12/12
Sunflower painting is a gift from my friend, Bobbi Endter
As Hannah would have turned 24 years old today, she has been gone from this earth nearly as long as she lived. When she turned 12 on August 1, 2010, she had one foot already out the door. Consumed with pain, delirium, and mood swings, Hannah was hardly in a state of mind to celebrate her birthday, a day that used to mean so much to her. By the time of her birthday, and mine nine days later, I was praying for her release. Hannah would leave this plane of existence on August 30. Is it any wonder that I despise the month of August?
I didn’t used to hate August, but sharing a birthday with my mom was not always the easiest experience. As a Leo, I wanted the spotlight, and I didn’t want to share it. But Mom loved having the same birthday, and did whatever she could to honor the day.
Mom would have turned 96 years old this month. It’s hard for me to imagine that she has been gone for 25 years. Her final gift to me was planting the seed of Hannah in my heart, the most generous thing she ever gave me. Consciously, I don’t think Mom was aware that I had begun to dream of a daughter because of her medical nightmare. But once she had died, she knew.
The pain of losing Mom and Hannah is much less than it was in the past. Somedays, unbelievably, I even forget that I had/have a daughter. How is that even possible? Is it because so much time has passed? The proverbial “out of sight, out of mind” is a possible reason, along with the many challenging distractions that my life keeps throwing in my path. Twelve years ago, I never would have believed that Hannah wouldn’t be a constant thought, back when I didn’t know how to live without her.
These days, Hannah still reminds me to remember her, that she’s around. This summer when I was in Montana for one of her best friend’s weddings, I ventured further to meet up with my friend, Greg, on his cross-country run. The last night I was there, we were treated to a huge double rainbow at sunset. Whenever I see a rainbow, I believe it’s Hannah reminding me that she’s never truly gone from my presence. Instantly I knew that that double rainbow was Hannah blessing me and blessing Greg on his run. Sadly these days when I get one of her signs, I beat myself up with guilt that she’s reaching out to me more than I am to her, even though I know she wouldn’t want me to feel that way.
When Hannah died, I made a conscious daily effort to connect with her. Quiet walks in the woods and meditation were two things I tried, but I was usually left with an aching, empty feeling. Back then, I was distraught with losing her, and desperately wanted to bring her back to life, in some form. Why has that faded? Am I more comfortable with her absence? Have other people and other activities moved in to take my attention?
If I could wave a magic wand, I’d do about anything to have her back, healthy and vital.
Picturing Hannah as a whole and well person, as I believe her to be in spirit, I think of her in these scenarios and miss her the most:
I miss Hannah when I’m…watching the mother of the bride helping her daughter dress for her wedding…holding my 12-week-old sleeping puppy on my chest and wishing Hannah could share in the love…seeing school-age girls do arts and crafts at my kitchen table…crossing a finish line at a run with Hannah there to greet me…watching a sappy movie musical that we both would have loved…making and decorating a birthday cake…receiving breakfast in bed on my birthday from Hannah, complete with handmade birthday gifts and a handwritten card, full of her love and devotion.
I miss her sweet smile, her ferocious hugs, her whispered confidences, her goofy sense of humor, her strength and stubbornness, her beyond-her-years wisdom, her companionship. On the occasion of her 24th birthday, I miss my daughter, and all that she could have become.
Life these days feels precious and fragile and full and empty and longing.