Today is Lydia's 4th birthday. Four years, wow. It doesn't really get any easier as the years go by, does it? This is still a hard day and I made the silly decision to come into work today, when I could have just as easily worked from home. I did fine until I finished up with my morning tasks and had time for a breather, when a few big waves of grief washed over me. Just seeing the date all over the place today makes my heart ache. Which is what lead me to having a big ol' cry in the ladies room a few minutes ago. I don't want to be in my head anymore. But that doesn't stop me from picking at the scab by playing "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan. The last line of which ("weep not for the memories"), of course, I do not heed.

Her flowers at church did not come out that nicely this year (fuscia coloured roses that were half wilted), so I didn't bother taking pictures. I took the salvagable stems and put them in vases with some peonies, which garnished our new patio table when we had dinner guests over on Sunday. It was there that I learned that I'm not the only freak in my sphere of friends and acquaintances. It was revealed during a heart to heart with the wife of an old friend that she had been trying to have a baby when she went into menopause at 40 (I had always assumed that they had chosen not to have children). They have decided not to adopt, so they will remain childless. I, however, do not wish to remain childless. I want to have children in our home, wherever that may be. I want to know what it feels like to wake up in the morning and have little ones to take care of, inquiring little people who need me to help explain the world to them. To know what it sounds like to hear a little voice calling me mommy, to watch them experiencing their surroundings for the first timet, to find out how boundless my love can be... I do not want to spend much more of my life without all of that.

For today, though, I will remember Lydia. Which seems like a silly statement, since I remember her every day. But especially around this time -- remembering how happy I was anticipating her arrival. Picking up little things for her nursery, that have now all (more or less) been repurposed. The tall thin bookshelf I picked up at a yard sale a week before she died is now in our bathroom, full of towels and toiletries. The lovely Moses basket that I imagined carrying her around in from nursery to garden, now sits in her room piled with out of season curtains (did I mention that my house has a severe lack of closet space?). I've even starting using my old casual maternity wear as work clothes. It made me pang the first few times I put them on, but now they're just regular pieces of my wardrobe. One thing that hasn't been tossed or reused is a small plush lamb that used to sit in her bassinet. Keith picked it up one day a year or so ago and put it on his dresser. He said he liked looking at it, that it was comforting, so there it has stayed ever since.

Happy Birthday, my little one. My heart will never stop aching for you.