The Ache of Losing a Child

The Ache of Losing a Child

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Last week was the (would have been) 11th birthday of my daughter. In a few weeks, it will be the 7th anniversary of her death.

That leaves four years. Four short years we had with her that were simply not enough.

To be sure, I am grateful for those four years.

I know people who were never able to conceive after years of trying. I’ve seen the heartache of those who suffered miscarriages or whose babies were stillborn. I have sat witness to the stories of those who only got to experience a few hours or days with their babies. Or those whose child never lived to see their first birthday.

I’ve also grieved next to those who had more than four years with their children before the unthinkable happened.

No matter the age or circumstance when our children died, we are all left with the same deep ache that will never go away.

Our children are a part of us. They are the embodiment of our greatest achievement and our deepest vulnerabilities. It is a bond that can never be broken. Not even by death. But they did die. And when they died, they took a part of us we can never get back. And it hurts like hell. 

The pain is unbearable and unrelenting at first. But over time the stabbing pain transforms into a duller ache. We learn to adapt to a life with that ache. With some work and determination, we can re-learn meaning, purpose, and joy. We can once again embrace the sweetness life has to offer if we know where to look.

But that ache forever remains.

When life shuts a door, another one opens. We’ve heard that saying time and again. And the death of a child is like a door forever stuck shut. We desperately try to peer through the keyhole to glimpse what once was. But that keyhole becomes more obstructed and harder to see through with the passage of time. We ache for the chance to open that door once again; knowing full well we can’t.

No matter how many new doors we open and travel through; no matter how wonderful it may be on the other side of these new doors; a part of us will always cling to that one door. We desperately try to peer through that keyhole while remembering the profound love that resided within it.

I am happy with where my life is heading. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I’m grateful for the joy and love that fills me. I treasure my family.

But that ache is still there. Every moment of every day.

For the rest of my life, I’ll keep looking through that keyhole. I’ll do it to remember all of the joy and profound love she brought me in those four short years. And yet…I’ll keep opening new doors to see where life takes me. She would have wanted it that way.

5 Basic Truths That Can Help You Through Grief

5 Basic Truths That Can Help You Through Grief

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Grief is universal.

Just as you cannot avoid death, you also cannot avoid grief.

Sooner or later, it will find you. In fact, it may find you so many times, you could start feeling that life is just a series of grief-filled losses.

Some episodes of grief seem a bit easier to rebound from than others. Maybe you got laid off from a job you loved, only to have it open the door to one that is even more fulfilling. Or when a romantic relationship that once seemed like it would last forever devolves into one of irrevocable hurt and disappointment. You can learn from what went wrong and look for a new one that better fits your innermost needs.

Other episodes of grief can be so deep and so painful, they become downright debilitating. Often, they make you rethink and reevaluate everything you thought you once knew about life itself.

This level of grief often happens as a result of the death of someone so cherished and integral to your life that you can’t imagine life without them.

And if you’re anything like me… it is certainly one of the deepest forms of grief you will ever feel and one of the hardest you will ever have to work through.

While there is no universal timetable or sequence of how we deal with grief as individuals, there are plenty of common themes and reactions to grief that everyone seems to experience.

There are also some universal truths about grief — and life itself — that have the ability to help anyone work through the pain of grief.

Based on my own experience and hearing from countless others who have lost a loved one, here are some of the basic truths that have helped me and many others work through the devastation of debilitating grief.

Truth #1: You cannot change what has already happened.

Unlike many things and situations in our life and world, death is permanent. Unchanging. And so is the past. Despite our science-fiction fantasies, there are no time-traveling machines that can take you back to undo what has already been done.

This truth seems obvious. But when you’re in the depths of your deepest, darkest grief… logic has a habit of taking a back seat to wishful thinking.

No matter how hard or how long you try, there are no amount of “what if” scenarios you can run through your head to go back in time and make different choices, take different actions, or say what needed to be said.

And yet… nothing you read here is going to keep you from doing this hopeless exercise if you feel compelled to do so (and so many of us do). It is only once you exhaust yourself of the seemingly endless catalogue of “what if” scenarios in your head, you are able to choose to let it go and move one more (productive) step forward in your journey of grief.

Truth #2: The only moment you have any control over is right now.

This is really an extension of Truth #1, but it is so important, it’s worth going into more detail.

