11; Eliza would be 11 today. Lately I have found myself searching for 11 year old little girls and wondering, what do they like to do? Is their mommy still their best friend? Do they remember being 4? Truthfully I have done this every year around Eliza’s birthday, dreaming of what she would be. I wonder if I will be doing it when I’m 80; I think so.

As the years have gone by I am able to survive the days that feel hard, except April 12th. That’s the day that feels sacred to me. Like it should be celebrated and mourned at the same time, but I’m still not sure how to do that, so I muddle through. 

Eliza was the best part of me, the best part of Aaron. Really she was the best part of all of us. 

She was beautiful and kind and happy. She had opinions on food and movies and blankets (only the softest). She laughed when things were really funny and cried when things really hurt. 

Sometimes I wonder if my memories of her are real or if I have somehow colored them with a bright yellow highlighter making them nothing but pure joy. Was it all harder and sadder than I can even remember? Have I remembered it all wrong? 

Maybe that’s the tiny blessing that grief can give us. Our minds can only remember the perfection that existed in the person that is gone. So that the runny noses and hospital stays, temper tantrums and skinned knees is something that happened to other people, not us. 

Eliza, You will always be perfect my sweet girl. I will continue to honor this day, the day you made me a mama. You will forever be my greatest love. Happy Birthday Bug Bug, still counting the days until i see you again.