Today would have been your 12th birthday. I’ve decided you probably would’ve been a chatterbox and I’d nickname you Magpie. You’d probably hate it.
I hope you wouldn’t hate me.
Your brothers know about you now. During the last year I’ve told them all about you. Little G asks where your house is and when he’ll get to meet you. I think he’s a little bit too young to grasp the whole death thing, but Big G gets it.
When we had to put our dog, Tigger, to sleep a month ago, I told the boys he went to live with you. I hope that’s true. It made them feel a lot better. It made me feel better.
Today I bought balloons.
As the sun was setting, our family went outside.
And then we released the balloons in your memory.
We watched them float away until we couldn’t see them anymore.
Years ago I bought a little candle and decided it would be your candle. It’s not expensive or beautifully packaged, but it’s yours.
Tonight, after everyone was in bed, I burned the candle and I thought about you.
Twelve was a hard age for me. I suppose it is for everyone, really. I try to imagine what life would be like for you, but I just can’t. It was much easier for me to conjure up an image of you as a baby, a toddler, a little girl. But a preteen? I’m at a loss.
It’s been a good day today. Your dad bought flowers for me and I had lunch with your aunt. Dad and I carved pumpkins with your brothers. I haven’t even cried…until now.
Twelve years is a long time to miss somebody.
It does get easier, but it doesn’t go away.
Time to blow out the candle. I miss you, baby girl.