Five Years Later

I was in no mood to write this on what should have been Grace's fifth birthday, so I'm going to write it now.  It's been more than five years now. Five years of crying on Mother's Day, five years of watching my three friends' babies the same age grow up. FIve years of missed milestones. Five years of sorrow and joy, five years full of love and regret and wondering and wishing. Five years of freedom. Five yeras of healing.
At first people were so sensitive and thoughtful and I've appreciated the gifts and flowers and cards over the years. I guess five years is the mark when it's time for those to stop coming. I know my friends remember. I don't expect them to grieve like I do.
She would have been five, and I have no idea what kind of kid she would have been. Sweet and mild? Ornery? Would she like dancing and dressing up like her sisters? Or did I miss out on a wild-spirited tom boy who liked to play in the woods? She would have been five and I still wonder, all these years that have gone by, who she was. And I'll always have to wonder, and I'll sit together with my three girls on earth and wish that we had a forth spot at the table for Grace.
When do you fully heal? When does it stop hurting when that wound gets poked? When does it not ache inside on Mother's Day, May 8th? I don't know because I'm not quite there yet. And I don't think I really want to be. People might not understand that, and they might forget that I ever lost a baby. And they might not even know if they met me after that point. It's not important who knows. I know. And for me, that little remorse and pain is all I have of that child. That, and a promise of heaven, where I'll hold her, and she'll be the one who shows me around, and I'll tell her all of the dreams I'd dreamed for her, and she'll say they all came true because she's been with Jesus.
I know I don't have to cry, but I do. On Mother's Day and the other times I miss her like January 29th, the birthday that never was. I cry because it reminds me of her and it makes my heart stay soft.
Five years have passed, and each one has hurt a little less. It will continue to hurt less, but I'll never stop missing her or wondering, and I'll always, always hold her close to my broken-made-whole-again heart.