Even when we’re not grieving, so many of us get caught up in the trap of trying to control everything and everyone around us. We do it in the name of trying to control our lives down to every last detail. It seems to be human nature to feel that control = safety; lack of control = danger, stress and anxiety.

But reality is not so straightforward and simple.

It is true that we feel more secure when our environments are seemingly under (our) control. But the reality is that all of the time and effort we put into trying to control what is not ours to control is a HUGE source of stress and anxiety in our lives.

We’ve already covered that you can’t change the past. It is out of our control. We also know that we can’t control the future…. or can we? We can INFLUENCE the future through our current thoughts and actions, but we can never control it. Because it hasn’t happened yet. And because it hasn’t happened, it is inherently out of our control.

What is in our control is this moment, and this moment alone. And even in that moment, we are limited to what we can control: OUR thoughts and OUR actions.

Not those of your kids or your spouse. Not those of your parents, boss, coworkers, friends, or random strangers around you. You can influence them to be sure, but you cannot control them. They are not yours to control.

So when you are suffering and feeling completely out of control in grief (and life), here’s what you CAN control…

You can focus your thoughts and attention on THIS moment. You can close your eyes. You can take a deep breath — or as many as you need. You can pay attention to what you are feeling — emotionally and physically. You can remind yourself that what you are feeling is not permanent. You can decide what specific action you want to take right now that may influence a change to what you’re feeling in the next moment.

Maybe that action is to write about what you are feeling in your journal. Call someone who you know who will listen (and not judge or offer advice). Take a walk outside. Hit some pillows. Allow yourself a cleansing deep cry. Do something kind for yourself. Whatever you choose to do, it is the one thing you can control at this very moment.

All of this takes practice. It is not a quick fix. And it will not prevent any future moments of painful or uncomfortable feelings. Which brings us to…

Truth #3: Whatever you’re feeling at any given moment is what you’re supposed to be feeling.

There is no script or manual for what you should feel in grief. Or in life for that matter. Feelings are your (very personal) reactions to your thoughts. And I’ll say it again: whatever you’re feeling at any given moment is what you’re supposed to be feeling.

Why? Because you ARE feeling it. So you might as well accept and honor it.

Sadness. Anger. Rage. Despair. Guilt. Helplessness. Hopelessness. Whatever you are feeling at this — or any — moment is your REALITY.

The very definition of “reality” is, “the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them.”

Just remind yourself it will not last.

Of course, plenty of people can (and will) tell you how they think you should feel. When people get frustrated or tired with your seemingly endless grief-filled feelings that make them uncomfortable, they will make it known they no longer want you to feel those feelings. Some will feel entitled to bluntly say it to your face; others will try to change the subject and ignore your feelings; and some will drop out of your life completely.

Which brings us to…

Truth #4: Your relationships with others will change.  

This truth is a result of basic cause and effect. Your relationships change because YOU have fundamentally changed. As I said earlier, grief on this level makes you rethink and reevaluate everything you thought you once knew about life itself. And when your basic life perspectives change, you change with them.

And not everyone is going to like that change in you.

In the early stages of intense grief, existing relationships with those around you usually take one of three paths: 1) they grow deeper and stronger, 2) they become strained and problematic, or 3) they become estranged or end completely.

Remember Truth #2 and the part about you have no control over what other people think and do? You can certainly influence your relationships by what you say and do… but you cannot control their thoughts and actions. And many times, in the wake of a significant loss, their thoughts and actions are going to feel hurtful.

So if someone doesn’t support you in the way you think they should (or wish they would); if someone you care deeply about falls out of your life because they can’t handle the intense grief; if someone is downright nasty and verbally abusive… you don’t have much (if any) control over it.

There’s usually only a few things you can do…

If someone means well but doesn’t support you in the way you want or need, you can explain what you need by giving realistic examples. If someone is hurtful and doesn’t feel the need to change their behavior, you can distance yourself from them (in hopes that eventually you can re-engage…or not). If someone drops out of your life, you can try to reconnect when your intense grief has softened some.

And the reality is, you’ll most likely make new friends with people who have experienced the same level of loss as you. These new friends will be a welcomed source of comfort and understanding.

Truth #5: You’ll survive this.

Most of us have heard this famous quote from A. A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh:

“You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”

But you may not have heard the larger quote it is a part of:

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”

I can’t think of a more wonderful quote for someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one. And it is the absolute truth.

