The One Who Taught Me How

I want to reflect on something I have never actually written much about before.  It’s certainly something that is readily obvious if you know me or really anything about me, but I have never written something in length about it.  It’s my incredible joy and love for my daughter.

Moira is turning four years old on March sixth, and I am experiencing all of the normal motherly emotions of excitement and a little bittersweetness as my daughter reaches another milestone.  It’s the most remarkable part of my life, watching this wonderful little person I have known since conception grow in to every part of life around her.  With each new year there is an entirely new person in front of me.  And this year, I missed a huge chunk of watching the current Moira come in to being.

I cannot say that I am surprised that Beckett was the warrior he was because his big sister has always been a champion.  She is so many of the things Beckett was, and so many different things too.  She’s fast, and strong, and happy.  Moira is the most social child I have ever met.  She wants to be friends with everything and everyone.  She loves to talk and to learn and to fantasize.  She says one hundred funny things a day and talks seriously too.  She loves to be loved and she loves to live life.  Moira has saved me many times this year.

I was grateful to be Moira’s mother when Beckett’s diagnosis came.  She kept me anchored.  No matter what was going to happen with Beckett, I still had a three year old that needed to be raised.  She didn’t care if I wanted to lay in bed all day and cry, she wanted to go.  So go we did.  And it was everything I needed to be driven forward.  My love for Beckett was flowing naturally through me with no necessary initial carving because Moira had already driven through my heart.  Of course Beckett sculpted out new pathways and caverns all his own with his existence, but I already knew mothers love, in a much less complicated way.  And I have thus far had four marvelous years to experience that love.  Moira was the one who had taught me how to be a mom.  And she helped me be ready to not to falter when it came time to be Beckett’s.  When I had to learn how to grapple with being this much more complex version of a parent.

I say four years but a truer number would be three and a half years.  Moira unequivocally gave up six months of time with me to her brother.  During Beckett’s hospital stay I was with Beckett ninety percent of the time.  I went days without seeing Moira whatsoever, talking to her briefly before she went to bed, blowing kisses via FaceTime from Beckett’s bedside.  And the time I did spend with her was often peppered with me checking my phone for medical updates, or stressing out as something with his health was unraveling, or desperately trying to get all of the laundry done and repack my bags for another lengthy camp out in the hospital.  Even my pregnancy with Beckett resulted in two trips a week to the doctors office for heart beat checkups and frequently, panicked caretakers sending me to Denver for an emergency evaluation, all with Moira in tow.  She gave up many things for him and she still does, as all siblings do.  But her burden is so much more weighted.  She is on this family path with us, dealing with concepts and questions that I certainly never experienced at that age.  Death touches us all, but not usually so young.  Together, we must learn new things about what Beckett’s passing will mean for each of us.  For a mother.  For a father.  And for a sister, who shares her parents with an angel.  And who very much so wanted her brother too.

Moira has buoyed her father and I through our grief time and time again.  I think I am coping well with Beckett’s death, and I haven’t turned to unhealthy methods to do so.  But I can attest much of that to throwing myself back in to being Moira’s mom.  Picking up threads of a life I loved so dearly before 2016.  She was the love of my life long before my heart was broken in unfixable ways.  And so my heart continues to beat in an old-fashioned pattern it remembers.  I have a beautiful little girl with a brain that blasts my soul with enthusiasm and elation daily.  I am Beckett’s mommy for life now too.  He built his own place in me that I cherish and that cannot be taken away.  But I think for me, it is easier to remember how much I love him when I get to love his sister in the present.  And of course, it is harder too.  Really, it’s complicated, as love always is.

Today I celebrate you Moira Renee!  As I have every second of every minute I have known you existed.  I love your smile, your laughter, your charm.  I love your fire and your passion.  I love to hold you warm and simple in my arms, no scars or incisions, just sweet smooth skin and easy breathes.  I love to play with your hair and listen to you sing.  Thank you for being mine and thank you for being you.  Thank you for teaching me how to love this way, with all that I am, so much so that sometimes it hurts.  You made me a mommy, and I needed to be crafted for strength.  You did that.  Happy birthday.