First birthdays

I don't know why first birthdays are so hard.  This is the 4th time I've done a first birthday, the 3rd with a living child. We did cupcakes & presents with friends today for Allison.  Her birthday isn't actually until Monday, but today worked best.  Anyway, I was totally in the moment while IN the moment.  But for the rest of today, looking at the pictures, part of my heart breaks over again.

Instead of this

I had this.

Cora's first birthday was a beautiful day.  It couldn't have been more perfect.  Except that she wasn't there.  Kind of a huge imperfection, I know.  I wish I could have spent it with her.  I wish I could have had pictures of her covered in chocolate icing.  I wish I wish I wish.

First day of school

This is a post I should have made a year ago.  A year ago, Cora should have started kindergarten.  And it DID hurt a year ago, thinking all those should-have-beens, but it's one of those things that you don't really know how to grieve the missing of until you've actually experienced it.  Today I saw Cora's younger sister's excitement and wonder as she finally got to go to kindergarten (she's been talking about it for over a year now).

I cried when she went into the classroom.  Part of it was the normal mommy-cry of your baby growing up.  But a lot of it was missing the pictures of Cora in her backpack and first day outfit that I didn't get to take.  Missing the excited conversations about what she did and the new rules she'd learned and the kids in her class.  I'm not going to get to take first-day pictures of her, and that loss hurts more than I realized it would.

Cooking with Cora

Both Erin and Patrick love to cook with me, and I have often wondered if Cora would have too.  It's made me sad, on occasions, that I spend so much time in the kitchen and there's nothing in there of her.  Well, I found a way.  I decided a while back that since I have such and enormous window sill behind my kitchen sink, I should utilize it and do an herb garden.  I bought 4 different kinds, and then went looking for pots (something I should have done beforehand, since I ended up having to buy one).  Anyway, sitting empty in the garage was the angel pot that I bought to put a flower in for Cora.  You may remember it from earlier posts

Well, now it has oregano in it, and she watches me while I'm doing the dishes

The hole she left

I've been watching the show Doctor Who on Netflix.  A couple days ago, I was watching the episode "The Doctor's Daughter."  The Doctor and company had ended up on a planet where they were immediately taken captive and the Doctor's hand was shoved into a machine where a tissue sample was taken, his DNA was recombined, and a woman was made from it.  One of the Doctor's companions joked with him about "daddy shock" resulting in sudden unexpected fatherhood.  He then explained to her that he had been a father before, but like his planet and race, they were gone now, casualties of the great Time War.  And then he said, "When I look at her, I see the holes they left and the pain that filled them."

I loved that line because it resonated so much.  Whenever someone makes a comment that insinuates that since I have had three healthy children since Cora's death I should somehow be "better" or that grieving somehow means I'm not grateful for those three, this explains how it feels.

Whenever I look at them, I see the hole she left and that pain that filled it.  Whenever I watch them play, hug, hold hands, or even fight, I see what is missing.

It's like seeing a ghost almost.  I can see in my mind where she would fit.  I can't help but imagine what she would do and what she would say, who she would be.

I find so much immense joy in my children.  I love every small moment with them.


But when I look at them, I see the hole she left and the pain that filled it.

Anniversary & Father's Day

Friday, June 17, 2005, Matt and I were married.  It was one of the happiest days of my life.

Saturday, June 17, 2006, we spread Cora's ashes on the water of Jenny Lake in the Grand Teton Mountains.  It was one of the saddest days of my life.

Interesting how so much can change in a year.  The day after we spread Cora's ashes was Father's Day, of course.  But how do you celebrate the father who can't hold his child in his arms?  We'd also planned on having Cora blessed in our church that day.  It was really hard.  I've never been able to tell if it was harder for me or Matt though.

So today it's my anniversary AND Father's Day, and I can't help but thinking of what it should have been.  We've had 7 great years and have 3 healthy, living children, and I'm missing the one we don't have something fierce.

How Great Thou Art

I've been watching the show "Duets" lately, and this last week's episode was "Songs That Inspire."  John Glosson chose "How Great Thou Art" in dedication to his family.  His older brother died of leukemia the day after his mother found out she was pregnant with him.  Listening to him talk about his brother that he never got to know...I really hope that Erin has that connection to Cora when she's older.  I hope she never truly understands what it was like for me when her sister died, but I hope that as she comes to understand what death really means that she will still feel the connection she seems to have now.  And that Patrick and Allison will grow to have that too.

Because as long as we remember she's never truly gone.

Butterflies and rainbows

Unlike last year, we had good weather for Cora's birthday this year, so we were able to release her butterflies on her birthday.

and the place we went to dinner was next to a Build-a-bear, so Erin decided we needed to go stuff a bear for Cora.  And she chose a rainbow bear.  A rainbow bear stuffed with love by her rainbow siblings.

I love that Erin has such an attachment to her sister that she's never met.