Dear Alma,

 

When August 1 came, I knew today was just around the corner. Part of me has been dreading it, and the other part of me is excited to have a whole day to remember you by.

Lately I have watched other one-year-olds, imagining you walking around with them at church and having to stop you from stealing another baby's toy. I wonder if you would have cute, chubby cheeks that I wouldn't be able to resist kissing all the time.

It seems like this whole week leading up to today was full of reminders. I think it was Heavenly Father's way of letting me know that He remembers you too.

August 27 was just the beginning - exactly a year after we found out you died. I woke up, ate breakfast, took a shower, got ready for the day, and headed out the door to a dentist appointment at 11:00.  I had forgotten when I made the appointment that it was the same time as the doctor's appointment last year when I went in to listen to your heartbeat - the heartbeat that never came. I miss that sound.

As I drove to the dentist office, I tried not to think about that doctor's appointment, but then I saw that the dentist office was right across the street from the funeral home where I saw you last. I couldn't help myself and parked in plain sight of that funeral home. My mind flashed back to when last year your dad and I parked in the funeral home parking lot, and it took me about five minutes to walk from our car to the door because I had just given birth to you the day before. As that memory flashed in my mind, I was surprised to find that I was smiling instead of crying as I got out of the car again, this time across the street, and remembered something your dad said when we drove past the funeral home earlier this week, "Isn't that a special place?" It took me aback at first when he said that, wondering how in the world a funeral home could be a special place. But looking back, it really was. 

I walked into the dentist office, and having never been there before, began filling out the paperwork. As I stood up and gave the receptionist the paperwork back, one of the workers walked in to get me, saw that I was pregnant, and asked me when I was due.

I responded with a smile, "October 2."

She looked shocked and said, "You look great! You are tiny!"

I kind of smiled inside because that is what I heard all the time when I was pregnant with you. Yet another reminder. But the conversation didn't stop there.

"Is this your first pregnancy?"

I have had such a hard time with this question. Answering no and then having to explain about how you died has made the situation awkward so many times. But I feel like I'm betraying you if I say yes. I just couldn't bring myself to deny your existence, so I said:

"No, this is my second pregnancy," 

She said, "Yep, you are tiny! A boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"Well, congratulations!"

I followed her to the back and slowly slid into the dentist chair. She asked me some routine questions about x-rays and when my last dentist appointment was. Then after a brief silence, she asked me, "Do you have a little boy or a little girl at home?"

I was a little thrown off by the phrasing of at home, but I responded, "Um, a little boy."

"How old is he?"

I knew I couldn't keep this up, so I said, "Well, he would be one-years-old."

But she didn't catch it and said, "Oh, how fun!"

Then the dental hygienist came in, and there wasn't a chance to talk about it again. However, at the end of my appointment, the same worker turned to me and handed me two toothbrushes - one for my little boy at home and one for the little boy inside me. I stared at the toothbrushes in my hand for a moment and mumbled a thank you. 

I drove home and told your dad about it. How I didn't have the heart to tell them that we don't have you, a cute one-year-old at home. Yet, at the same time it was kind of fun to pretend you were waiting for me at home - waiting for me to scoop you up and show you your new toothbrush. 

Then that same night your dad and I walked through the temple doors, and guess who was there to greet us? The funeral director who took such good care of you. I could tell he didn't recognize us, but it was good to see that tender, caring face again and seize the opportunity to keep you in my mind once again.

And as we were in the temple, the same question popped up again. A temple worker asked me, "Is this your first pregnancy?"

I had said no earlier that day, so I couldn't possibly answer different this time. I said, "No, this is my second pregnancy."

She looked surprised and said, "You don't look old enough!" 

I don't feel old enough to have already had almost two children, but at the same time, losing you has aged me in so many different ways...

And then today did come - your birthday. When I woke up this morning and remembered you're not here to call out to me, to ask me for your birthday breakfast, to eat your first birthday cake, or to play with your new presents your dad and I would have surely bought you, I cried and cried. As I cried, I remembered the same time last year when your dad held me just as he held me this morning as I cried and cried, wishing that things were different. 

But as much as I miss you, I know you are watching over our little family. I know families are forever, and that someday I will get to see you and hold you and kiss and hug you all day long. You are my Alma, and I will never forget you. 

I hope you have a happy one-year birthday and that someone up in heaven is giving you a big hug for me and celebrating this day with you. 

As for your dad and me, despite how hard it is not having your here right now, we will be celebrating you too. Celebrating your existence and influence in our family. Celebrating the memories we have of you. Celebrating the day we got to hold you and feel of your presence all day long. 

Celebrating that because of our loving Savior, the "grave shall have no victory, and...the sting of death should be swallowed up in the hopes of glory..." (Alma 22:14). 

Celebrating that you are safe, happy, loved, and cared for.

I love you,

Mom