Last week marked Leighton’s third birthday. It’s a poignant time, as today would have been Libby’s ninth. Six years and four days separate them, lives that never intersected, yet seem to mirror each other more each day.
I vividly recall the eve of Libby’s third birthday. I sat, penning words amidst a terrible struggle, desperately wishing the year away. We yearned for a healthy fourth birthday – a milestone we were tragically denied. I longed to fast-forward to July 2014, fueled by a challenging yet hopeful plan: transplant, recovery, and a return to normalcy. We were focused, driven by a plan that seemed viable on paper, its statistical hurdles dismissed because this was our child. She would overcome.
Six years onward, Libby’s mother writes again on her birthday. But this is nine, and she is not here. She’s not at summer camp, playing sports, enjoying sleepovers, or lost in summer reading. Watching girls her age, I struggle to envision Libby among them, in a world we can only imagine for her. Her world, as we knew it, paused at three, and that’s where Libby remains in our hearts. Forever a lover of pink and sparkles, dress-up, make-up, and performing. Forever a dark-haired, dark-eyed, mischievous beauty with an advanced vocabulary, captivating everyone she met. Forever a little girl.
But Libby’s little mirror image is guiding us back to her three-year-old days. Leighton is reintroducing Disney princesses, resurrecting the toy kitchen, and filling our home with singing, dancing, and performances on our makeshift fireplace stage. Three has arrived with full force, propelling her from babyhood, unstoppable and vibrant. It’s a bittersweet blend of difficulty and wonder, pain and healing. Moments of pure joy swiftly followed by tearful reflection.
During my pregnancy with Leighton, a deep desire for another little girl, walking in Libby’s footsteps (and plastic heels), consumed me. I longed to see that face again, style her hair, witness her singing and dancing. Now that she’s here, retracing Libby’s early years feels comforting on many days. Yet, like today, it can be intensely painful. Seeing Leighton at three vividly reminds me of Libby at the same age. My concerns weren’t typical toddlerhood issues like naps or dinner; they were life-altering battles over essential medicine and the confines of a hospital room. Pediatrician visits were replaced by trips to the children’s hospital, a place no child should endure. With birthdays so close, the parallels between memory and reality are stark. Watching Leighton enjoy fireworks on the Fourth of July triggers the memory of packing for the hospital six years prior, when Libby was the same age. Leighton runs on the beach, and I’m transported back to staring out a hospital window six Julys ago, watching the world continue while ours stood still.
As this year progresses, we will no longer have a child as young as Libby was. Our living reminders will grow, leaving us with carefully guarded memories of both profound love and deep sorrow. But each day, every minute, our family moves forward, embracing the beauty of each age our children reach, living with 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 in a way that was previously unimaginable. While parental patience still wears thin, Libby’s memory acts as a swift, often silent, correction. Looking at Leighton and Will, I see the life Libby was denied, the experiences she missed, and we parent accordingly. We strive to lead with empathy, love, hope, strength, determination, and a profound appreciation for who they are and who they are becoming – embracing all emotions, even on the toughest days. And when we falter, as we often do, we apologize sincerely, knowing how fleeting these years are and how vital Libby’s story remains in our home.
Today, on Libby’s birthday, I ask you to remember with me. Remember the tragedy of her story, our agonizing loss. Take a moment to look into your children’s eyes and express your love with such clarity and conviction that they feel it unequivocally. Let my Libby, and the echoes of her that Leighton brings back today, touch your heart deeply and tenderly.
Happy Birthday, my Lib,
Your eternally proud mommy.