For anyone who is in the deepest, darkest depths of grief, you need to look to others who have been where you are to see that just like them, you will brave the horrible feelings and thoughts; you will find an inner strength you never knew you had; and you will come out of this with a new level of hard-earned knowledge and wisdom.

. . . Have another truth to add to this list? You can share it with others by adding it in a comment to this post.

Grief 2.0

Grief 2.0

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As I write this, I’m laying in a field of grass at a park near my house. My son is happily playing with some newly made friends a few feet away. A cool breeze dances through the leaves of the trees overhead, creating a beautiful symphony of whispers. I listen to bursts of laughter peppered in the conversations of the kids who have joined together to make the most of their short time at the park before the sun sets and they have to head home.

All of this makes me want to pause and savor this moment.

As adults, we get so caught up in the trappings of work and assumed responsibilities that we often lose sight of what it is we’re actually living for.

Many of us inadvertently end up living to work. We feel pressure to provide our children a better life than what we had. But must do so in a world where the cost of living seems to be on an endless upward trajectory. Society teaches us to define our worth by the importance of our profession and the amount of money we make. We work a ridiculous amount of hours at the expense of quality time with those we love and hold dear.

Many of us try to numb the growing pain and frustration we feel by filling our time with distractions and surrounding ourselves with “things” we think will make us happy. And we hope they will somehow fill the void — oblivious to the fact that the void is caused when we neglect the actual “living” part of life.

It is the part of living that kids instinctively get: making the most of the time left before the sun sets.

Sometimes we are faced with very sobering wake-up calls that point out this void and error of our ways. For most of you reading this, it was the death of someone so dear to you that life as you knew it came to an abrupt end.

While we’ve always known death to be inevitable, we now know all too well that the sun may set long before we are prepared or ready for it. For most of us, that wake-up call caused us to lose our taste for the frivolities of life.

We no longer seem to have the patience for superficial relationships, gossip, or activities that have no apparent point other than filling time. Many of us now crave purpose and meaning in everything we do. For we know that the sun may drop from the sky without a moment’s notice. We want to make the rest of our days count.

Grief does that to us. And yet, after losing someone we can’t imagine living without, we seem to stop living all together. We simply exist.

In its first iteration, grief is too overwhelming to do much of anything except try to get from one day to the next in one piece. We’re still here. Our hearts still inexplicably beat. We somehow still draw a breath. But we remain suspended in our bubble of grief. Not able to touch the world around us that we once knew.

So here we are with a new conundrum. We have seen the error of our past ways. We have realized that life is fleeting and meant to be lived to its fullest, appreciated for the gift that it is, and filled with purpose and meaning.

And yet it still feels impossibly out of reach.

This time, instead of the trappings of work and responsibility, we are trapped inside impossible, smothering pain.

We hear from others who’ve been in our shoes that these intense feelings won’t last. We’re told it won’t always be this painful. It’s just that now is our time to grieve. Now is a time to lean on others for support and guidance. Now is a time to look within. 

There is no timetable for how long this phase of grief should last. Everyone is unique. And so is our individual pace of grieving.

As for me…

It’s been many years since my daughter, Margareta, died. It is only NOW that I finally feel ready to move onto my next phase of grief. Call it Grief 2.0 if you will.

In hindsight, Grief 1.0 for me was all about coming to terms with a life without my daughter in it.

It has been a slow and difficult process. I was focused entirely on how to take my pain and learn how to transform it into opportunities for personal growth. It was about learning what my purpose and passions are. Learning to redefine relationships with those around me. Deciding what “living” really means for me in this new landscape of my life.

And as much as I felt and thought I had come so far over these last few years, I realize now I wasn’t really living yet. Oh…I talked a good talk. Experiencing insight after insight, I was an example of hope to those still in the earliest part of Grief 1.0.

But I hadn’t yet reached the point where I was ready to stop talking about what it means to live and actually start living. 

With various circumstances coming into play, I took a hiatus from writing about grief. My husband pointed out that it had become all consuming to me. I had begun to feel obligated to produce posts on a regular basis and became addicted to looking at how many people were reading and sharing my insights. The more I felt I was helping others, the more I felt my life held purpose and meaning.

But at what expense? At the neglect of the relationships that mean the most to me?

