To you, sweet Evie,
We woke up at 10:00 a.m., because there really isn’t any reason to wake up early if not for work. Plus, your mom was up until 2 in the morning with that kind of anxiety that doesn’t fully show its face yet, but wants you to know its there. The rain is coming down in a way that isn’t fun or beautiful or light. The kind of rain that makes standing in it extremely uncomfortable. It’s not warm or cozy or anything outside. It truly feels just dreary. None of this, and when I say that, I mean none of this is what I imagined in my mind.
I imagine being woken up at some ungodly hour, because you would be that girl who makes sure to let the world know when you are up. I’d turn to Colin and when I would say, “I can’t believe it’s been 2 years”, it would mean something entirely different. It would feel entirely different. I imagine we’d both come in here to your room being obnoxiously adorable, making a big deal out of it being your day, even though you wouldn’t even get it. I know you’d be walking. I know you’d be talking, but sometimes I wonder where we would notice those 13 weeks come into play.
I imagine the decorations pink, but then, I think of you, and more realistically, there would be something you were undeniably obsessed with that would probably be the obvious choice for theme. Would we have family over today or wait until Saturday to have a little party? If I’m being honest, it feels like such a fantasy world that in my mind, there is not covid. In my mind, we’d still have Benny, even though I know that isn’t possible. I imagine Benny being his normal self but for some reason with you, so gentle. I imagine him being completely ride or die for you, and you two being the best of friends. Your birthdays are only six days apart, and I imagine you growing up together, completely attached at the hip.
What presents would you have gotten? What type of cake would you have liked? What would your daily routine be? Why do other people get these answers, and we don’t?
I do know, that if you were here, I’d hold you so close to my chest that our hearts could listen to each other’s. I’d touch every finger and every toe of yours in absolute wonder. I’d brush my hands through your hair in awe of how much its grown. I’d pick your outfit out from the ridiculously stocked wardrobe your loved ones have showered us with. I’d marvel at how your eyes have changed. I’d admire how the strength of your body finally matches the strength of your soul. I’d wonder how in the world two years flew by, and how in the world will I ever get enough of these?
I just wish I didn’t have to wonder, or imagine. I wish I wasn’t sitting here crying in your room that we set up on your due date and never had the heart to change. I wish I didn’t love the smell of it in here, untouched, because I wish more than anything, it was touched, used, loved. I wish it was full of you and not full of unfulfilled moments. I wish I was brave enough to even let the door stay open, instead of worrying that the smell would change or a pet would touch something. I wish it felt more like a bedroom than a shrine. I wish it didn’t hurt to turn the doorknob. I wish the basinet was being donated, because it is no longer needed, rather than sitting in the corner unopened. I wish the clothes in the drawers and the closet were too small for you now, rather than sitting here, forever too big. I wish the handmade stuffed animals were played with, and we were having to teach you how to be gentle with them so they would last. I wish the blanket with your name was so loved that we had to sneak it away to wash it, or you’d be upset. I wish the decorations were cute things we found at stores, instead of rainbows made by other angel moms. I hate the wishing.
I hate that I need to miss you to have you. I hate how unfair life is. I hate how the world kept moving, and two years later, I’m still here. Right where you left me. And, I wish I was better. For you, for my family, for your dad, for everyone, but I’m not.
I still think of all the things I could have done differently. I still play out every possible timeline in my head. I still know that not a single soul on earth can convince me that there wasn’t some set of scenarios that would lead to you still being here. I still feel like I could have saved you somehow. And, I know that everyone will say that I did everything I could, and that I was there for you, and that there wasn’t anything that can be done. And, I wish I could be believe them, really.
I’m trying, baby girl, I am, but sometimes, the trying feels like saying goodbye to you all over again. Sometimes, I don’t know if I want to move on, because I don’t want to feel like I left you behind. Sometimes, I worry that I’ll live my whole life like this. If I’m being honest, I don’t have a clue what I wish for besides turning back time. I feel like I’m living in the past, afraid of the future, because you are only in one of those things, Evie. And you are my world. How can I move forward in a world without you? I don’t even know how I’ve made it this far.
I love you, Evelyn, and I wish I was stronger on your second birthday, so that I could smile and sing and spread your name like you deserve. I will do the best I can today. I will try not to focus too much on the wishes. I will take pretty flowers and put them in pretty spots. I will look at the rain as a nourishment for the nature that I see you in, rather than dreary drops I saw when I opened my eyes. I will focus on feeling the coziness in the embraces with your father, rather than notice the lack of it in the darkness of the sky. I will let my pain be a reminder of how strong our love is, instead of letting it drive me under the covers. I will cry, but I will try my hardest to smile at least once for you.
I want to end by saying a cheers not to the moments we didn’t get, but for those we did. Cheers to when I heard your single cry when you were born. Cheers to getting to go up and see you for the first time. Cheers to watching your open your eyes for the first time and feeling like you really knew me. Cheers to your strong little grip on my finger. Cheers to your soft, fuzzy head under my hand. Cheers to your sassiness and side eye to your nurses and RT. Cheers to your grandparents, aunt and uncle getting to see your beauty in person. Cheers to feeding you the milk I made you. Cheers to your little kicks. Cheers to your belly that somehow seemed chunky, even though you were just over a pound. Cheers to getting to hold you against my skin, even if just for moments. Cheers to having known you, every second of your life. Cheers to you, sweet girl. I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved before, and I miss you just as much. Happy birthday.
Love, Mama
