Monday, April 11, 2016

Dear Abigail on your 8th birthday

Little Bit,

I don't blog much anymore.  It used to be therapeutic.  Now it is just painful.  It makes me go to those places in my soul that are still so raw and so painful.  The depths of the loss of you never eases, and it doesn't need to be repeated constantly to be true and all-encompassing.

The grief has become like an old acquaintance.  It's comfortable, familiar now.  It has lost the sharpness on the edges.  I know it, and it knows me.  I look for it, seek it out, rest in it even at times.  It keeps me close to you.  It reminds me of who you are and who I have become.  I never want the pain to cease, because it's my only connection to you for the current time.

6 years later, and I still think about you every day.  I still imagine what you would be like.  What your place in our family would be like.  8 years old is so different than 2.  I still think of you as my chubby, spunky baby.  I just can't wrap my brain around what an 8 year old you would be like.

We have kept you a part of our daily lives.  You are still integral to our family.  Your baby sister talks about you daily.  Eli misses you too.  In his core, he knows something important to his life is missing.  Those 5 weeks you loved him made an impact.  And Gracie and Malachi never met you, but they know you too.  They call you their sister, and they tell your stories like they are their own.

Samuel still bears the weight of your loss, and Anna Faith still cries for the lost time with you.  She still aches to sing and dance with you early in the morning, and he misses giggling at your bossing.  And Nathan, as he enters this new phase of his life, can't help but look back and process and long for lost time.  You were best buddies.  You were his pair.  And you have forever impacted us all.

We have tried to continue on and honor your legacy and your memory Little Bit.  We share your story any chance we have.  You are our inspiration.  But I would rather just have you back.  I would rather hold your little, chunky hand again, and listen to you count and sing songs badly at the top of your lungs.  I'd rather watch you pitch a fit or ride your pink scooter, or really, really enjoy chocolate.  Thank you as always for the gift of your 2 years.  We will never get over you or past the crushing feeling that this is just so wrong.  It still takes my breath away and make the blood go cold in my veins.  The trauma is still real and fresh and constant.  And the memories are still beautiful, precious, and far too few.

We love you Little Bit!


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