One Year

Arianna Marie,

How can it already be a year that you took your final breathe in our arms? I can feel the weight of you in my arms. I can feel your smooth skin on my fingers. I can see the family on the balcony.

I remember coming home after planning the services. I remember the empty space between your dad and I. Our bed had become your bed. Everyone says no co-sleeping until your child is on hospice, because there's no longer a safety risk. Every night for the last couple weeks you slept in between us. We'd each keep a hand on you throughout the night. Some days your breaths were so shallow it was hard to tell if you were still here. The house felt so empty. Since bringing you home, there was always people over--Grandma Deb, Uncle Tim & Aunt Marianne, Uncle Alvin Sam, Uncle Jeff & Aunt Lisa, Auntie Sher Sher, Grandpa Rupert and Uncle Ham. And now there was just silence. Our home was empty without you. It is still empty. I still walk into your room hoping you'll be sleeping in your crib and this will just be a huge joke. But I know that's not going to happen.

I know that you are dancing in Heaven, and painting the sky the most beautiful colors. I know that the butterflies and the birds are you letting me know you're near. I know all those coins were left by you.

That's the only thing that has gotten me through this year. I hope you know how broken we are without you. I wonder how we even breathe without you. People may sometimes wonder why we still cry since it's already been a whole year. But I will shed tears for you until my final breathe. I will carry you in my heart until it stops beating. I will say your name over and over again. I will shout it off rooftops to remind everyone that you were here, and your life matters. I will never, ever, ever forget you. You will always be our babycakes and our glue. 

I'm surprised I haven't broken anything in the past year. This rage fills me up because I miss you so much. But in those moments, I pull out my favorite pictures of you. And just stare. A sense of peace overwhelms me. 

Our arms are empty without you. Even though you were little miss independent and hated being held like a baby. I always picture you in your daddy's arms. Your cute little head nestled into his neck. You made me love him even more than I did before you were born. You showed me a side to him I never saw before. He would have held you like that forever if you let him. 

We are trying our very bests for you. We are trying to be the best versions of ourselves, but sometimes the grief hits us a little harder than we could ever anticipate. But, like you, we lift our heads right back up again. It's not easy, but you make it worth it. 

I often wonder what you're doing up there. It gives me so much peace knowing that you have Grandpa John, Papa Lenny, Uncle Jamie, and Aunt Debi. I hope that you're dancing and singing. Of course, eating all the sweet potatoes up there (have I mentioned that your dad loves them now because of you?). I'm sure you're absolutely delighted with all the birds. I hope you can pet them, if not you're probably a little sassy sometimes. 

We miss everything about you. Your smile, your giggles, your voice, you trying to sit up on your own, the look of satisfaction when you rolled over the first time, they way you'd get excited when you saw your feeding pump, the bubble blowing (although it wasn't too fun when I'd end up with apples all over me :) ) We miss every single thing about you.

Keep letting us know you're here. Make sure the signs are a little bigger for Daddy.

We love you more than we can ever say babycakes.

Love,

Mom