Funny face

She has a name.

Perhaps that is odd to you, since she doesn't exist anywhere but in our hearts with the weight of memory... the memory of a dream that never came true.

But she has a name.

Her name is one we discovered one day before we were even married... during one of those sweet conversations filled with hope and excitement Len suggested it. Initially, I balked. Now, years later, I can't imagine not loving the name, and the middle name we eventually added to it.

She has a name.

On those days we allow ourselves to dream of her, she is always a toddler: fierce and funny. She loves puddles. She kicks her dirty polka dot boots against the back of my seat when we're driving to the store. Her voice is loud (like mine) and her spirit loyal and giving (like his.)

And her laugh... oh, her laugh. How can we hear such music so clearly that never existed? How can it fill us with such wonder and yet twist our hearts with sorrow?

Laura Bush, in her recent book, writes:

The English language lacks the words to mourn an absence. For the loss of a parent, grandparent, spouse, child or friend, we have all manner of words and phrases, some helpful some not...

But for an absence, for someone who was never there at all, we are wordless to capture that particular emptiness. For those who deeply want children and are denied them, those missing babies hover like silent ephemeral shadows over their lives.

Who can describe the feel of a tiny hand that is never held?

We miss her sometimes... this child I never carried, nursed or held... this sweet, dark-haired tiny girl that never came into our lives through birth or adoption.

In that space in our hearts - a space small enough to hold the jelly-smeared, flushed and dimpled face of a little girl who is (and isn't) ours - we hold her near and speak her name. And sometimes, in moments that catch us by surprise and whisk our breath away, we weep at her absence.

There are no words to describe this absence.

And while we no longer miss her with the hungered longing of unsettled, infertile hearts, she is not here. Our dreams and hopes have shifted, changed directions. The peace that passes understanding has filled the unswept corners of our lives and overflowed with joy.

She, with the music of her name and laugh, is a gift. A sweet, precious token of what could have been; a memory of hope.

A girl...
A gift...
A joy...

If she is all we ever know of that mother{father}-love, we accept.

Our girl...
Our gift...
Sweet joy...