Feb 04, 2021
1 mins read
My baby will be an official teenager on Friday. 13 years old. For 14 years, she's been mine and I've been hers. She's an amazing person. Yes, I'm biased. But that's expected, right?
Yesterday she sat next to me to show me videos and pictures of "little" Liz. The memories made us laugh. She's always been funny, like her older siblings. She's smart, like them. She's compassionate, like them. She's passionate. She's strong. She's a go-getter. She's learned much from her older sister and brother. Those were the videos we watched...memories of her with them. Lizzie loves to peruse through photos and videos, to remember. But also, to learn.
Sometimes she wants to learn who her parents and grandparents and the greats are and were. She asks questions. She desires stories. She longs to know who she came from.
My parents and I do our best to remind her or to teach her. We look through scrapbooks and photo albums. We share stories.
I'm grateful she cares.
I'm proud of who she is.
I look forward to being a part of who she continues to become, how she changes and grows.
14 years with Elizabeth, who's name means, "God is my promise." These days, she and I both struggle to define "god" because it seems like some major promises were broken... ultimately, by God. (And there's the connection to this platform for healing from grief.) Lizzie's middle name is "Dawn," and we can always count on a sunrise, can't we?
Friday morning the sun will rise.
I'll celebrate my girl becoming a teen.
We'll look through more photos and videos.
We'll remember her year by year.
I love her.
Of course, I do.
I absolutely love you, LizzieBeth.
Happy 13th Birthday!
❤, Me, Erica Senecal
(Buy me a ☕ and you'll buy Liz a 🎁.)