Today is the one year anniversary of my Morgan's death. I don't know how to refer to this day. "Birthday" isn't really right. She died before she was born. And besides, birthday is always preceded by "happy". "Anniversary" is an option, bit also doesn't sing for me. Some use the term "angelversary", but that doesn't work for me, either. I've just been calling it Morgan's day.
Whatever it's called, it's not the day is should be. I've been thinking for months of how to mark this day, and I'm still empty handed. I abandoned the idea of releasing one of those Chinese paper lanterns with a candle, but I would hate to set the state of Tennessee on fire honoring our daughter's memory. And after participating in several balloon releases, it's like letting her go all over again. Every. Single. Time. What I've been thinking are the unrealistic things: what kind of cake would she like? Would she a sweets eater like her parents, and dive in to her cake headfirst? Or be one of those timid babies who just sticks a single finger into the frosting? Would she have learned to stick up one finger to tell people she was one? I know exactly what this day is: sad, painful, and full of pretend memories. I also know what it should be: a bright, happy, sunny day with balloons, cake, and sticky, frosting flavored kisses from the birthday girl.
A few weeks ago, to add Morgan's presence to our home, I got the idea to buy a child size rocking chair. It turned into a small wooden rocking horse that I'm going to sand down and stain. I also am making a small quilt to drape over the seat. In my head, I think of these projects as Morgan's birthday presents, but they won't be finished for today. As of 7am, there is no plan. I guess we'll continue to play it by ear.