Happy 7 Birthday

She would have been 7 today. I've been thinking to myself over and over, "It's her birthday" because it seems less and less real every year. Just as at first the horror of her death was inescapable, now her absence is even more inescapable. The danger of moving away from grief is that you always move away from the one you grieve, as if it is grieve itself that keeps you near. I hate that though, she wouldn't want us to remember her death. But she was so young when she died, there isn't much of her life to remember.

I realized over the weekend that my son is now older than she was when she died. We have officially passed through what I think of as the dangerous time. And in doing so have left her behind in yet another way.

I've also left behind the idea that people will forever think of me as that poor woman who lost her daughter. It's a part of me, but not who I am. I am not my job, I am not that woman who had breast cancer, I am not that woman who lost her daughter.

I saw this picture on the Michael J. Fox website for his foundation. And that said what I've been trying to sort out for years--what happens to us isn't who we are, it's what we do in response. Yes, yes, and yes.

This year, I will again have dinner with my family, and our former nanny's family (which now includes a husband and baby). We'll send my girl 7 red balloons, and eat cupcakes in her honor. 

I've been remembering some things about her, little things we did together, little things she did. I remember taking her to the store one day, and the Colbie Caillat song "Bubbly" came on. She swayed back and forth gently, it was a perfect embodiment of the words of the song. I still look back and expect to see her in her carseat doing that whenever the song comes on. When I was pregnant with her little sister, I came down for breakfast one day. She and her dad had already eaten, but as soon as I started eating, she said "Bite?" And took a giant bite out of my bagel. While at a birthday party at a local bounce place for her best friend, she sat in the room while presents were opened. At some random point (well before the end) during the process, she said, "All done!" and jumped out and ran out of the room. A couple of months later, we had Christmas Eve dinner with friends (her best friend's family) and when my friend told everyone to sit down, my daughter did--right in my friend's lap. She wasn't all that snuggly, so it was a surprise to see her do that.

These are moments not captured in pictures or video. And they, like the pictures and video, are bits and pieces disembodied from a life. I hate that they will forever be out of context. Two of my friends have girls that are close to the ages of my two girls. It absolutely breaks my heart to see pictures of them. I actually avoid looking at times, but in some way, it's nice to see how my girls would have been. I didn't have a sister and was excited to see how my girls would have each other.

My second born has risen to the task of being the big sister. She and her brother are so close, he actually told me one day that she is his best friend. I wish she had a big sister here too, though she does seem to understand that she does have a big sister, she just can't see or talk to her like she can her brother.

I still get a lump in my throat thinking of all this. I posted a video of my girl on my FB page today for my friends to see, so those who didn't meet her can get to know her. A few people I've met more recently have asked about her, how she died, etc. And I'm completely open and honest. I'm not just that woman who lost her daughter. I think they know that, even though they haven't known me for long. I'm glad to talk about her, I always will.