I felt that this was deserving of another blog post because it absolutely took my breath away.

Greta had spent the night at home last night so we could all be together as a family and celebrate Nora’s birthday. I brought her back to her dorm up at UC this morning, and wished her luck on her critique today! (She is closing in on her freshman year in DAAP studying Fashion Design.)

When I returned home, I noticed a car parked out in front of our house with a man standing outside of it. He was obviously waiting for someone. Me? I waved hello and pulled into the garage. He stayed standing in front of his car, so I assumed maybe he was here for one of the neighbors, or waiting for someone else? I wasn’t really sure.

I peeked out the front window once I got inside, and THIS IS WHAT I SAW:

GASP!!!! Are you kidding me??? THIS number!!!????? I can’t recall if I’ve “recently” elaborated about this number here in the blog or otherwise — so as a refresher: We. see. this. number. EVERYWHERE. I started seeing it when I was pregnant with Nora. I’d wake up out of my sleep, the digital clock would read 41 after any random hour. It happens regularly when I’m getting out of the shower (that I don’t usually take at any specific time). Or it is the arrival time on GPS, many multiple times a week, sometimes within the same day — way more often than not. It is the time stamp on receipts. It is the dollar or cent amount on receipts — sometimes both. When this first started happening, it kinda freaked me out. I was 39 when Nora was born. My 40’s were on the imminent horizon. “Is something going to happen to me when I’m 41???” I’d worry. June 7, 2014. Yes, I guess you could say so. I shared my 41st birthday with Nora’s funeral and celebration of life — not that I minded. What else was I going to be doing. The coinciding of life and death must take on a beautiful meaning on the other side, whereas down here it does seem a bit cruel. I know of many instances of loved ones, especially babies passing on or around their mother’s or other family members’ birthdays.

Shortly after Nora passed away, I was going through some paperwork from the cemetery. It should have come as no surprise to discover that she was buried in SECTION 41.

One of the most memorable 41 incidents was while I was at one of Gavin’s track meets a few years ago. I took my phone out of my pocket to look at the time. Just as I saw it was 1:41, a boy ran right past me yelling to someone, “NORA!!!!!!!” 🤯

The timing of today’s very blatant “41” was impeccable. AND, If you zoom in on the picture, my friend Maggie pointed out that there are THREE BIRDS (eagles!) at the top of his windshield!

After I collected myself, I went back outside to pull some weeds and maybe talk to this man. At the risk of sounding and looking like a crazy lady (as I still hadn’t showered or bothered to brush my hair) – I had to tell him!

Well… he didn’t speak English. However, he got out Google translate on his phone and explained to me that he was waiting for the rest of his crew and that they were here to work in our backyard. I think he thought I was questioning why he was out front. I got out my Google translate and explained,

He put his hand on his heart and expressed his condolences, and was obviously touched by what I’d shared with him.

I just had to share this sweet incident, and also make mention of the fact that our lilac bushes bloomed yesterday. With the windows opened they are smelling up the whole house with their beautiful fragrance — a dear parallel to Norns who also permeated our house and our hearts with her sweetness.

Here are some other 41s that are worth sharing:

I wish I could share all of them, but I realize don’t nobody have time for that. There are literally thousands of photos!!

That’s all! 😆 Much love! 💗

The hollow void in my heart is especially tender as the 17th of April approaches. It becomes increasingly harder to come up with things to blog about that haven’t already been said on past birthdays and anniversaries. We still miss her beyond belief, and these dates are still as tough as ever. My mind is saturated with a million still-fresh memories of sights, sounds, and smells. The chorus of birds as we left for the hospital on that cool early morning. The steady drone of the tires as they brought us closer and closer to the hospital. The squeeze of my husband’s reassuring hand, my other hand cradling my belly, illuminated by passing street lamps. She was still safe, cherished and protected— very much alive inside of me. I refused to think past that moment. All that mattered was “right here / right now.” Right here, right now she was alive and I loved her fiercely.

My favorite “right here / right now” moment came at 5:20pm of this day, 2012 when we heard the BEAUTIFUL sound of Nora’s first cries.