During that time, I took advantage of an opportunity to instead write about how to live your best life — the one you’ve always dreamed of but never knew how to actually achieve. I wrote about ways to overcome all the self-imposed obstacles that keep you trapped and immobilized in a state of fear. Fear of failing. Fear of trying in the first place.

It was an eye-opening experience. Here I was giving other people motivation to take those first real steps towards “living,” and yet I wasn’t doing it myself. The truth is that I hadn’t been ready to.

For me, Grief 2.0 is all about taking what I’ve learned and actually start living this life until my sun sets.

It is about taking action on everything I’ve learned about what it means to truly live. It is about seeking new experiences. New adventures. New ways of improving my closest relationships. It is finding the balance between using my passions and skills to help the greater good while also using them to benefit me, my family, and my friends.

It is about doing all these things while still honoring Margareta and recognizing how she’s inspired this new phase of living. Though I’m not exactly sure what my future path will look like, I finally feel I have the actionable tools and knowledge to explore what lies ahead.

. . .

Back in the park, the sun is beginning its final descent to the horizon where it will soon disappear.

My son and I are about to head home. He has enjoyed his time at the park with his new friends. That he may never see them again does not matter. What matters to him is that he made the most of the time he had while he was there.

And from here on out…that is what I intend to do as well.

ONE Word That Has the Power to Change Everything

ONE Word That Has the Power to Change Everything

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Sometimes there’s just no getting around it…

…life can suck.

To be more specific, something so horrible can happen that it seemingly sucks the life right out of you.

When my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, died suddenly in 2009, my soul seemed to die along with her. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time. I felt empty and dead inside.

At the same time, the emotional pain was so overwhelming, it seemed to ooze out of my pores. It felt like millions of tiny shards of glass slicing me from inside out. I physically ached from head to toe. The physical pain was just as unbearable as the emotional pain.

I felt like there was no way I was going to survive each day of pure agony. But the sun inexplicably rose each morning. Sometimes, I fancied ways to make sure I DIDN’T survive another day only to face that same pain all over again. (Thankfully, I never acted on those thoughts.)

Never in a million years did I think I could survive the death of my daughter. But I did.

The impossible task of working through those painful emotions took lots of determination. Lots of patience. Lots of reaching out for support from others. And lots of years.

…

But before I move on, let’s take a step back…

All the common reactions to grief – anger, denial, numbness, isolation – are self-imposed avoidance techniques to shield ourselves from the unbearable pain. Some of us get trapped there. Too afraid to move for fear of the avalanche of untapped pain that will surely bury us. We are convinced we could never dig ourselves out. I certainly was.

And yet, over time, I chose to push forward down that treacherous path. I did it to be the mother that my other children who remain at my side needed me to be. It was fueled by the realization that I had to live again. I mean really live. And despite my initial emotional tantrums about it, I needed to invite happiness and joy into my existence once again.

There was simply no way I could spend the rest of my life as a shadow of who I once was. I was fortunate to be able to see that pain breeds more pain. Despair feeds on despair. It’s an addictive, no-win situation.

Over the years, I’ve made the conscious and deliberate decisions to stop thinking so much about the pain surrounding her death. Instead, I try to focus on the joy her life brought me. As short as those four magical years were.

Years later, it’s still hard work. But it feels less daunting with each passing day. Week. Month. Year. Why? Because each time I chip away at that seemingly endless wall of pain, I can see the progress I’ve made.

And yet, like any addiction, it’s really easy to fall back into that pit of despair. Of anger. Of hopelessness.

Back to the present…

Case in point: a few days after this New Year’s celebration, I had a moment of realization.

While I feel pain over Margareta’s death every day, I had been in a heavier funk for a handful of days. I hadn’t paid too much attention to it because it happens quite often. And I’ve learned to just ride out the rising waves of grief knowing that they will even out once again. But this one seemed stronger than usual.

Sitting with my family watching TV, I had a moment of clarity. New Year’s. Of course!

My emotions were reacting to the reality of yet another year coming and going without Margareta by our sides. Another slap in the face that we’ll NEVER have another year ever again that allows us to be with her.

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. A wave of despair engulfed my body.

WHY?? Why did this happen to us? How can I face THE REST OF MY LIFE without my daughter? It’s not fair. None of this is fair. I’m angry. I’m really f’ing angry and sad and hopeless that I have to live with this damn pain for the next 40 or 50 years!!

