Accepting That My Little Girl Wasn't Meant To Be
Family size. Such an endlessly interesting topic, how families end up the size they do, either bigger or smaller or just exactly what the mother had always dreamed of. Me, I am a daughter between two brothers, and I absolutely could not imagine growing up without siblings. So I assumed I'd have three kids. And here I am, at 42, with one. A lovely one, a delicious and sweet-smelling one (and yes, a challenging one). But I don't think I'll ever be fully finished with the sorrow that he doesn't have siblings (divorce interrupted our family). This sweet and sad post from Vinobaby's Voice deals with the same bittersweet, but it's of babies made and lost, a much deeper shade of blue.
When Grace Is Gone
Her name was Ava Grace and looking back now, I realize she wasn't meant to be…
The name was not definite—it could have been Mia or Sera or Julia or even Jack as well—but the image of her was fully formed in my mind. Strawberry-blonde pigtails bounced as she giggled at kisses blown on her belly; a smattering of inevitable freckles danced across her nose and cheeks; her dimpled hands grasped a pink blankie, her fingers working the silky fabric as she drifted off to sleep. She was radiant…and she was mine.
Vintage Barbies, Cabbage Patch Kids, and even an antique Betsy-Wetsy doll decorated her room. She loved dresses, yet band-aids covered her constantly scraped knees, for although she could spend hours lost in fantastic worlds from classics stories, she was determined to find real fairies hiding under garden roses and dirty toadstools.
She was real: the tangible, thriving child of my dreams—then she just wasn't.
Three times I let her slip away. I know technically it was never my fault, there was never anything I could have done to hold onto her, but……