Last week marked Leighton’s third birthday, a joyful milestone. Today, however, carries a different weight, as it would have been Libby’s ninth. Six years and four days separate their birthdays, lives that never intertwined, yet reflect each other in profound and poignant ways.
I vividly recall the eve of Libby’s third birthday. I sat, pen in hand, in our living room, trying to articulate the turmoil we were enduring. We were caught in the relentless grip of a battle for her health, desperately wishing away the agonizing year, yearning for the simple hope of a healthy fourth birthday – a milestone fate would cruelly deny us. We clung to July 2014 with fierce determination, convinced our plan, as arduous as it was – transplant, recovery, a return to normalcy – would lead us there. We maintained unwavering focus, dismissing the daunting statistics as mere numbers, because this was our Libby. She had to make it.
Six years have passed, and here I sit again on her birthday, Libby’s mother, writing once more. But today, it’s nine, not three. And Libby isn’t here to celebrate – not at summer camp, not playing tennis, not enjoying sleepovers with friends, not lost in the pages of a summer reading book. Watching girls her age, I struggle to envision Libby among them, because that vibrant, growing world remains unknown to us where she is concerned. For us, her world paused at three, and in our hearts, that’s where Libby will forever reside. She will always be the little girl enchanted by pink and sparkles, lost in dress-up fantasies, experimenting with make-up, and captivating us with impromptu performances. Forever a dark-haired, dark-eyed, mischievous beauty whose precocious speech charmed everyone she encountered. Forever our little girl.
Yet, Libby’s “little mirror image,” Leighton, is gently guiding us back to that age of three, to Libby’s three. Disney princesses are once again gracing our home, the forgotten plastic kitchen has been resurrected, and our fireplace stage is echoing with singing, dancing, and performances once more. Three has arrived in Leighton’s life, and consequently ours, like a whirlwind. She is blossoming from babyhood with unstoppable momentum. It’s a bittersweet journey, both challenging and beautiful, laced with both pain and healing. Moments of pure joy are often followed by unexpected tears.
During my pregnancy with Leighton, a deep longing resonated within me for another little girl to walk in Libby’s footsteps, to perhaps even fill her tiny, sparkly shoes. I yearned to see that familiar face again, to braid her hair, to witness her sing and dance. Now that Leighton is here, retracing those precious steps Libby once took feels comforting on most days. However, on days like today, the ache resurfaces. Seeing Leighton at three brings forth vivid memories of Libby at the same tender age. But our realities were starkly different. I wasn’t gently coaxing Libby to nap or finish her dinner; I was locked in battles over life-saving medication, trying to explain why she couldn’t leave the confines of her hospital room. Pediatrician visits were replaced with trips to the 11th floor of the children’s hospital, a place no child should ever have to know. With their birthdays so closely aligned, the parallels between cherished memories and stark reality are unavoidable, almost painfully vivid. Watching Leighton marvel at fireworks on the 4th of July instantly transported me back six years, to a time when Libby, at the same age, wasn’t watching fireworks but instead we were packing for the hospital, bracing ourselves for the unknown. Seeing Leighton run freely on the beach evokes the memory of staring out of a sterile hospital window six Julys ago, watching the world continue its vibrant dance while ours stood still. It’s like Dancing Cheek To Cheek with memory itself – holding the joyful present close while feeling the ghostly presence of the past.
This year marks a turning point. We will no longer have a child the age Libby was when we lost her. Our living reminders of her, Leighton and Will, will continue to grow, and we will be left to carefully preserve the memories, both beautiful and heartbreaking, of that time. Yet, with each day, each minute, our family moves forward, embracing the wonder of every age our children reach, living each moment guided by the profound lessons etched onto our hearts.
Six years after Libby turned three, her three-year-old sister and six-year-old brother are being raised with a depth of understanding we couldn’t have possessed before. While patience still wears thin, as it does for all parents, Libby’s memory serves as a constant, gentle correction. Looking at Leighton and Will, I see the life Libby was denied, the experiences she never had, and we parent them with that awareness deeply ingrained. We strive to parent with empathy, love, hope, strength, determination, and an unwavering appreciation for who they are and who they are becoming – embracing all their emotions, even on the most challenging days. And when we falter, as we inevitably do, we readily apologize, understanding the fleeting nature of these years and the enduring lessons of Libby’s story that should actively shape our home.
Today, on Libby’s birthday, I ask you to remember with me. Remember the tragedy of her story, remember our profound loss. Take a moment to gaze into your children’s eyes and tell them you love them with a sincerity and conviction that leaves no room for doubt. Let my Libby, and the poignant memories her little mirror image has stirred today, resonate within your heart in a powerful, tender way.
Happy Birthday, my Lib,
Your eternally proud mommy.
