One year later

Today is Elizabeth Josephine's first birthday. And we have come quite a long way in one year.

A year ago today, she came to us. And as quickly as she came, she was whisked away to a hospital an hour away. She needed emergency surgery. Without it, she would die.

She immediately had a tube put down her throat and a tube remained down her throat through her mouth or her nose from December 21, 2007 until March 26, 2008. She never seemed to complain. I guess she didn't know any better.

Now I look at her, starting to talk and walk, on par developmentally with any other child her age, and I sometimes wonder if it was all a dream.

But I know it wasn't.

Today, I celebrate her birth and being here instead of there, back in that life of a year ago. I rejoice that she is well and healthy, setting the world on fire with her strong spirit and beaming personality. And I take solace in the healing powers of which the human body is capable. I try not to fear her falling into ill health. I desperately want to be rid of the post-NICU mentality that plagues me. So I soak up every moment I can with her. I hold her and hug her and pray that she'll feel in me what I feel every time I touch and look at her. Strength. Health. Goodness. Love.

She is my child. She is strong and wise beyond her years. And the gratitude with which I am filled this day, and every day, is beyond words. My family is together and well. What more could I ask for on this amazing anniversary, the day of her birth, the Solstice. I sometimes wonder if it was divine intervention working for us, that she was born on the shortest day of the year, so that we could move a bit more quickly toward tomorrow. For that is the pace that was set upon her arrival, and she's kept up with it ever since.

I think of what this coming year, and all those to come after it, have in store for my daughters, and I am struck quiet and observant by the possibilities. And then I remember that all I have is today...and I want to maximize today's potential with each of my girls right now, in the moment, and never squander an opportunity to let them know their power, their strength and their value. Without the experiences of the last year, without knowing what it feels like to nearly lose a child, but then keep her with me, I would never know this intention. I would never truly understand what it means to live, "One day at a time."

She celebrated with a cake, like every other child. She stared at the candles and squealed at the singing. She knew that she was surrounded by love.

I've been told I was strong, that I was a great nurse, that I willed her well and here, that I am admired. But what my Lizzy may not ever truly know is that she is the person in my life who I will always admire the most of all.

Happy birthday, my love.