My dearest Layla –
The leaves change color, the holidays set in, and Facebook reminds me of what I was doing 3 years ago this week. Some things change, and others stay the same. These things happen without your physical presence in the world.
This is an historic week for our country – a woman came within striking distance of the office of the United States Presidency. Kids put “I Voted” stickers on Susan B. Anthony’s gravestone, and I thought of you. Little girls in tiny suits filled my feed, and I thought of you. But this is nothing new – this is your time of year.
This week also happens to coincide with what I now know as the Season of Before. Who might you have been? A wrinkle of melancholy catches me unawares. This happens often. Something you missed. I’d have loved to have taken you to vote with me.
Me and your Dad – we want so much for the world to know that you were here. A meteor – beautiful and brief. Every year, we are taken back to when we caught our glimpse, ever so brief, of your beautiful light as it streaked across our sky.
The Season of Before contains the treasured photos and feelings trapped in time. Posts about prenatal yoga and photos of my belly, so stretched I couldn’t image how you would get any bigger. Your dad and I spending evenings in your nursery, putting away your clothes, stopping to watch you do somersaults. We were so blissful, so eager as we installed your car seat and smiled at each other, knowing that at any time, the tiny person we had been waiting 8 months to meet would be making our family complete.
I both love and hate seeing these posts, these memories Facebook flashes before my eyes like shooting stars, these moments I can transport back to the time when I thought I would get to know you better.
Soon, the memories will change. The Season of “Before,” will give way to “After.”
As the days of this week count down, as they do every year, I’ll be reminded of the paralyzing, mind-numbing pain your dad and I were in when we shared with the world that you were stillborn. When we told our loved ones all about your 6lbs 9oz of perfection, that you had your dad’s eyes and my lips and that you were everything we imagined and more. How we soaked in every moment we had with you and tried to make memories for a lifetime in too few hours.
I’ll remember how overwhelmingly full of love the response to our announcement was. I’ll go back and reread the notes of support, feeling the enormity of your loss as strongly as I felt it 3 years ago. I’ll remember the giant arms that stretched out to hug us from around the world, the deeply personal stories shared, babies rarely spoken about but never forgotten. I’ll see how our loved ones struggled to find the right words, how they could convey their own grief while delicately navigating ours.
As the season of After continues, memories of meals at our doorstep every night. Books of poetry and candles sent, beautiful gifts with your name on them. Layla Malcolm Kocsis, 11/11/13. Friends who had experience with deep loss sent grief books or groceries, knowing how our days would be spent frozen on the couch, blinking in a futile attempt to wake up. How we saw our loved ones put in immense effort in order to ensure we were well-fed and cared for. I’ll remember how we sat there, in our sea of flowers and chinese food, and felt so immensely grateful for the love that was at our door every day. But we also saw how hard it was for them to know what to send, or say, or how to help, and we knew there had to be a better way. An easier way to answer those questions.
Tomorrow, my sweet babe, you should be turning 3. Instead of preparing for your birthday, your dad and I spend day and night thinking about how to make sure others can get the help they need. Instead of wrapping up puppets and books for you to open in the morning, we have been busy making sure others can send gifts when it’s needed most. So really, this birthday is not without a gift – your gift, to the world.
With every passing year, with the changing of the seasons and with every reminder of what was and what is and what is yet to be, I think about how far we’ve come in the 3 years since we last held you. This year, I think about how far we’ve come in the lifetime of your grandmother and great-grandmother, both of whom would have liked to share this historic week with you, no matter the outcome. I look forward with optimism to a shift in the world, both in the macrocosm and what we hope to contribute to it with this legacy we are creating in your honor. Happy birthday, baby girl.
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