It's Our Day

Grief is silent. Yet, sometimes you know it's lurking, ready to pounce before your counter-attack is in place. Sometimes, you are ready and it doesn't come.

I've been ready for the pain of loss all week. Today is your birthday, Jaime.

The days leading up to this one have been terribly hard at moments. The grief would come when I didn't even know I thinking of you. I knew today would be full of thoughts of you, and I thought I would wake up crying, maybe soak my pillow with fresh, warm tears that would cleanse me and bring me close to you for a short time, then allow me to conduct my day without fear of the silent attack that can close my throat so words cannot escape, because the pain of never seeing you again is so great.

But, although I awakened early, and of course my thoughts were on you, there were surprisingly no tears. I received a birthday gift, though. I smelled you again. It was fast, gone in an instant, and not as strong as the day before you died, but it was real and even though I've only been awake now for almost two hours, I've smelled you three times this morning.

Because I keep smelling you, you feel very close. God is giving me this gift.

Now the tears are coming.

Jaime, I say it is our day because, as all mothers know, it may be your birthday, but it was my "birth" day. Birthdays of my children are always full of such precious memories for me, memories that bind us, made us, and in some ways define us forever. Today I know that I will always be "Jaime's mom."

I found a poem the other day that I want to post. It was written by me at 17 years old, when I was pregnant with you. I was so scared and had so many questions, but I knew I wanted you and that you would be a precious gift that I couldn't even begin to comprehend yet. I was right.

Although you are young,

so very young that the human eye

has not yet caught sight of you

and your survival depends on

My body, mind, and soul

I can already begin to imagine the changes

my life will soon go through

You, so small, delicate, and helpless

A fragile piece of my loved one and myself

Are already felt inside of me

Stirring, kicking, yearning to be free

To become the independent person

You will someday be

Each time you move

The love I feel for you grows stronger

And stronger

Yet you, so small

so totally helpless,

totally harmless to anyone or anything,

scare me more than anything

I've ever imagined

I want only the very best for you

To be strong, healthy, and normal

For what else could I wish

For a part of myself

and the person I love the most

Who joined with me to create you,

A truly spectacular miracle

in small form

When you arrive

we will continue to band together

To help each other become

stronger day by day

For you will teach us

About life, all over again

Hopefully someday

We will make you proud

As you will make us,

On the day you are born

And placed in our arms.

Jaime Kay, you were always proud of the relationship your dad and I have. We were always proud of you. You were "our girl." Your memory will always be part of everything our family is, and does, now and in the future.

The poem was written by me, but it sure feels like I was a different person. It was so long ago, and yet, seems like just a few days ago. It's not a literary piece by any means, but was introspective and real and helped me feel closer to you, just as writing this piece for you does now.

I love you.

Smile, Jaime, smile. Walk with Jesus today and let Him tell you of the love we still have for you. Let Him tell you of His love and plans for you now. "He knows the plans He has for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." I don't believe that the Lord's plans finish when we die, Jaime. In many ways they are just beginning. I know His plans are greater and more fulfilling than any we ever had for you. You're free to fly now, to soar! Happy Birthday, Pretty Girl!!