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To My Phoebe, On Your 8th Birthday Happy birthday, my baby. Eight. Somewhere between the years I lost and the years I’m still praying for, you became eight. I wonder how tall you’ve grown. If your laugh still arrives before you do. If you still wrinkle your little nose when you’re concentrating. If your favorite color has changed. If someone still brushes the tangles from your hair the way I used to dream I would. I wonder who you’ve become while I stood on the outside of your life… loving you from a distance so far away that sometimes my heart mistakes the ache for breathing. If I could bargain with time, I’d empty my pockets of every tomorrow just to buy back one yesterday. I’d go back and choose wisdom over impulse. Peace over pride. Healing before hurting. I’d move with the kind of grace only hindsight teaches. There are versions of me that should have never been asked to raise a little girl. Versions that were drowning while pretending they knew how to swim. I wasn’t absent because I stopped loving you. I was absent because I was weak. There is a difference. One is the death of love. The other is a battle with yourself. And sweetheart… I have never stopped fighting my way back to you. Not one birthday. Not one Christmas. Not one ordinary Tuesday have you ever left my heart. You have lived inside every prayer, every sunrise I wished you could see with me, every little girl I pass in a grocery store, every candle I blow out, every dream where I get to hear you call me “Mom” again. People count years. I count all the moments I’ve imagined holding your hand. I know I’ve missed scraped knees, tooth fairy visits, school pictures, bedtime stories, and birthdays that should have ended with icing on both our faces. Those are wounds I’ll carry forever. But hear me when I say this… A story isn’t over because chapters are missing. There are still blank pages. There are still birthdays. There are still “I love you’s” waiting to be spoken face to face. There are still memories we haven’t made yet. So if life has ever whispered to you that your mama gave up… Don’t believe it. Please don’t give up on me, baby girl. Because I never gave up on you. Not for one heartbeat. I have loved you through silence. Through distance. Through shame. Through every version of myself that didn’t yet know how to survive. And every single day, I become a woman I hope you’ll one day be proud to know. Maybe one day we’ll sit together, older than we ever imagined, and I’ll tell you the truth—not to excuse my absence, but to show you what redemption looks like. Because redemption isn’t pretending you never fell. It’s getting up… again… and again… and again… until your daughter can finally see you walking toward her. Eight years of your beautiful life. Eight years of my heart calling your name. Happy birthday, my sweet Phoebe. No amount of distance has ever measured the love I have for you. And if love could build bridges, I’d already be home. -mom. #imissyou #birthdaygirl #losttime #brokenheart #reconnecting