November 20.
I have a bad memory. It’s not the baby, it’s me. It’s always been me. If it’s not written down, it never happened or it won’t happen. Worse, I have a characteristic that inclines my mind to typically only remember the negative parts to memories, stories, events and times. So, I literally have a bad memory.
I can’t remember a single bad thing about you.
After I sent out invitations to our baby shower, I parted my mouth to say to Kevin, “I almost forgot to invite Angel.” Before my lips left each other, I remembered. I remember the feeling when I was suddenly made aware that you wouldn’t be at my wedding. A feeling replicated when I couldn’t call you, like you called me, when I got pregnant; when I had to sit with the reality that play dates with them wouldn’t be with us.
I can’t remember you being there, because you weren’t, but I can imagine how excited you would’ve been.
How beautiful is imagination. In 6th grade, we imagined being anywhere except Ms. Marvin’s dreaded classroom. In 7th grade, we imagined a day Silva wouldn’t scream or Mrs. David wouldn’t be sarcastic. In 8th grade, we imagined high school, that we’d stay in contact in the same capacity as middle school, that we’d be bridesmaids in each other’s weddings and raise children together, that we’d never stop making church jokes and joke jokes; not this.
We hadn’t talked everyday since 8th grade. Truthfully, we weren’t great at staying in contact. Facebook made it easier, but not better. Life took over like you never imagine it will in your 14 year old mind. One thing remained true, if one called or texted, the other answered; we never became any less family.
God knew. He doesn’t have to imagine, He creates. He graciously created a way for us to make good on our long promised promises to see each other. Without Him, we wouldn’t have, people rarely do, but He made this particular provision just for me. For my 22nd birthday, the first one I’d spent at home in three years, I invited you to dinner, and to my greatest surprise, you came. I’d be the last time I saw you. Years later, my prenatal appointments were at an office across the street from Pine Bar + Grill. I had to park in its face sometimes and when I would, I would see your face. Sometimes I smiled, even laughed; sometimes I forced myself to ignore the deep empty pit feeling in my gut, sometimes I didn’t, I let it come and I let it sit and then, I let it pass.
I don’t let the memories pass of the months leading to this day. I remember how often we talked after you told me about baby girl. I remember your anxiety, but undeniable beaming excitement. I remember the pictures you’d send me in onesies you were hype to wear and how uncomfortable you told me sleep was - I get it now. I remember when you asked me to be her Godmother and in the same moment got smart with me for assuming the wrong spelling of her name. I remember texting you right after I got my tattoo, November 17th, and the only thing you cared about was if it hurt. That’d be the last time I’d talk to you.
Yes, it hurts. Still.
I don’t want to take this time to remember when I got the call, but I remember like it was early this morning. I remember what I did after. I remember what I did that day. Remember, bad memory.
I do want to take this time to tell the ethereal you that I remember you. Your joy, your laugh, your smile, your voice are all still unmatched. There is great joy in the promise of your eternal peace with Christ. Although that promise does not negate our sorrow or our anger, it’s still a beautiful truth. You have taught the truest lesson of beauty out of pain and God’s faithfulness in the absolute worst of our circumstances. Nothing worse could have happened to you, you were so incredibly undeserving. But, you do deserve to be an angel; not so soon in my opinion, because you were enough of one here, and that’s no stretch, you really were. Angel, you are sorely missed baby. Thank you, God, for leaving us an angel in ours’ place. Jenasis has in her, the resilience, backbone and strength I remember in you.
When anger rises, I remember you feel no pain now. When sadness overcomes, I remember He’s wiped away your tears. When I think of the evil in this present world, I know that in the place where we’ll meet again, there is no darkness. The God of the universe has you even closer now than He always has. I’m grateful to be reminded through you that He always has a better plan than we.
To my Godbaby, you’ll always be my first baby! Even with Honor, I promise I think about you every single day. I have so much love and as much adventure as I can conceive in store for you! My best words have still been my very first dedication to you, and I’ll repeat them ‘til I can’t anymore:
“May no one ever attempt to steal your joy, disrupt your happiness or break your golden heart. I love you.”
You are our perfect memory of a perfect Angel. Four years has gone by so quickly, yet so gently slow. Sweet, Beautiful BabyGirl - Happy Birthday Jenasis!
