Today you would be 19. You are around the age that I always see you at. Tall, slim, with long dark hair and hazel eyes with a lot of gold in them. You look like a darker version of me at your age. You always have a smile when I see you.
I miss you, but you know that. I look forward to the day when I cross over and you and Addie Jo are there to welcome me home. Hopefully, and sadly, that day won't happen until Logan is grown. He needs me here.
The day before you died, you were 21-days old, it was the first day I had felt a lot of energy since your birth and I got a lot done. Normally, you were so calm and quiet. You had been fussy the day before and were fussy again. I remember that when I changed you, your pee smelled sweet. Mid-day I was tired and lay down to nurse you and take a nap.This is something I have never shared--but you were there and you know--after you nursed and fell asleep, I put you on my chest and patted your back-side, I focused on your breathing and the warmth around us and I, too, fell asleep. That is my favorite memory of you and me, together. Now, nineteen years later, still, when I am tired and cannot sleep, I take myself back to that precious moment. I feel the warmth, I feel your miniscule seven pound weight on my chest, I concentrate on your breathing and finally I sleep. No one knows that except you and me. (Until today.)
It has been nearly 19-years since that peaceful day. Perhaps, it was the last day of my life where I would feel that type of love and hope. Life has been hard. Yet, I still believe what I believed then. I still believe those things that got me thru. I know that in that spirit time before this life, you and I were best friends and, perhaps, had explored other lives together. I know we agreed before this life to be mother and daughter for this too short time. There was a reason for that which we both understood, but I seem to have forgotten. I know you are with me now--watching over me. And I have no doubt that we will be re-united again on the other side. People are sometimes amazed at my faith in that and my strength for surviving when you died. Sometimes, I do doubt. And it isn't strength.... Living is about doing what you have to do and moving forward. Is there any other choice?
I love you, My Sweet Baby Girl.
Mom
Roxcy Rainier Hubler at 24-hours old with her mom, November 24, 1993. Photo by Heinz Hubler
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