Dear Ella Kate,

It is morning, and I wake with a start. I stumble to the bathroom sink, wipe the sleepiness from my puffy eyes, and my heart clenches. Then comes the fall. There is a solid floor beneath my feet, and strong, sturdy legs holding me up, but I fall nonetheless. It isn't my feet falling out from under me you see...it is my heart free-falling, sinking with grief, a feeling akin to being thrown off a high cliff. Tears flow from those tired, puffy eyes; sobs echo against the bathroom walls. It is your birthday, and I am stricken with longing for you. How can you already be eight years old, and how is it possible that I have lived this long without you? Oh, how I miss you!

I foolishly thought that this year would somehow be easier. I scheduled lots of things around your birthday, hoping that they would be a distraction. I worked more days at my job, made an appointment for family photos, and even scheduled my surgery for the Thursday before your birthday, all just to preoccupy my mind. It is so easy for me to get completely buried in grief during the month of November, and I know the signs to look for that let me know I am not coping well: moodiness, sadness, lots of crying over little things, snapping at people I care about, etc. All of these things are just ways to deal with the pain that is always hiding just beneath the surface. I thought all of my busyness was working....until yesterday. I called the bakery to order a small cake for your birthday, and when they asked me what color I wanted the cake to be, I burst into sobs. Josh had to finish ordering, because I was hysterical. But that is how the grief of losing a child is....the pain will come out of nowhere, with a force so strong it knocks the breath out of you.

I wish that this pain was not part of our story. I want you here with me, sitting beside me on the couch, making a Christmas list and watching cartoons. I want to make cupcakes for you, brush your hair, tell you stories about the things you did when you were a baby. But these things will never be.


I have learned a lot over the past eight years of grieving, but perhaps the most important lesson is this: something inside of a mother breaks when she buries her child. It leaves a cavernous hole inside of her heart, and no amount of time can heal it. The hole will always be there, but she has a choice....she gets to choose what to fill that hole with. She can take the easy way out, and let bitterness, resentment, anger, sadness, and pain overcome her. She can let it fill that broken space until it overflows and takes over her whole heart, her whole life. Or she can choose to shine light into that dark place, into her broken heart. She can fill the void with memories of the good things, gratefulness over all of the blessings she has been given, and determination to help other mothers living out similar situations.

As for me, I make a choice daily to shine light in the dark places. I talk about you to friends and family, I share my story with my patients suffering the loss of a child, I read God's promises for you and for me, I look at my wonderful family with awe and a grateful heart, and I fight the bitter, dark moments with everything I've got. It is a daily struggle, but it is the only way to survive. It is the only way I can honor you and your beautiful, short life.

I hope you are proud of me. I know that you are here with me, forever in my heart. I feel close to you as I sit at another grieving mother's bedside, stumbling nervously through a tear-soaked prayer, struggling to find the right words to say to ease her pain. It is you, Ella, that gives me the courage to step outside of my introverted comfort zone and spill my broken heart out to others. My greatest desire is to use my brokenness to somehow help others. I think about you every single day, and I miss you so much it physically hurts. Today, I kept the promise I made to you when you left my arms. I came to your grave, and although I know you are not there, I sang you a Happy Birthday song, blew out the candles on your birthday cake (eight this year!), and tied pretty pink balloons on your headstone. Did you see the pink balloons that your sisters sent to you in the sky? They love and miss you so much! One day we will all be together again, wrapped in a big family hug, and nothing will be able to keep us apart. Until then....Happy Birthday, my sweet baby girl. I love you more than anything. I am a better person because of you.