This is our second holiday season without Eva. It’s not as raw as last year. Truly, I’ve tried to put the loss of her out of my mind as I focus on her brother, finding joy in the season.
But the hollowness is palpable as I wake on Christmas Eve. I sit and stare at our beautiful Christmas tree as she sneaks into my thoughts. Eva would be 14 months, learning how to unwrap presents. I close my eyes and picture her brother sitting beside her, showing her how it’s done. She laughs at his skills and excitement. Tears fall down my face as I realize this would never have been Eva’s life with the body she was given.
I live in the reality of now, with glimmers of a dream that died. Eva is forever 22 days old.
There has always been a magic in this season for me, especially on Christmas Eve night. I would go to church with my mom and grandma, then drive around looking at lights. Becoming a mother only intensified this feeling, living vicariously through his excitement. The stillness at night as he sleeps, waiting for Santa, it’s so pure.
Now magic is wrapped up in my Eva too. It’s her in the lights, beauty and music of the season. The crisp winter nights as the stars twinkle all around. I know she’s close, flooding us with love. She wants us to share in the season with her, not without, so I’m finding ways to include her that feel sincere. This is our story, it’s sad and hard, but there’s a beauty that’s worthy of celebration.
So tonight, as her brother sleeps, I’m going to sit beside our tree, light a candle, close my eyes and visualize my girl where she’s at right now. Taking a moment to be still with her on this magical night adds another dimension to it. Giving space to whatever emotions arise. Instead of seeing what isn’t my reality, I’m going to see what is. Learning I can miss her and feel her all at the same time.
Eternal LOVE and PEACE, my precious girl. 💖
If you’re missing someone, I hope you find a moment to pause and think of them too, and that it brings a tiny bit of comfort.