I woke up thinking about your birthday. That is, the actual day you were born six years ago.
How you came two days ahead of schedule.
How surprised I was to see your fuzzy head of hair. I loved the smell of that fuzzy hair.
How we wrapped you up and nuzzled you right on my chest.
The moment the nurse said you were gone.
What do we do on your birthday, when you aren’t here with us? We do regular birthday things, like make you a cake and go out to dinner, because that’s what we do for everyone.
And we do special Taya birthday things, because I didn’t know what to do on your first birthday and so we did these things and now these are the special Taya birthday things.
We go to the flower store and pick out some flowers, and then we bring them to the cemetery and put them by your stone.
This year, Connor and Ivy each chose three flowers to make your bouquet of six. Connor chose red and white roses. Ivy wanted three pink shades of mini gerbers. I had a moment in the flower cooler, which your dad picked up on. I sent him to check out.
In that cooler I remembered making the order for your funeral flowers. I walked up to the counter with a photo of your baby blanket and asked them to make an arrangement that matched. The woman taking my order had tears in her eyes when I told her the flowers were for my daughter.
I was afraid the woman at the checkout today would ask who the flowers were for. I am not strong enough today to explain that it’s your birthday but you are not here but we get you flowers.
We drove to the cemetery and I caught glimpses of your funeral day. We put flowers on your tiny coffin before your dad moved it into the ground. We sang a few choruses of a few songs. I wore a dress with flowers on it.
Today, we put our flowers by your stone. It’s snowing this year, and by the morning I’m sure they will be covered.
When we went out to dinner, Ivy proudly proclaimed to our server, “It’s my sister’s birthday today!”
I could tell he was confused. He asked her how old her sister is. She said “six!” and I sat quietly and hoped he wouldn’t ask Ivy where you are. He didn’t.
These are the normal Taya birthday things. If I’m being honest, some of these things suck. I can’t avoid this day, and no matter how hard I try to make it a day of celebration instead of sadness, the grief is still too strong. You aren’t here and it isn’t fair.
It gets harder and harder to imagine what you would be like as a little girl. Six-year-olds have opinions on pretty much everything, and I wish I could know yours. I wish I could see your smile, to see if you share the same dimples as your sister. I wish I could hear your laugh.
Sometimes I pray that God will let me see you in a dream. So far that prayer hasn’t been answered, but I’ll keep trying.
I hope your birthday in heaven was just the best, and you got to have chocolate cake with sprinkles just like we had here.
I love you forever. Happy sixth birthday, beloved daughter.