Seventh Birthday

Earlier today I saw flowers blooming on a mimosa tree, the same one that I vaguely noticed while walking around our neighborhood in labor, seven years ago. It is so hard to believe that Isabella would be seven. We now have two more kids, ages five and three, and I cannot imagine what our lives would look like with three children at home. Come August, we would have a 2nd grader, kindergartener, and preschooler.

I am not the same person I was while laboring with Isabella. Children change us, both those that we get to raise and those we do not. Isabella made me a mother. Losing her then losing my mom gave me a comfort or familiarity with death that only comes through experience. When co-workers or friends have lost a parent, spouse, or child, I ask them about the person they lost (while being mindful of when I bring it up). I’ve known several people who have had a close family member die by suicide and the topic is no longer taboo for me. I am still anxious about the pregnancies of family and close friends. Baby showers are still hard and I am not a consistent attendee.

Because of my experience with Now I Lay Be Down to Sleep following Isabella’s death, I now volunteer with them as an assistant to the photographer. Since I began volunteering with them a year ago, I’ve helped with almost ten sessions and there have been many times that number of calls from hospitals asking for a photographer. There are so many more babies that die annually in my own city than I had any idea. As an assistant, I gather consent for the photos, interact some with the parents, help hold the light, and position the baby. I never imagined that I would be comfortable doing this, but it is an incredible gift to be part of that organization.

Seven years comes out to 2557 days. I imagine that a time will come when I do not think about Isabella and my mom daily, but that has not happened yet. While I think about them daily, this year my heart is not breaking as it does some years (last year was brutal). However, the anniversary of my mom’s death was a doozy.

The first several years, I went by the cemetery frequently. When we had another child, that frequency decreased, then it decreased yet again with the birth of our third child. These days, we generally visit the cemetery quarterly, switching out the faux flowers as the season dictates. The cemetery is in the opposite direction of my life and I’m almost never “in the area.” I'm grateful whenever I do visit them.

I do not know who I would be if Isabella had lived and life had proceeded as we had expected. I miss her every day and I am grateful for who God made me because of loss. Being Isabella’s mom has made me more compassionate, kind, understanding, and empathetic.

Happy Birthday, Isabella. I’m one year closer to holding you again.