A Different Kind of Trifecta

Today was a hard day.  Not impossible.  Not as sad as I expected. But hard.  I did all that I promised myself I would.  I slept in, I enjoyed my coffee, I ignored work, I indulged some self-care and quiet time for reflection, I cooked myself dinner, and I’m currently partaking in perhaps too much wine.  It was a good day… but hard.

Today is my middle daughter’s birthday.  And I don’t get to spend it with her… I actually don’t get to see her at all.  I know logically that she won’t remember.  I hosted a bowling birthday party last weekend and I’m currently baking a cake to round out her “birthday week” when she comes home tomorrow.  Chocolate cake with chocolate icing and strawberries– her request!  I know her memories will hold that I celebrated her and the day she was born, not a date on the calendar.  But, as a mother, it’s pretty damn tough to not be able to hug and kiss your child on the day they changed your world.  On a day where you shared the rarest of miracles with another human being.  She came from me, literally.

All my children are my favorite… they are each special, unique, and loved unconditionally by me. My pregnancies weren’t trouble-free, I was an exceptional poster child for all-day (to hell with morning) sickness.  I, personally, had some significant health challenges following my first daughter’s birth.  But she was the first, it wasn’t like I knew what to expect… until I figured out that “this” wasn’t it.  But I always wanted multiple children and I was determined to get it right the next time.

Well the next time came and I thought we did… until she was 10 days old.  To make a long story short, she was diagnosed with meningitis.  The specifics of such are not as important now… but the 24 hour window of near death, the spinal tap, the endless poking and prodding for IVs… well, it was horrific.  There is really no other way to describe it.  And, then it lasted for 27 more days.

I promise you when you think you cannot possibly take one more thing– you can.

All in all, she spent about 10% of her first year in the hospital (cause, you know, one visit near birth isn’t good enough– she needed a reunion week at 9 months old for RSV). But I tell you what– she is a fighter!

It’s funny how things happen in hindsight.  Selecting names for our children was, how shall I say this… Difficult?  Trying?  Nearly impossible? Good thing you have to have a name on the birth certificate to leave the hospital.

When we considered names and found one (or more honestly, an abbreviated nickname of that) meant “little and strong”– well, I was all in.  And she wasn’t even born yet.  But what independent, liberal, pro-women, equal rights, equal pay, mom-to-be wouldn’t want to raise a daughter who is little and strong?  Well, let me tell you…she delivered.  And still does.  Daily. Maybe even hourly.  (Sometimes I should probably be more careful of what I wish for!)

She is an independent, tenacious, old soul who has more intuition and bad ass in her little body than I can even dream of having in my nearly four decades old carcass.

But she isn’t here.  She isn’t with me today.  And that hurts.

I say to my children often, in all my motherly wisdom (imagine that statement with dripping sarcasm)… “actions have consequences.”  Or, “everything happens for a reason.”  Well, it’s true that actions do have consequences.  And I do believe that things happen for a reason… we sometimes just don’t always have the hindsight initially to know the reason.

When I separated from my girls’ dad nearly 18 months ago now, I never pretended it was an easy decision… nor was it a quick and irrational one.  I had hopes… dreams of how my life would be.  To accept anything less than that… to admit what I viewed as failure to myself (more so than to anyone else actually)… was nearly as painful as that month in the hospital with a sick child.

The fall-out and collateral damage of that decision has presented in numerous ways. Today, in particular, it’s not being with my daughter on her birthday.  Her dad and I are attempting to co-parent. We try to acknowledge the importance of family gatherings and momentous occasions. Today is one of those.  On her birthday.  And I’m not part of that family any more.   Decisions have consequences. Things happen for a reason.

As I take another sip of my pinot grigio, I’m trying to find comfort in that.  Maybe I’ll take a few more sips.

I imagine the future… When she is setting out to find herself in a decade or perhaps starting her own family in two… maybe then I’ll understand the hindsight and its impact.  I don’t know if that clarity will come.  But I do hope that she looks back and remembers a mom who was strong, full of integrity, gracious, and with a heart so pure that every thought, step, and action of my life was intended to serve as a role model to my girls.  I hope they see the importance of authenticity and vulnerability… that they know how to be healthy and happy… that they know independence and partnership… that they have big dreams and pursue them fearlessly… that they are steadfast and resilient and learn how to fail forward.

I lovingly refer to my three girls as the “trifecta”– tonight, it is my hope they also come to know a different trifecta in this life.  The trifecta from I Corinthians 13.13.  The trifecta of faith, hope, and love.  It’s funny, these could be nicknames for my girls… my first– who taught me to trust and have FAITH that a better outcome was possible, my second– who taught me that perseverance and HOPE for a brighter day can be survival in itself, and the third– who proves daily that a giant smile and giving heart full of LOVE can not only make hearts happy, but that it is truly the greatest gift all.

I’m blessed, without question… for I have my own Gresham Girl Trifecta as well as faith, hope, and love. Today is just a day on the calendar.  Traditions and memories are timeless and non-date specific.  My girls… well, present or not, they are in my heart and on my mind.  They are a part of me.  That will never change.