October 31st, 2008

Dear Sophie Salome,

It has been three years since the day you were born, after nine months of loving you and waiting for you. Nine months is a long time, but it has so far been three years too short. In many ways, it has been a wonderful three years. You have a sister now, and we are praying for another one in a few months. Your little sister, Eleanor, is a smiling little punkstress. She is a tiny one, with shiny blue eyes, clear ideas of what she wants, and a very big laugh. She would do her best to drive you crazy, I am sure, but I promise you'd love her. Your newest sister, who we call Baby J but of course you know her name, is seven months in mommy's tummy so far. I can't wait to meet her out here and get to know her. Daddy is as wonderful as ever, better even. If you could see him loving on and wrestling with Eleanor, you would be so proud. Mommy is happy, directionless and awkward as always, but, aside from missing you, my life is full of joy.

Again, I miss you. Sometimes, it hurts so badly that I feel like I'm crushing in on myself, but missing you is a good reason to be this sad. I know that, so I don't get sad about silly things anymore. Nothing breaks me all the way down, and even the missing you is bittersweet. In the three years since we held you, mommy has changed a lot. And, that is really the point of this letter. I am sure you remember that mommy used to "sweat the small stuff." A lot. And, still, I can't help that I am wound up. But, I am different now. So much of my anxiety was based on "if," "when," and "but." I had this inane idea that, until my life was "perfect," I could not be happy. And, I also had an unattainable notion of perfection that kept changing and growing further away. "When Bill and I get married, my life can be perfect." "When I have money in savings, life can be perfect." "When I go to graduate school, life can be perfect." "When we buy a big house, life can be perfect." "When Sophie is born, life can be perfect." I believed perfection was something I should have had, and I was indignant that, at 22, I didn't have it yet. This was a great flaw in me, as the chase meant my real life went by without meaning.

But, when mommy heard the horrible and shocking words that you had left me, I knew the real meaning of grief. And, I grieved heavily, not only the loss of you and the sweet I know in my heart that you are, but the loss of my chance at perfection. I knew that day, three years ago, that my life would never be "perfect." And, in many ways that has come to be true. Losing you meant that I lost a piece of me, and that that part of my heart would always be broken. A real, live broken heart.

But, after searching long and hard, sweet girl, here is the lesson. Perfect is not about personal statistics, or a flawless time here, or a life without pain, or even being happy every moment. Perfect is about real memories. Perfect is about loving with every space in your heart. Perfect is about being emptied out, and still reaching for some little last bit of yourself that you know must be in there. Perfect is when, by your sheer will to live, every day (even the hard ones that break you into one million pieces) can become the best day of your life. Perfect doesn't adjust to accommodate what you don't have, it is just the opposite. It has taken me these three years and nine months to realize that perfect is comprised of all that you do have.

And, that is my life every day. Every day is full of laughing and crying and being so happy to be alive. You taught me that lesson. You taught me to be happy. Without you, I would have gone on wanting too much and never being satisfied. With you in my life, perfection is a whole different animal. It's taken these years, but I've learned that my perfect includes an angel baby. Sure, I wish every day you were here, and I like to think that I would be happier if you were hugging me and kissing me the way your sister does. (And, certainly, I'd rather be a cantankerous person, and have you around.) But, that life is not for me to know. What I know for sure is that I love you. And, that your short time with me taught me a lesson that changed me and made me a far better person, wife, and mother. I love you. My life is so full, perfect, and happy because of you and your sisters. I never thought I would be happy. It takes some work, but I am. I never thought I would feel full. But I do. I never thought perfect would actually happen to me. But, because of you and learning what it means to be your mommy and living for you memory, it does every day.

Thank you for being my daughter, my sounding board, my fleeting moment, an angel sister, and the perfect memory that changed this one measly life. I miss you. I love you. Happy birthday.

Love,
Mommy (and the tuffies)