Saturday, June 11, 2016

To my daughter on her 3rd Angel Anniversary.

To my beautiful, beautiful daughter,

3 years today we said goodbye to you and I have been trying to make sense of it since the day we released you back to your heavenly home.  How you are missed Gabrielle Mae.

When you died, I wanted to run.  Run and run and run, somewhere with my house full of boys, somewhere where I can slow time down, and soak every second of it in. Somewhere, where I could sit in nature and be a part of your brother's beautiful childhood. A childhood that was stolen from you, a childhood that you did not get to experience in it's entirety. I want to soak it all in Gabrielle, I want to sit witness with tears streaming down my face, my spirit lit up with love and wonder as I watch the miracle of your brothers growing and living and running and playing. Childhood is such a  magical and innocent time in life and I want to see it all.  I want to deeply inhale every second of it, and I want to slow it all down. Away from the rat race, away from any expectations and away from the noise.

Oh Gabrielle, how you woke something inside of me.  Something so deep and a life force I've never felt before, powerful and real and able to have survived the un-imaginable.  I remember after receiving your devastating diagnosis, wondering how would I ever be able to live again once you died.  And every morning I wake up, and here I am.  My heart still beating, my lungs still taking in air.  I can't believe it.

Every parent's worse nightmare.

You continue to be the most darling daughter.  Saving me from my half-asleep existence and teaching me to live in the moment and to savour as much as you can in life.

You showed me strength in being broken.  Completely and utterly broken.  And you also showed me the strength of the human spirit.  You see, when you died, I died too.  Our souls tethered together, I wanted to go with you.  And these last 3 years I have learned real sorrow, real brokenness and deep sadness.  Amidst the pain and suffering, I have also seen light and I have witnessed my own strength and courage.  Some moments I don't think I can possibly move and other moments I feel more alive then I'd ever dreamed of.  I gasp for air and fall to my knees and embrace the pain and I release the guttural sobs and tears.  And then however long I need, I get up.  For you, your brothers, your dad and for me.  Because that is what you would do, and always did.

You lived your life with such grace and strength until the day you died.  I will always choose to honour you and this life I've been given.  Even on days when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and scream at the unfairness of it all, for not being able to save you and to kiss your 'owies' away.  I will continue to move through the discomfort and confusion and disorientation that accompanies child loss.  I am weak and I am strong.

I will continue to reach towards light in the darkness and continue to carefully mend the pieces back into my new, very different reality.

I will continue to search for you.  I am irrevocably changed baby girl and I would re-live all the pain and trauma all over again if it meant one more second with you.

Thank you for being the most amazing daughter Gabrielle.

Your mamma, forever and ever.  And ever and ever.