Then 5:21 … Kissing her sweet face, just so ecstatic, I could burst!

There were countless hills, dips, loops and turns on this wild, whiplashing, precious adventure we had just embarked upon. Over each increment of the way, we collected a treasury of favorite “right here / right nows” that we wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

Last year I shared the sculpture I was creating in memory of Norns. It has been finished for quite some time, but decided to wait until her birthday rolled around again to do the official unveiling. So without further ado, I present “Nora”

Confession … It isn’t actually cast in bronze, as that ended up being way above and beyond my moneys!! But I think I did a pretty decent job of giving it a faux bronze finish! And unless I told you otherwise, you’d never know that there was another layer of paint under the faux bronze. The first paint job didn’t turn out exactly as I had imagined. It was a little too realistic and had taken on the characteristics of “creepy baby doll.”

Round 2 of paint turned out much better and brought Creepy Baby Doll back to Objet d’ Art. I gave it a base layer of black and then did separate dry brushings of brown, gold, and mint green over the black.

I attend an amazing sculpting class most Wednesday mornings that is about 40 minutes away – but so very worth the drive. I started this piece in mid-December of 2021 and finished on April 13th of last year, just in time for her birthday. During class one day the topic of conversation landed on some particular sculptures at the Cincinnati Art Museum. I had been to the Art Museum semi-recently with my friend Jim and had taken a photo of a sculpture that I thought was so beautiful. I decided to take a break from sculpting for a few minutes to go back through my photos to see if I happened to take a picture of one of these particular sculptures. I smiled as I found the picture in my camera roll, taken aback by the sculpture’s delicate beauty all over again.

I was glad to see that the description plaque was included in the photo. I hadn’t taken the time to read it while at the museum, so I wasn’t sure who the artist was. While the classroom conversation continued, I zoomed in on the plaque — then stood there frozen STARING at my phone, tears welling up in my eyes. “WHAT?!?!?” I whispered to myself, “NO. WAY.” I casually turned away and just let the tears flow down my cheeks, still staring at my phone through blurry tears.

THE ARTIST’S DAUGHTER, NORA?!?!??!?!!!!!

That was reason enough to have taken a photo of that sweet, beautiful sculpture – but I had no idea when I took it that this sweet little beauty was a Nora, and that she was the ARTIST’S DAUGHTER too!!! Too crazy to be coincidence.

It’s hard to imagine that this Nora would be 11 years old today. I have such a hard time envisioning her as anyone but the chunky, squeezable, delicious, fuzzy, baff and milkies loving two-year-old that she was when she left us. But here we are, still standing, all these years later.

We miss her and we celebrate her!

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV)

I am fully aware of my desperate attempts to forget. I don’t want to think about the horribleness of where we were 7 long years ago. I don’t want to think about her vital signs monitor that we’d so hopefully stared at for 15 sleepless days and nights — now dark. Turned off. I don’t want to think about how she rubbed her arm across her itchy little nose one last time. Or the sound of her last breath while a lullaby rendition of a Journey song tinkled softly in the background. I don’t want to remember hospital smells. I don’t want to think about any of it – yet it is inescapable. No amount of staring mindlessly at my phone, or cleaning and organizing and straightening things will make it go away. Each year I brace myself, try to somehow make it more “comfortable” and never can. A lot like labor pains. Ain’t NUTHIN you can do to make those come on a little easier or gentler. And sometimes you say mean things, and you can’t think straight. It’s hard to think or care about anything or anyone else because F*#K!!!!!! This. Hurts. There is absolutely nothing to do but weather through each grief contraction. And they’re very strong this time of year.

Just as in childbirth, each “contraction” is one step closer to holding that baby in my arms. I know with every fiber of my being and all of the love and hope in my heart that I will see and hold Nora again. God has given me glimpses and hints of what that will be like through the physical births of each of my four children, and then especially through the euphoric reunion with my birth daughter 10 whole years ago. THAT, amplified. We will ALL experience that someday with the ones we’ve loved and lost. Breathe through the pain, stay focused. No, it’s not so easy – but I try.

