Two years ago this month, I heard your voice for the last time. I hugged you freely, without having to maneuver around tubes and wires and a various assortment of doctors and nurses. We laughed nervously and I whispered assurances to you that the brain surgery would go FINE and that you'd be better than ever within months. It didn't exactly happen that way.
You are always - ALWAYS - on my mind. I think of you when something funny happens. I think of you when something crazy happens. I think of you when I feel upset. I think of you when I feel excited. There is so much I want to tell you at all times. I find myself still - STILL - reaching for the phone to call you so you can help me wrap my head around this overwhelming world.
I thought of you especially tonight at your baby's high school orientation. Sprout is going to high school next year. If you were still here, you would have called me and we would have talked for hours about how time has slipped between our fingers. We would say that we couldn't IMAGINE that she's old enough - and what will she be interested to study? When will she begin to date? Where will her dreams take her? And then you'd cry, but you'd smile, too.
Sprout is amazing. You wouldn't believe how MUCH she has grown in two years. She's as tall as I am! She is independent, confident, kind, flexible, positive, and beautiful - just beautiful. Like her mom. She is thinking about becoming a cheerleader. Also . . just like her mom. Only you would really understand how foreign and terrifying I find the world of cheerleading. But I will encourage her and do what I can to support her, if this is what she wants to do. It hurts me to think about how much you would have LOVED this turn of events. How easily you'd slip into the role of a "cheer mom" and attend every meeting and game. You'd be able to fix her hair perfectly and you'd remember the name of each girl on the squad. Every one. I feel completely inadequate - there is so much she will have to do on her own because I am incapable of doing anything . . . . pretty.
As we know, time keeps on ticking (ticking, ticking.....) I'll get through this - hopefully with minimal psychological damage to our Sprout. As nervous as I feel, I look forward to the journey. But I will count on your invisible, gentle guidance. "What would my big sister do?" I will do my best to keep a good sense of humour, no matter what happens. I will try to remember to look up and keep things in proper perspective. I will do whatever I can to make you proud of your baby daughter. And proud of your baby sister, too.