I wish you were here, but maybe you are here. I’m pretty sure it was you that turned the patio strand of lights on…not once, not twice, but three times! Who else would turn the lights on at 6am from the backyard while your daddy and I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee while your brother slept? Who would have the nerve to do it more than twice in the same night, especially after making me think about it all day? It could only be you.
There are many, many things I have on my mind this Christmas Eve. You! You! And more you!
Christmas Day was when we last laughed, screamed and played together. It may be close to a year since I held you in my arms, but it doesn’t mean I don’t think about you daily.
The lifelong memories you leave in my heart will last a lifetime and still weigh heavy on me today.
These are the things that I’ve struggled with in our first year apart…
I cannot roll towards your bedroom in the wee hours of the morning and not look down to make sure I’m not going to run you over. #mommaonwheels
I still get anxiety at 6:30pm when I think about you not having your dinner & medication on time.
It’s impossible to not go into a store and stroll through the little girl section without thinking about you.
I constantly wonder what you would be like if you were here.
I’ve realized that the structure we thought we had in place for you was also for us. You kept our family in sync.
When I exit the freeway I still look in the backseat and see you swinging your feet in excitement that we’re home.
I constantly compare your teachers to Sage’s teachers and think about how good we had it.
Whenever I hear or witness disabled people condescendingly comparing themselves to those with developmental disabilities I think about how no one ever taught them about disability equality or justice.
Everyday I remind your brother how much you loved each other.
I’ve learned that friends and family who don’t know what to say about you not being here are not easy people for me to be around.
Im pretty sure I have mastered the hidden messages you send me. I know you’re here and you miss me as much as I miss you.
I’ve realized that having you for only four years was not nearly long enough or fair.
Livy, you will forever be my girl, my first born, my baby. I miss you as much today as the first day I said goodbye. I treasure every memory and sign that you give me and only wish there could be more.