I want to say Happy Birthday to you, Soraya, but I don’t know if that makes any sense.
Are you sweet 16 today? Are you 14 forever? Do you still exist in any form? Birthdays are meant to celebrate living another year. And you didn’t live any of your sixteenth year.
Yet, it is sixteen years since your birth day. The day we met outside of my belly. The day I became a mum.
You used to love to hear stories of when you were a baby and toddler. The day you were born is my favourite story of all.
I had opted for a c-section. I was so crazy scared of giving birth that I had this all planned before I became pregnant. I guess I wanted control of an event where you really don’t have control.
You were meant to be born 26th May. But on the night of 24th May, just after I fell asleep, I dreamed a hug wave was crashing over me.
Thankfully, this startled me awake and I jumped out of bed as my water broke and went over the floor.
You were on your way. I joked that this was your way of letting us know who was in charge now. Plus, you were always in a rush to grow older, to do everything. It’s fitting you were born early.
We rang my OB who said to come into the hospital. We rang my mum who lived round the corner back then and she came and took us in.
A few hours later, I could hear you crying as you were delivered and not long after, you were in my arms.
It was love at first sight. You were the baby girl I always wanted.
There was never any doubt you were going to be called Soraya. I fell in love with your name when I was 14 and mum had a million name books around our house when she was pregnant with twins. Thankfully, I couldn’t convince her to call your aunt Soraya. As Soraya suited you perfectly.
I don’t think I had any sleep on 25 May 2010. You were born at 2am and I didn’t want to stop looking at you. I started calling you my Soraya bear because you were my teddy bear. You were so tiny. It’s hard to imagine my Soraya Bear was only 2.7kg
The 5 nights we spent in the hospital and the Park Hyatt were some of the best of my life. I was in awe of you. My recovery was straightforward, and you were perfect.
I would never have believed our love story would have been so short and have such a horrific ending.
It’s impossible for me to believe it was meant to turn out this way.
You should be here today rolling your eyes at me when I no doubt did something cringe and talking happily about what’s ahead. We should be eating your favourite food together, celebrating and maybe I’d be a little disappointed as you’d probably prefer your friends’ company over mine.
Instead, I’ll be hanging out with your friends, and you won’t be here.
I have so many tears, but a smile too.
Because you were alive.
It was nowhere near long enough. It was not the long time we should have had together. I don’t have your infectious laugh, dimpled smile, kind words and non-stop talking to keep me going.
I try to be thankful that tonight I’ll be eating frozen yoghurt with tons of junk food and making face oil with your friends. And I am.
But I want to do these things with you. Or watch you do them. Or just know you are doing something you love with people you love.
Or just know you are breathing, and I’ll see you again.
Because I don’t have any of those things. And it’s hard to be that thankful for things which are like microscopic crumbs compared to having you here.
The reality is that I would do anything to have you back.
I don’t want to celebrate today without you. I need my baby girl, my Soraya bear, my bright light.
I need you.
How did the happiest day of my life become one of the saddest?
