She Would Have Been 18 Years Old This Month

On April 6 of this year, my granddaughter would have been 18 years old. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, and my little namesake died during childbirth. She never even got to make eight minutes.

I think about her a lot but especially when April rolls around, and flowers and bushes are blooming all around her little grave, and I wonder what she would have been like. Would she have been like me with a mouth that constantly lets the wrong things spew forth before she thought? Or rather, would she have been like her grandfather, who is better at choosing his words carefully and only speaks when he's sure it's the right thing to say? Would she have loved music, reading and pretending?

Sometimes I even picture her in the little unworn dress packed carefully away in the top of the closet, and then I think no, she would probably have been more of a jeans and tee-shirt girl like her mom. I would love to think she would have been full of life and laughter as both my children were when they were young. In my mind, I can see her running and playing reminding me so much of her mother at whatever age she happened to be. I'm sure she would also have had that quick dry wit of her mother that catches me off guard so often, and I laugh out loud in sheer enjoyment.

But in fairness, I'm sure she would have had that stubbornness that is ever present in our family and would probably have driven us a little crazy at times. That determination to do something driving her on so strongly that all obstacles would be better served to just step aside.

It's a sad thing to lose a child, I'm sure, because as parents we never expect such things and cannot fathom the depth of grief that must exist in the soul. Hopefully, most of us will never experience such a tragedy, but I do understand the horrible trauma of losing a grandchild. It's a double dose of pain because not only do you mourn the loss of the new life, but also there is the suffering of your own child and the knowledge that you can only comfort so much. It's a devastating experience, but as with most losses, time helps, but I'm not sure it truly heals.

We're taught to look for good things that come from tragedy in our lives. After a while, I thought about this experience and tried to find any of those "good" things. What did I find? I now have much more sympathy and understanding for those who lose a new baby, whether it be by miscarriage or something similar to my little grandbaby's situation. I also know that there is nothing I can say to make the hurt disappear, but rather, I let them know I care.

Yeah, Little Pattie would have been 18 years old this month. I wonder what she would have been like?