Today in memory of Nora, I donated blood, which I do regularly. I will be forever grateful for the blood donor who gave us some extra time with our sweet Lade. I also visited the cemetery. I cleaned off her pretty headstone and played her favorite song on her hipster baby music box.

“Happy Birthday” on the day you were born in to heaven, my sweet baby girl. My heart aches for you. Lots of hearts ache for you. You profoundly touched so many lives, and continue to do so many years after you’ve left us. What a legacy you’ve left behind. I breathe through and endure the pain of your loss. I know it will all be worth it someday. Thank you for being such a special part of our family, always and forever, sweet Stinky Cakes. Mommy loves you.

Happy birthday, my sweet Lady Baby. Often I have to do the math in my head – you’d be 8. In my heart you’re forever 2, just as I remember you — your sweet fuzzy hair, your delicious baby chunk, your blue, knowing eyes with a heart-shaped pupil. The smell of your sweet, soft skin filed carefully away in my important memories archive.

April 17, 2012 at 5:12 pm you breathed your first breath into your tiny, fragile lungs. The sounds of your first cries permeated the very depths of our hearts and took our breath away. You forever changed the trajectory of so many lives, including your own Mom’s. You were PERFECT, my baby girl, exactly who God designed and created you to be. Only with that extra 18th chromosome would you have been able to accomplish your life purpose. At the time, however, it was hard for us to grasp this. To put it bluntly, we were terrified. It was impossible not to fall head over heals in love with you. The threat and thought of losing you at any given moment was unbearable. Ever so gradually, we gained our bearings. We acclimated to the very new and very different life that a medically fragile baby brings.

I don’t know if you can see us down here on earth right now or not, but the whole world is a scary place right now. The threat and thought of a virus has us all in quarantine, living a life none of us ever could have imagined. We find ourselves asking how we have become a part of something that “only happens in movies… to other, imaginary people…” Deep water, fear of the unknown / unseen, life interrupted. This old, familiar road that we walked down while you were here – but on a global level. We’re afraid of losing losing those we love the most, or even falling prey to the virus ourselves. Some of us have lost our jobs, our businesses and have no idea how we’re going to pay the bills, or put food on the table for ourselves and our families. The economy has gone to hell in a hand basket. It is unsettling, to say the least, not to know exactly what is around each corner. It is scary not to have any kind of definitive solution to the multitude of problems at hand right now. I remember these feelings of fear all too well, my sweet girl.

One of the many things that God taught me THROUGH YOU is that fear is a liar. I wasted so much time dwelling on all of the “what ifs” – imagining all kinds of horrible worst case scenarios. There are pictures of me holding you in what should have been a beautiful moment… but I see my swollen eyes, my tear-streaked face. I can almost feel my racing heart while Satan whispered fear and lies into my thoughts, “What if she dies tonight…” Instead of soaking in all of your sweetness and marveling at your soft shocks of dark hair, your tiny little face, I was debilitated with crippling fear. I’m sorry for any millisecond of time I wasted in fear. Many of those fears were worse than actually losing you. Why? Because I wasn’t meant to experience those scenarios at that time. When we actually did lose you on this earth – God MET US RIGHT THERE in inexplicably miraculous ways to comfort us and to bring us peace. None of that comfort or peace accompanies Satan-authored thoughts of fear. I try to remember those lessons in this present day when fear and uncertainty seem to always be on the menu with each news headline. I don’t have to have it all figured out right here, right now. Sometimes that’s not even my job. It’s God’s. So today, on your birthday, in honor of you, I’m going to be still, soak in peace and TRUST that God is going to make beauty from this mess we’re all in. He always has, He always is, He always will.

I hope you’re having the grandest of parties up in heaven, your favorite song “Happy Birthday” on loop, lots and lots of hot pink, toga party baffs and milkies on tap. You are so so very missed and loved!

Here are some sweet memories of your past birthdays with us – the day you were born, your Little Girl Birthday and your Big Girl Birthday ~

(And now, as I conclude this blog post – how crazy that “Praise You in This Storm” comes on the radio in the background… )