17 years ago today, Drew and I became parents. We welcomed a baby girl named Alex and she was amazing. When she was 6 and her sister was 4, they were diagnosed with a very rare genetic disorder. Alex died on January 1, 2014 when she was 11 years and 5 days old, less than two years after Emma died at the age of 7.
There is simply no easy way to tell of Alex’s life without saying these hard things, which is such a shame because she was the happiest girl I’ve ever know. She was joy in the flesh.
Today, on her 17th birthday, we visited the cemetery and left purple flowers on her grave. We left pink flowers on Emma’s grave, because, sisters.
The rest of our day has been beautifully low key. In years past we’ve needed to cry or retreat. Today we needed to do something, so we bought a 5 gallon bucket of paint and we’ve spent the day painting the upstairs of our home. Our 4 year old has watched no fewer than 467 episodes of PJ Masks because that’s what it takes. As of this moment, we are all splattered in paint from a job that’s only half done while Alex’s favorite movie, High School Musical, plays in the background. We’re laughing over the fact that Drew and I still remember every word to every song. I can’t swear that HSM2 and HSM3 won’t be next.
Grief looks different for everyone and I won’t pretend to know how it’s supposed to go, but I can say this much. It changes. I don’t miss Alex any less today than I did the day she died. I don’t love her any less than the day she was born. It’s all just as big, it’s just different. Today we remember her and though our hearts ache in her absence, we remember her life and we are happy.