Today my baby girl is one year old. Unbelievable, especially after the scariest of pregnancies and her months of post-birth NICU and PICU stays. We feel so incredibly blessed. But today, as I look at her and feel gratitude in realizing this vibrant, pink, exuberant little girl has been a part of our lives for one whole year, it hits home that she is all those things her brother will never be.

My heart is full of joy in her presence, but I am also more sad than I have been in many months. I am sad that she does not get to have a big brother to be proud and jealous of her and eat all her cake. I am sad that I don't know how to keep up honouring her brother, my firstborn, as I parent an active one year old. I am sad that so many around us seem to think that 'now we are the perfect family' because Tikva has 'replaced' Sam and now we're all better. I am sad, in a way, that there is not still more sadness for his absence, that life moves on, that babies turn one when he will never get a birthday. He will never turn anything.

I love my squishy-cheeked daughter so much it hurts sometimes, yet however much I love her brother, I'll never again get to love him in that visceral, embodied way. My love for him seems to become more wistful, whimsical and intangible with the passing of each year.

I know this feeling well. I have two living sons, and the first birthday we celebrated after Ellis died was so hard for me. As my oldest son turned five, I mourned for all the birthdays Ellis would never have. Though it has gotten easier, there is still a sadness that sneaks into all our happy moments. All the things that Ellis will not get to see or be. That's part of how I get to keep being his mom though. Imagining him in all these happy moments --- even if they're just a dream, and waking up from them is hard. xox

I know this feeling very well, Sarah. Our boys celebrated their birthday last week and I was so overwhelmed with joy for the happiness they bring us, but I was also profoundly sad that their sister never had a first birthday party, that she wasn't there smearing icing all over their faces, and that the room full of people at the boys' party most likely had forgotten her that day.

I thought about you and Tikva earlier today (were your ears burning?). She shares a birthday with my brother, so its easy to remember. I wish her the happiest of birthdays! Remembering Sam with you and H and Tikva.

Oh Sarah. We know sweet Sam could never be replaced. And we know you are joyful for Tikva's first birthday. It's just painful that we have to balance the joy with the sadness of absence. Not only are you celebrating Tikva, but her birth was not easy or uneventful, it was a scary time, so there is also the continued processing of that experience. That is another thing to grieve really....that her birth wasn't easy, that she was sick and in pain. Yes, it makes it that much more amazing that she is doing so well and celebrating her first birthday, but it doesn't erase what was....what you all have been through to get to her birthday.

....Celebrating Tikva and missing Sam with you!

KO always has the right thing to say. :-)

Sarah,

So much of what you wrote has been in my head over the last 2 years and even more now that I have 2 little ones at home. Grace is part of the fabric of who I am, but not a part of my tangible world. My love for her is more like an old piece of jewelry, one that you have worn for so long you cannot feel it anymore unless it is not there. I wish I knew more about who she would have been, quiet and easy like Eliana, loud and challenging like Rosabella? Her own person I suspect, I just wish I could know her too.

Remembering Sam with you, knowing that your family has a missing member always, just like mine. Hoping that we both find some peace and a way to honor, love and remember our missing babies.

Thank you mamas, as always, for letting me come here and share both my kids, for knowing and understanding what’s in my heart. I’m sorry that any of you understand what this feels like.

R, thanks for your comment. Yes, I can see a lot of value in the role of parenting our lost children –not as their memory keepers (there are no memories after all, and that’s the hard part) – but as keepers of their spirits perhaps? Continuing to imagine my son usually brings me more pleasure than sadness nearly five years on, which is perhaps why I was so taken aback by my recent fresh grief wave.

Carrie, I thought of you all this past few weeks, knowing that we’re on almost the very same timelines with our living kids. I am sorry that Alice was not there to smear cake all over Rhys and Theo. I am sorry that you too, feel that no one remembers her. I do. And I feel like maybe she was there, celebrating in her own way. Happy birthday boys! I would love to see a picture sometime if you feel like sharing.

Grace’s Mom, I feel exactly like this too: ‘Grace is part of the fabric of who I am, but not a part of my tangible world. My love for her is more like an old piece of jewelry, one that you have worn for so long you cannot feel it anymore unless it is not there.’ Mostly that thought gives me great comfort, because it tells me that Sam is so much a natural part of our lives and who we are now that no matter how we actively celebrate him, he’s always still here, as you say woven into us. I no longer feel this acute need to have him recognized by everyone else all the time. It’s a quieter, more intimate relationship. Doesn’t mean though that it’s not painful and frankly really sucky to be reminded sometimes how awesome it would be if he were *actually here* playing with his little sister. I feel so much guilt sometimes that I can’t provide Tikva with living siblings, that for all intents and purposes she’s an only child – but that’s a whole other post!

KO, my sweet friend, thank you for being here and for getting it so completely, even from such a different place yourself. I am humbled. About the different sources of grief – yes! I was talking recently with a friend who suggested that I have PTSD and I thought – yes, certainly, but *post-what* exactly? Because there are so many layers of grief and trauma, from losing Sam to the subsequent miscarriages to the years of infertility, and then saying goodbye to my dreamed of happy pregnancy and healthy delivery as we watched Tikva fight for her life both before and after birth. And I think I am still really only beginning to process what took place for us last year, how scary and exhausting and truly numbing it was. (My one consolation in Sam’s death was that I think he left peacefully and knowing he was surrounded by love; watching my child suffer and feel pain and not being able to do anything about it, even if she ultimately overcame all that, was just too much. I don’t even have words – and I know that there are parents here who have both had to do that and then let their children go. My heart weeps for them.)

Honestly, there are huge bits of the last five years basically which were so shitty that, were it not for them bringing my kids to me, I might want to totally erase altogether. And then that makes me feel really ungrateful and horrible. So it’s about trying to find that balance, that sweet spot between acknowledging and working through the trauma while also saying ‘yes, life is pretty damn good right now’, between consciously moving forward with gratitude and yet not leaving my sweet boy, or the valuable contributions he’s made to our life, behind. I don’t know if that makes sense.

And now I’m rushed to shower before Tikva’s therapist arrives and have to cut this short! So much more I could write. Thank you again, all. Thinking of all of you and your sweet babes, wherever they are.

Love to all,
Sarah xo

Wow you took the words right out of my heart . I am so in love with my daughter but nothing can ease the ache and longing I have for my son . Thanks for sharing .