a birthday letter

Dear Madelyn,

Today is your second birthday. Some people think I am weird that I call it a birthday. They say it's the anniversary of your death. But I don't want to celebrate your death. I want to celebrate the short time I had you here and the short while I held you in my arms. So it's your birthday. Happy Birthday, my sweet, sweet angel baby.

It's been a good year. I am writing to you from a much better place than I did last year. Even though I was finally pregnant with your little sister, I was so scared. But I know you helped me through those 9 months. I knew you were there. Thank you for sending me your little sister. Thank you for watching over all of us.

I think often about what life would be like right now if you were here. I see you in the faces of my friend's children who were born around the same time as you. You'd be running around and talking and developing your own little personality. Some days I feel robbed that I am not experiencing those toddler years with you right now. I feel robbed that I won't see you grow up and become a woman. I spend a lot of time thinking about who you'd be today. Who you'd be in 10, 20, 30 years. I guess it's something I will always have to wonder about.

The sting of your death is not as painful now. I don't cry every day. In fact, I rarely cry. I go days without thinking about you. I never notice when the 13th of the month rolls around. It's relieving, but of course, accompanied with some guilt. Although I know you would never want me to feel guilty. I try to remember that.

But one thing has weighed heavy on my mind over the last 6 months. Madelyn, they told me I saved Sadie's life by going into the hospital when I felt decreased movement. They told me I was a hero, but I didn't feel like one. I was so happy Sadie was alive and safe, but my heart ached to have both of you there. How come I could only save one?

How come I couldn't save you, too?

That question has plagued me a lot over the course of these past few months, but I had an interesting thought the other day. Maybe it's my mind trying to protect itself, but I don't really think so. I felt very at peace. I felt like you were the one telling me. You came first, so that Sadie could live. I wouldn't have gone into the hospital that day with Sadie had I not been through what I had been through with you. Most women would probably not have even noticed the decreased movement, but I was watching movement like a hawk. The on-call doctor even told me not to go into the hospital, but to wait for a couple hours. Most women would probably not be as crazy as me, and would have listened to the doctor. But I didn't listen. I hung up with her and told Nathan we were going to the hospital, all because I knew what I was feeling, because I had felt it before. If I hadn't lost you, I probably would have lost Sadie. You came to me, knowing you wouldn't get to live a full life. You taught me lessons, you stretched my heart, and you prepared the way for your younger sister to safely make it to Earth.

 I can't tell you the peace that thought has brought me. I didn't think I would ever be able to find meaning and strength in your death, but I have. I am happy to be standing at this place now, and much happier and stronger place than I ever thought I would be be. I won't go on with the, "everything happens for a reason" crap that made me want to punch people who said it to me after I lost you, but I do believe you can learn from and find meaning in the darkest of times. You taught me that. And you continue to teach me. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I am so lucky to be your mom. 

We have been very blessed to be able to celebrate both of your birthdays surrounded by family from both sides. Last year with the Robisons, and this year with my entire family. Ava asks about you so much. She is so curious and she misses you. "What cloud do you think Maddie is on?" "Do you think Maddie will watch Tanner's blessing?" "I can't wait to see Maddie one day!" It warms my heart. I love that she feels like she knows you. We wrote letters on the balloons and counted to three and let them go. I was much more emotional than I thought I'd be. I had such a busy week surrounded by family, that I didn't let my mind wander to sad places very much. Then, suddenly, it was time to send you balloons and I felt rushed and overwhelmed and I ugly cried on the side of the house while your daddy held me. But like I have always said, sometimes you really need a good cry. And it felt good to cry for you. Grief changes shape, but it never really leaves. I learned that this weekend.

Life is moving on Maddie, just like everyone told me it would. Life is amazing, just like I hoped it one day would be. Even though I still wish you were here, I can tell you that it's okay you aren't. We will be okay. But we'll miss you every second.

I love you. I miss you. I'll see you soon.

Love always,

              Mommy