Oh, my heart. My dearest. My sweet Joanna.
A year ago today was the last day–the last day I held you fully inside. The last day I would fall asleep, you still with me.
You were still. We went to the hospital that morning a year ago.
No heart beat. No life.
Oh, Joanna. My heart aches over that last day. Over those last days, where I wondered if something was wrong but was utterly terrified to know what that “wrong” was. Though the doctors said it was nothing.
And then it wasn’t.
You left us, heaven bound.
And I can only imagine what a birthday you’ll have tomorrow with Jesus and the angels and the streets of gold.
It’s probably the most glorious birthday anyone could ask for. Yet I wish we were celebrating together.
Together. I know we are together. Just not physically. I want to hold you again. My arms ache for that. I want to hear you laugh, to feel your warmth, to see you smile. All of me longs for this, which will not be.
The days pass and we miss you, still. The nights are hard, some nights worse than others, still. Still, our hearts ache for you, for our Joanna.
Even with all the other blessings in this life, the sweetest moments, the healing moments, the joyful days and the sunny days, we will never stop missing you. We will never forget our gracious gift from God.
That’s you, J. Even in losing you, we have found grace and we have found new gifts and we have found some, though slow, healing.
Because of you, our lives are better. Every day, we hope we make you proud, baby girl.
The happiest of birthdays to my sweet blessing, my beautiful daughter. My Joanna.