A new friend of ours has a 19 month-old daughter who was born in the spring of ’09. I know she was born in the spring because I’ve asked at least three times. Each time the question passes my lips I cringe a little because I’m pretty sure I’ve recently asked and already forgotten the answer. But every time I see her, I ask again.
She’s quite a bit different than my girls were at that age. She’s already speaking and communicating clearly. Like ONE, she’s independant and knows exactly what she wants. And like TWO she’s always happy. I’d actually go as far as to use the cliche of “sunny” to describe her disposition.
My girls love her, TWO especially. The other night at dinner TWO bypassed playing with the older girls to sit at the table with the baby and retrieve the things she dropped on the floor. She attended to her at different points of the evening. Making sure she had what she wanted and was very gentle with her. It was neat to watch TWO in the role she doesn’t get to play at home. The role of Big Sister.
Sometimes I stare at this little girl with something akin to wonder. As if I’ve never had a child her age. Pretty much forgetting that just 18 months ago TWO was commanding the room with her smiles and explorations. It’s silly, really, that I should feel a connection to this child. She’s not mine and I certainly don’t want to have more kids. I know that part of it is her age, though I’m sure I’m constantly around children who are the exact age THREE would’ve been had she lived. And the other part is watching my girls around her. Imagining how different our lives would be if…
It’s hard to explain the way I feel about it because it doesn’t really make sense. I’m not sad, or wistful, or anything like that; I’ve long been at peace about losing THREE. But still, being around her makes me pause. And wonder. I often feel guilty for not remembering how old THREE would’ve been, or what she would’ve been doing. But being around this little girl reminds me. And watching her toddle around and shriek with laughter and pass milestones is like being given a gift. A glimpse into who my daughter is and what she’s doing. At 18 months, 19 months, 20 months…in the presense of the loving God who brought her home.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
Looking for some biting (and grammatically correct) sarcasm on this lovely morning? Check out my very favorite wise-ass NAPTIME over at NAPTIME WRITING. Nothing like a dose of (grammatically correct) snark to start your week.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
©2010 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
WANT SOME DAILY AFFIRMATION THAT YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY BAD MOMMY OUT THERE? FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER, OR COME VENT ON FACEBOOK. WE’LL BAD-MOMMY IT TOGETHER.
{ 25 comments }
I know something like this never gets easier to deal with. Sending you hugs and peace.
I think little ones that age just get to everybody. Probably evolutionary–if we see an adorable 18 mo old, we are more likely to produce another adorable 18 mo old.
Worked for me. 3 times.
I always think of my ONE and how old she’d be….you never really “get over it”. The little girl I babysit before and after school is the same age as my ONE would be…I often smile thinking of what good friends they would be. But instead, Olivia and she are friends and that makes me happy too!!
You ROCK the positivity, Tiffany. Thank you for sharing your heart, and as always, for living such an inspiring life.
I’m glad you have this child in your life, although I am sad that it brings back the loss of THREE. I think some children just resonate with us; they’ve got something that pulls us in, makes our heart swell a little.
It’s so hard to explain, TKW. Being around this little girl doesn’t bring the loss “back,” because it never really left. But it’s not a sad thing. I don’t mourn inwardly when I watch my girls interact with her. And I don’t wish back what I don’t have. It’s this strange presence of forgiveness – to myself. Like it’s okay to forget and let go, because there will always be something that allows me to remember. (And remember in a good way.) That makes even less sense, doesn’t it?
I think that makes perfect sense. For a while, one particular child was a little poke at my bruise every time I saw him. But, time changed me. And now, seeing him is like sitting the the cool shade. Some remembering is sweet.
The way you have the ability to seek out the positive is such a rare gift. How you can feel at peace and still recognize this as a gift/glimpse is amazing. You are quite a special lady.
I thought about THREE today when I was in the backyard and saw her tree, the leaves that vibrant red they turn for one week a year.
Beautiful post.
I think I know what you mean, sort of like watching the world, sitting slightly inside your head. I always wonder how much of a persons existence can carry forward and repeat in our lives, to teach or protect us. Anyway you think about maybe she is just meant to be in your village.
This post, especially the last paragraph, touched my heart. I may have shed a few tears. It’s wonderful you are able to think of THREE in this capacity.
Wow. I never knew. I went back and read your blogs and learned about the pain and loss you have suffered. I am so sorry. Like you, I can never truly understand why God does what does. I just have to believe there was a reason. And there is a reason why sometimes you forget.
What a beautiful way to remember your daughter! Sending you hugs…
I’m glad TWO is getting to have the role of the big sister.
My 2nd experienced that through a babysitter… to see him take the leader role was something else… when he was normally always in the shadows.
So glad you can view this little girl’s role in your life as a positive one!
Lovely tribute to three. Sending you hugs and xoxo.
The image of that red tree made my heart both hurt and expand.
I am among those who believe some things are gifts. It sounds as though your friend’s daughter is a gift that allows you to remember and reflect and rejoice in what was and is and how holding THREE for the time you were able has changed you forever.
I hadn’t known of THREE’s story until this post — went back to read every word from the collection of links you’d put together and was blown away by the heart in the prose. Poignant, exquisite, raw, real — none of these is nearly a good enough word for the way you’ve captured her life there.
I get it…sort of. Different stage in my life, different circumstances. I had a One that is not here. Every Autumn, something happens to make me pause and think what if? You were what made me have that thought today.
Thank you so much for sharing that, Jen. It always touches my heart when moms rally around each other. Especially when circumstances are similar. Nothing beats feeling understood. (And I’m so sorry for your loss.)
My favorite aunt passed away a few years ago. My entire life she made me feel like I was something special. I mean she was nice to all the kids, but I felt like she was extra nice to me. When she was withering away from cancer, she asked me if I knew why I was always so important to her and I said, “No.” She said, she always felt like I was sent especially for her because she lost a daughter right before I was born and somehow I helped ease the pain. I think maybe I was meant for her in a special way. I know that the connection I have always felt toward her is spiritual. Even now that she is gone, I still feel a connection.
Well. I don’t have much to say except thank you and I understand. You never get over a loss (though my father insists I should), it’s always with you, making you wonder. When I see my friends’ pregnant bellies whose due dates are around the time mine should have been, I feel sad. And empty. And, though I have two beautiful children, lonely. Because that baby was my THREE and I was thrilled. But it didn’t happen and now I have the memories of the not-to-be baby. My memories. They are sacred, personal, and very real.
Yes. It’s amazing how quickly and fully we love our babies and how deep the memories run. Even those as brief as ours. I was thinking of you as I wrote this. I hope you’re doing well.
I remember everything about the year I carried and lost my 3 babies. They would have turned 7 this year. I’ve been at peace for a long time too. But, it doesn’t stop me from thinking about who they would be and what they would be doing. The big events are the ones that stop me in my tracks (the day they would have started kindergarten for example). We honor them at Christmas every year by donating a toy that would be appropriate for their ages to Toys for Tots. The boys love to get involved with it now too. Hugs to you.
Heather, thank you so much for sharing this. I am so sorry for your loss and am equally as inspired by how you honor your children, all 5 of them, at Christmas. If it’s okay with you, I think we might just do the same thing.
It sounds like you’ve been given a little gift from God here on earth. A child to delight in. A way of remembering. Maybe you have her in your life to remember THREE in nothing but a positive way without a feeling of loss or sadness, but just with optimism, peace and joy.