As if an act of serendipity, I suddenly remembered that a monthly support group for bereaved mothers was starting in about an hour. I knew I could go there and let it all out. If anyone would understand what I was feeling, they would.

I cried the whole way there. I was convinced that fully immersing myself in this anger and despair for the next few hours would do me good. It would be a release.

And then something unexpected happened. As I walked up to the group, I heard Katie, the woman who founded the support group, telling another mother that she wanted to focus this meeting on learning how to let happiness back into our broken lives.

She said that after three long years of feeling anger and despair, she had come to a place where she finally felt ready to be happy again. And yet she needed help. She needed to be taught how to do it this time around. She wasn’t fully convinced about the idea she kept hearing – that happiness is a choice.

And in an instant, I shed the weight of anger and despair. I happily released it into the atmosphere to float away, feeling lighter and calm. I felt like everything was okay once again.

Why? What was the magical spell that allowed me to do a complete 180 so quickly?

It can be summed up in one word: PERSPECTIVE. This one word radiates with an amazing power. It can change anything and everything in the blink of an eye.

I had been so wrapped up in my anger and despair, it began feeding on itself. And yet it is the OPPOSITE of how I want to feel. Where’s the logic in that? (There isn’t. Grief is completely illogical most of the time.)

When I heard Katie talking about wanting to be happy, I was reminded of how far I had come from those dark days. I reinforced all those choices I made along the way to be happy again.

Happiness IS a choice. It is a choice based wholly in perspective.

You can choose to focus on what is wrong and bad and painful in your life. And in doing so, you can make yourself miserable.

Or you can choose to focus your energy and attention on what is right and good and loving in your life. You can do it without pretending that nothing is wrong or painful. This is the essence of happiness.

Don’t believe me? Try it. Don’t just say you’re going to try it and do a half-assed job. Give the good things in your life your FULL attention. Write them down. Engage in them. Make choices that help encourage more of those good things.

Do that, and your mood and energy and perspective will change. Maybe not as much as you’d like at first, but with practice you’ll get better at it.

I choose to try to focus on the good in my life. The love. The happiness. This doesn’t mean I don’t get caught up in anger and sadness and frustration. But I can choose not to stay there. I choose to refocus my perspective when I’m ready and able to do so.

And it has made all the difference.

And it can for you too.

To the Boy Who Has My Daughter’s Heart

To the Boy Who Has My Daughter’s Heart

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The day after my four-year-old daughter died in 2009, we received a call asking if we would be willing to donate her heart valves and corneas. Being believers in the benefits of organ donation for years, we agreed. I was told that day that while the corneas would only be viable for a short amount of time, the heart valves would be frozen and kept for two years. During the call, I asked to be notified if and when any were used.

We hoped her donation would help give another child a second chance at life.

Over the next few years, we received occasional grief support letters and cards from the transplant organization. But we never received any word that Margareta’s heart valves had been transplanted into someone else.

As the end of the two year time frame neared, I decided to email the organization. I wanted confirmation that there was no longer any chance her heart valves would be used. That way I could stop wondering about it. This was a week or so before Thanksgiving in 2011.

The day before Thanksgiving, I received a call from Maggie, who was in charge of donor relations. She apologized, saying that it was not noted in our file that we had requested notification of transplants.

What she said next took my breath away.

One of Margareta’s heart valves had been sent to New Mexico, but had not been a perfect fit and sent back. After that, one of her valves had been sent to California (the state we live in) and had been transplanted into a six-month-old baby boy. We have no other details, and were told that it is entirely up to the recipient’s family to initiate any contact between them and our family. I immediately started crying.

I don’t know who this boy is or if we’ll ever meet him. All I know is that a piece of Margareta’s heart has helped give him a chance to live the full life that she didn’t get. I’m quite certain that this boy and his family are thankful every day for this gift of a second chance at life.

I’d like to tell him a little bit about the girl who literally gave a piece of her heart to him.

Hello,

We don’t know each other, but our lives are now forever intertwined. When you were six months old, you received one of our daughter’s heart valves. I can only imagine it gave you a renewed chance at a long life. The heart valve belonged to our daughter, Margareta, who died shortly after her fourth birthday. While we miss her terribly and always will, we are able to find some solace that she was able to grant you the gift of a healthier, longer life. There are a few things you should know about Margareta, and my hope is that they will inspire you in some way.

