Half a year

Dear Harper,

There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about you, bean.

I can't really believe it's been 6 months. It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like yesterday. It feels like the half year mark should feel more significant. Like we'd reached some milestone of pain. But it's just another difficult anniversary. Marked by a letter from hospice noting that the six month mark can be a rough time.

I spent the six month anniversary of your death on Kangaroo Island, in Australia. A place where you can see billions of stars at night. And I thought about the ancient Greek myths where heroes are honored by becoming constellations. I thought about the idea of you as a tiny star, twinkling above us. I love that idea.

Not long after you were born, I thought of another Greek myth. Although I had to use Google to locate the name of the Hekatonkheires, I thought a lot about them - hideous, deformed monsters, exiled but beloved by their mother.

The night you were born, as the neonatologist's list of your deformities seemed to go on forever, all I could think was that I had given birth to a monster.

But I was wrong. You were beautiful. And like Gaia, I loved you with everything I had, every cell in my body, despite your deformities.

I felt horribly guilty many moments on Kangaroo Island. I would not have been there, admiring the stars, surrounded by exotic animals, excitedly spotting koalas in the tree tops, or splashing in turquoise water, had you lived. I wonder sometimes whether I'd still be loving you today, with all of your special needs, were you still alive, or would I have begun to resent the changes you'd brought into my life?

I like to believe, no matter what, you'd always be the little girl I fell in love with.

You still have the power to make me cry, Harper bean. And right now, in this moment, I can't think of anything I want more than to hold your tiny hand one more time.

I wish I could have brought you to see the kangaroos, too, daughter mine.

I'm sorry I ever believed you to be a monster, Harper. I'm sorry I wasted a single moment alone with you feeling sad and sorry for myself. You deserved so much better than that. I hope that, in the end, you were somehow able to sense every bit of love and loss I felt for you. I hope you know that I thought you were beautiful. A perfect imperfection.

You will always, ALWAYS, be my daughter. And there's always going to be some part of me that misses you. Every day.