Twelve

Anni. My Anni. Twelve. Not long ago, you were 11, and 10 and 2, and fresh out of the womb, squirmy and simply perfect.

While birthdays are wonderful, they are also desperately painful.

I'm so grateful for another year with you. Another year we had to work our hardest for one of your dimpled grins, and even harder for a giggle. Another year of reading books and playing music loudly and snuggling. Another year of staring into your big blue eyes and brushing your wild hair. Another year of you.

Another year watching you lose skills. This year it became unsafe for you to walk by yourself. This year we risked surgery to give you a feeding tube, hoping it would be many years before we had to rely on it, and it was this year that we inevitably did. It was this year that your seizures picked up the pace and new damage to your brain started showing up in other ways.

As we sang

happy birthday to you

I couldn't help but think about when you chose your birthday dessert yourself, and told us what you wanted for presents. You would blow out your candles and devour every crumb of your piece of cake.  This year, we took care of the candles and you couldn't eat any dessert.

Even as I painfully lose you more every day, I promise to make each day as wonderful as I can. You are living life well, my beautiful girl.

Happy birthday to you.