In her four short years, Margareta lived life to the fullest. While she loved dressing up and embracing her inner princess and diva, she wasn’t afraid to play rough, get dirty and scrape her knees if it meant having a good time. She was game for just about any adventure and wasn’t afraid to try new things. While she never had the chance to grow up and follow her dreams, I hope you will always follow yours. I want you to know that whatever life throws your way, you will always have all the strength and courage you need to follow your heart and reach for your dreams. Even if you get a few scraped knees on the way.

Margareta also danced to her own beat. She wasn’t one to conform to what she was “supposed to be” based on society’s rules. Her creativity and talents led her to explore life from new perspectives and we encouraged her to do so. She was quiet and observant when she wanted to learn, and she was loud and outspoken when she wanted to lead. She seemed to understand life is a continual balance of opposing forces. There was a wisdom in her of someone who had learned the lessons of a lifetime. I hope that you keep your heart and mind open to all of life’s possibilities and ideas. The love of learning and ability to look at problems from a new perspective can only improve your experience.

There are many more things I could tell you about Margareta, and I’ll always be happy to tell more stories or answer any questions you may have. I would love to think that in some way she helps inspire you to fully embrace this gift and the life you have and to live without regret. My hope for you is that you live a life filled with gratitude, compassion, kindness, and happiness. I wish you the wisdom to recognize that relationships with those you love matter more than anything else. And that you always take advantage of the opportunities to let those you love know how much you care.

I encourage you to always listen to your heart, and know that a vibrant, beautiful soul once shared a part of it.

Wishing you a long, healthy life,
Maria (Margareta’s mother)

Gifts From My Daughter on Her Birthday

Gifts From My Daughter on Her Birthday

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Today is my daughter’s birthday.

If she were still alive, Margareta would have been 10-years-old. This is the sixth bittersweet celebration of a life that was over after four short years. Four years of blissful ignorance of the impending tragedy that took her life. Our hearts will ache because she is not physically here with us to blow out the candles on her cake. But today, we choose to remember all the love she brought into our lives during those four short years. We will celebrate her continued daily presence in our hearts and minds.

I can no longer buy presents for my daughter on her birthday. Instead, I’d like to share with you a few of the gifts she has given me. Not hand-written cards or tokens of her love during those four years, but gifts of wisdom she has brought into my life.

The gift of acceptance.

Most of my life, I struggled to try to change things that were not mine to change. I tried changing others. Their behaviors, their thoughts, and their reactions. Only to be disappointed every time. I tried changing the past by rewriting it in my head. I tried changing a future that hadn’t occurred yet.

Basically, if it didn’t bring me a sense of security…I tried changing it.

Margareta’s death helped me truly understand that most of what happens to us in this life is not ours to control. Only when we accept what we cannot change (and what is not our part of our responsibility anyway) can we find happiness and contentment.

The gift of appreciation.

I used to think I was an appreciative person. But then I lost one of the most important people in my life and realized just how unappreciative I had been. I understand now that embracing the little things we usually take for granted makes all the difference in the world.

Savoring that kind word or hug a little longer. Noticing a smile on a stranger’s face. Knowing that every day could be our last makes it that much more meaningful and important. I now better appreciate what I have versus always wanting something else; something more. This level of appreciation brings with it a sense of inner peace I always craved but never knew how to achieve.

The gift of courage.

For the longest time, I never felt strong. I didn’t feel strong enough to stand up for myself or leave toxic situations and relationships. I felt I was a victim and learned to play that role really well.

But when the worst actually happens to you – and you survive it – you discover a source of strength within you that you never knew existed.

In my journey of grief, I have begun to discover my courage. Courage to believe my needs matter just as much as anyone else’s. Courage to try to always speak my mind even if I fear the reaction it may cause. Most of all, the courage to learn accept myself for who I am instead of trying to become the person I thought others wanted me to be. I’ll never be perfect. I’ll always be a work in progress. But my daughter’s life – and death – has taught me that life is too short to try to be anything other than who you are at this moment. It has given me the freedom and courage to do what it takes to follow my dreams.

While my dream of watching my beautiful daughter grow will never come true, I will continue to create new dreams that are inspired by all the gifts she has given me.

Happy birthday, sweet girl. Words cannot convey how much we miss you.