Seventeen years ago my little daughter died of cancer. This is what I wrote on the birthday she never quite made it to that year, with slight updates since.

Today she would be 21.

You would be 21, Betsey.  Little friends you had are all grown up now.

I miss the life you did not live, I miss your dates and your projects, someday your husband, your children.  But most of all, I miss you.

Happy Birthday, Betsey Pearl.

We planted a Pearl Apple for your birthday.

The years roll on, alas.

I had a daughter who was the perfect kid.  She hit an age, 10-11, that was ideal for her.  Everything about her was suited to that time.

One day I caught her crying.  What’s wrong, sweetheart?  I don’t want to grow up, Dad.  I like being a kid.

I hugged her and told her it would be OK.  And it was OK.  She’s a good, even a great teenager.

But she was also right to cry.  The girl she once was still echoes, but that year or two of perfection is gone and who knows if she will ever hit her stride quite like that again.  And it is still gone even if she does; no matter how perfect the rhythm, it won’t ever be quite the same rhythm.  She was right to cry.  I should have cried for her too.

Today was Betsey’s dying day. (more…)

14 years ago my little daughter died of cancer. This is what I wrote on the birthday she never quite made it to that year, with slight updates since.

Today would be Betsey’s 18th birthday. She would be legally an adult today. She would have been driving her younger brothers and sisters for a few years, would be working on summer jobs. In the fall, college. We would be looking at her and thinking, they grow up so fast, we would be thinking, this could be our last summer with her. But instead, our last summer with her was long ago and far away.

Happy Birthday, Betsey Pearl.

Today our grief for you is fresh.

From mysliveroflife.blogspot.com

In Spring the gardener finds out death.
He finds which limbs did not o’erwinter.
Some stems twig and bud and bloom,
Some stems splinter.

I lost a limb some seasons back,
Of my flesh, my firstborn daughter.
Time dried the break, but I still lack
The fruits–a moiety of laughter.

(more…)

Today would be Betsey’s 11th birthday. This is what I wrote on her birthday seven years ago.
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Today would be Betsey’s 9th birthday. This is what I wrote on her birthday five years ago. (more…)

[Today would be Betsey’s 8th birthday. This is what I wrote on her birthday four years ago.] (more…)