My dearest Emma...

My Sweet Blonde Haired Angel,
Well, the day that I dread most out of every other day is here. Perhaps that's why I am here typing at 12:30 at night, stricken with insomnia I know too well. I climbed out of bed, my fingers aching to type out some therapy. I lay in bed, reminded of all the moments of that day I can still recall. I wish I could remember some of the little things that day, the way you looked and smelled, what you said. Those are the thoughts I want to keep in my brain. Instead, I remembered how I nursed your brother and busily made sure dinner was made, gave you a little kiss and hurried out the door for the day for work, blissfully ignorant.

I remember sitting at work, unknowing (I feel like I should have had an inkling...)
I remember getting a call, and a kind friend wisely driving me to the hospital, I remember the panic and hope I still felt driving there. I remember a few of the doctor's words while sitting in the quiet room of the ER as the social worker helplessly watched me sob. I remember holding your sweet body, your spirit freshly gone and asking for more blankets for your cold body. I remember seeing your denim and eyelet outfit cut on the floor, the outfit I had recently bought you for a birthday party. I remember tear stained faces of the staff who valiantly tried to save you. I remember leaving the hospital empty handed that night, utterly broken hearted. I remember waking up multiple times, startled out of my dream like state only to remember that you were gone, and crying myself back to sleep. These are the things that haunt me. I would rather have the memories of your sweet face.

My dear, I wish I could hold you now. You would be celebrating your 9th birthday this year. I watch your brothers and sister grow and my heart aches. I see all the steps you should be celebrating. The stages you should be passing. I wonder how you would have kept your hair, and the activities you would be doing. My arms ache to hold you and listen to you tell me about your day, and your friends. My fingers ache to brush through your sweet hair and brush your soft cheek. You see, I remain utterly broken hearted. That hasn't changed. The piece of my heart that was shattered that night of August 18, 2007 is still fractured and won't ever be repaired. I try most of the time to remember the promises made by our Savior, and to remain faithful and hopeful. But for this day every year, it's too hard, I have to relinquish. I don't want to be brave anymore, or strong. I don't want to be faithful, or patient.

I write this so you know how much I still love you. That despite appearances I will never be totally whole. I want you to know how my arms still literally ache for you, how I wish I could hold you like I used to, your little body cradled in mine. I want you to know that feeling will never go away for me. I will be 90 years old and miss you.

I won't stop being patient or faithful, or brave or strong. I promise. But I'll start again tomorrow.

I miss you my sweet girl.
With all the love I have to give,
Your mommy