Between Bruises and Blooms

My beautiful girl,

It has been years,
and I still wonder
who you would have become.

Would your laugh sound like mine?
Would you have your brothers’ kindness?
Would your little sisters
follow you from room to room,
wanting to be just like you?

I will never know.

I only had a few precious hours
to memorize your face,
your tiny fingers,
the weight of you in my arms.

It wasn’t enough.

It will never feel like enough.

People say time softens grief.

Maybe it does.

But it has never made me love you less.

It has only taught me
how to carry your absence
without letting it erase your place
in our family.

You are still my daughter.

You always will be.

Your brothers know your name.
Your sisters will grow up
hearing stories about you.
Not because I cannot let go,
but because love like yours
was never meant to disappear.

You changed me.

You made me see
how fragile life can be,
how fiercely a mother can love,
and how a heart
can break
without ever stopping.

Sometimes I wonder
if you know about us.

If you’ve seen Emerson become
such a caring big brother.

If you’ve watched Theo
fill our home with laughter.

If you’ve smiled
as Isabella and Gabriella
learned to walk,
to talk,
to discover the world
you never had the chance to explore.

I hope you’ve been there
for every milestone.

I hope you’ve celebrated with us
from wherever heaven keeps
its smallest angels.

There are still days
when I miss you
with the same sharp ache
I felt the day I had to say goodbye.

Not because I haven’t healed.

But because a mother’s love
doesn’t end
when a heartbeat does.

If I could hold you
just one more time,
I wouldn’t ask why.

I’d simply memorize you again.

Every eyelash.

Every tiny finger.

Every second.

Until I had to let you go
all over again.

Thank you
for making me your mother,
even if only for a little while.

You will always be
my first daughter,
my forever baby,
and the piece of my heart
that lives beyond this world.

Until we meet again,

I love you.

Always.

Mom