.
Every birthday that passes, I celebrate my daughter. I honor her. I remember her. But, I remember her every single day. Just as you think of your babies in the moments that you wake, I also think of mine. Just as you feel excitement and reminisce about the day your child was born and marvel at their growth, I equally cry in pain that I don't have those joyful moments. I miss all the beautiful moments of watching your child grow because she is no longer here.
I would choose her again. I would choose her over and over again. The pain does not negate her life, but it is not easy. It is the single most difficult thing that I endure again and again as we surpass milestones, birthdays and the anniversary of her death. It is a daily choice to heal as I live every day without my girl.
I remember my daughter every morning when I wake. I think of her every night as I close my eyes. I hope to dream of her in my sleep. But that's all I get, the thoughts, the memories, the hopes for a glimpse of her beauty.
So today on what would have been her 6th birthday, I will proceed as I always do. I will wake without Ruthie Lou. I remember the beautiful light that she brought to our life. I mother her brothers with all that I have. I will make meals, clean house, entertain small boys and tonight I will kiss two babies instead of three. And when my day is done and I finally get to close my eyes, I hope to have even a glimpse of the baby that I forever long for.
Every day is a day that I miss her.
Every day is today, the day of her birth.
This is the year that Reid understands birthdays without understanding it is also the day his sister died. I knew this day would come. I visualized it on the morning I woke up in 2011, when Ruthie Lou was still with us and I couldn't fathom why or how she could actually leave me on my birthday, a day I will now forever share with her. I cried and cried and cried and I could not make sense of it.
A friend told me that someday this would be a gift, to share the day with her. What a painful gift to be given, but he was right. It still hurts and I am not in the emotional space of celebrating my birthday yet, but my son is. We have four birthdays in a 6 week period so he has it down now; decorations, cupcakes, candles and presents, it's all very exciting to celebrate the person we love.
Reid can't wait to decorate for me, he's been talking about it for weeks since the night we decorated for him. And this is the year, the one I visualized that awful morning. I could imagine Chris taking the kids to buy me a present, them oblivious to my heartache that day and us living in the joyous moments with our (living) children, celebrating life not death. I want to be there, each year I get closer and the innocence and excitement of my son helps, but I'm not there yet.
So on that day, please don't wish me a happy birthday. I am happy to be born, it used to be my favorite day, but "happy birthday" will never feel quite right. Please honor my daughter and the complexity of our hearts that day, and acknowledge that yes I was born, but leave out the word happy, it breaks my heart and only tells me that you don't understand.
My daughter should have turned five this year; kindergarten, new school, drop offs, pick ups, picture days, father-daughter campouts and her new little brother. She's missing out on all these things and we are missing her dearly.
I know that sharing this day is a gift, that one day we will be less mournful and more celebratory but it's not here yet. My heart aches, my chest hurts and my arms forever empty. I will love the decorations my four year old displays, I will eat all the delicious food that day and smile with my family, for it isn't any different from every other day that we've survived without her. However, Chris and I will know that our hearts ache a little extra on my birthday because in my being born into this world, our daughter was leaving it for the next life, whatever and wherever that might be. All we know, is it was without us and that pain will never end
We enjoyed the most beautiful Ruthie Lou birthday. After much anticipation and anxiety leading to the day, not knowing what to expect or how we might feel, it was so peaceful. What a relief! We loved her entire birthday; the magic, the signs, the community, the beauty, the peace, the serenity, the love, and the thoughtful caring compassion of those who continually surround us near and from afar. Thank you endlessly.
We are now in Ruthie Lou's "month". We have had nearly a year of practicing this "new" life and at times it feels like an eternity while other moments it has felt like an instant. I can remember experiencing these days like it was yesterday, the hope, the prayers, the love, the devastation, the heartbreak. Unbelievably at times it still feels unreal. It felt so good to spend the day celebrating the moment Ruthie Lou set foot on this Earth, to truly celebrate that day, the time before we knew what the future held. We could not have endured the last year without support and we are so grateful to be continually provided with love and respect for us and our sweet girl.
Also, thank you for posting your stories and her stories, sharing your love and sharing her love. We have appreciated the time you have spent contributing to her "book" for her siblings and encourage you to find some time before her "special day" September 10th to write your message. It has felt so good to read the messages thus far, to hear stories that we never have before and to be reminded of those we have forgotten. As each story has trickled in, they have warmed our hearts and brightened our day. What a beautiful gift this will be for Ruthie Lou's siblings and for our family. We are so grateful.
Once again, thank you for being part of our daughter's life.
Thank you for being present in our life.
We need your love and we need you.
You are so appreciated.
I am mama of three beautiful babes; two sons whom I have the privilege of raising and my daughter who lived for 33 sacred days.