On the eve of your 4th Birthday.

My dearest Daughter, It’s hard to believe that tomorrow when you wake up you will be a big four year old. It doesn’t feel like it’s been four years but at the same time it feels like you have always been.

It’s weird experiencing great tragedy in the midst of the most beautiful season. The tragedy can steal so much but at the same time when I tell my story and people say “I don’t know how you went through all of that with giving birth and having a baby.

I tell them all the time, I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s like God knew I needed you to keep me going. He knew I needed our late night feedings, our cool fall walks listening to your little baby noises, He knew I needed your sleepless nights to remember to run to Him for every ounce of strength when my body, mind and soul felt so weak.

But the hardest part about having a child during one of the hardest and most traumatic seasons of my life wasn’t experiencing the trauma. It’s what it stole from my motherhood in this season. Sometimes I’ll look at videos and photos and not remember them because my brain was in such a survival state.

But four years later. We’ve been through a lot together in such a short time. You were a part of mama’s journey into becoming a single mama, in fact you haven’t known anything else. You were a little baby when mama got approved for her apartment which was a miracle in itself, God provided every single thing.

Four years later, I get to watch you call someone “Daddy” for the first time. I get to watch you snuggle with someone who is safe and who isn’t me. I get to watch you skip outside of Mass with a man who loves you like his own. I get to watch you play outside in your backyard in our home.

And shortly you’ll get to wear a pretty dress and a flower crown on mamas wedding day.

I survived the first four years of your life sweet girl, and that will always be a hard pill to swallow for me knowing I missed so much of our most precious time. But I’m excited for the beauty that has come after the ashes.

You are slowly but surely getting that mama back. The mama who can finally rest in His rhythms of grace because her fight in the wilderness has come to a end. We’re safe now.