Here it is Nora’s birthday. I’m waking up in the wee hours of the morning in this spare bedroom / catch-all room that was supposed to have been hers. Unable to sleep last night, I decided to try out a different bed. The closet of this room is still jam packed with all of her things I still can’t bear to part with, and the shelves and walls are decorated with miscellaneous trinkets and memories. If the path of life had gone a different way, if there were no extra chromosomes to speak of, she would have been waking up in this room, excitedly remembering that it was her birthday. Maybe I would have let her stay home from school today so we could do something fun, maybe go to the zoo. Or maybe she’d insist on going to school to hand out the cupcakes we might have made the night before. She would have been 13, they tell me. I never bother to do the math because as far as I’m concerned she’s always 2. And since she was profoundly disabled, I don’t usually have all of the imaginings of what would have been the typical milestones over the passing of each year. She’s always 2, with chubby cheekies,  double chinnies, knee muffins, and the most squeezable little baby bum. 

I do recognize, however, that instead of this being a day of typical little girl birthday celebrations – it will likely unfold as “just another Thursday.” William and Gavin are about to get up for a day of work. I’ll lay awake here for a little while longer listening to the running shower, the creaking of the stairs, the breakfast dishes, coat zippers, the thump of work boots being put on, the rattling of keys, slamming doors, the disarming of car alarms, and the starting engines, before it’s silence again. Just me and the cats and the distant hum of rush hour traffic of this cold spring morning. Maybe I’ll fall back asleep, maybe I’ll get up to fix my own breakfast, vacuum the house, put away laundry, clean out the litter box, put away dishes and run errands — all the little unremarkable, mundane things that go into running a household on a typical Thursday. Depending on the weather, maybe I’ll go for a walk. The same walks I used to push her stroller along, peeking over the side every so often just to look at her sweet little face. 

Later…

The day unfolded pretty much exactly as I imagined it would. I did squeeze in a visit to the cemetery. I brought a little vase of flowers and some heart shaped rocks from my collection. I sat there for a little while thinking about her, missing her and wishing I could still kiss her and sniff her sweet skin. I looked around to make sure I was completely by myself and then wound up Nora’s favorite Happy Birthday music box. (Let’s be honest … a music box playing in a cemetery probably rates pretty highly on the creepy scale 😬🤷🏼‍♀️) As the last of the notes slowed down and eventually stopped, I collected my things and headed back to the car.

I glanced back at her headstone, whispered that I love her, and said goodbye to her neighbor Ali Nunnery. I headed back through the narrow cemetery roads toward the exit when I saw a familiar truck heading in my direction… “No way…” Meanwhile, William is heading down the hill and sees a familiar car headed in HIS direction, and is also thinking, “No way…” We both cautiously glanced into each other’s vehicles as we were about to pass each other— no easy task through William’s Limo Tint — and realized it really was “each other!” We rolled down the windows and both expressed our mutual “what the hecks!” “Did you know I was here??” “No!” “Did you know I was here??” “No!!” 

I turned my car around and followed William’s truck back up the hill to Section 41, back to the beautiful pink heart headstone that belongs to the little girl who left a huge imprint on this earth. She must’ve wanted her MomminDad visiting her together. 

Happy birthday, Stinky Cakes. You’re forever missed and loved. We celebrate you today and always, our lives deeply enriched for having known you.

Happy Easter, everyone! 💗💗💗