It figures that she’d come in March. March, when the earth is mud and the air still smarts and we all want spring. I guess our Father knew we needed something to celebrate.
This one, who is everyone’s friend, who lives large and sings loud and we all know when she’s home—she came in March.
This one, who is all curls and freckles. This one who loves dancing and music, who laughs at the table, but still cries when she’s tired—she came in March.
We’ve always called her our quirky one, but indeed how we needed this wisp of serendipity when it was all gray and brown and lifeless.
There are pieces of my heart that hold onto that eight pound gift—remembering how she came to us fast and frantic, and that should have been our first clue. Joy came in the morning that day.
Fifteen years ago, life stretched out in front of her. She was all mystery, but all loved. But now we know her and love her all the more. How quickly the years have gone and now the wings are getting stronger, stretching, poising to strain for a distant sky.
But my mother’s heart remembers when I was stronger than her–and how she liked to be carried and held. Outstretched arms and an upturned face were her morning offerings. My heart still carries her close, and always will, but only One can keep her soul. May you, my dear daughter, find rest in God alone.
Happy Birthday, to our girl. We are so glad you came.
(**hours of hair straightening have yielded a “not quite true” representation, but she is a beauty nonetheless!)