Through the sunshine, she lives on.
Tonight, our youngest daughter (R) sang parts of the “You are My Sunshine” song on her own for the first time. She has only just turned 18 months old a few days ago.
R hears this song nightly, actually twice nightly. It somehow became a routine with her twin big sisters (V & C) after we relocated to Illinois last Spring. The special book, with an adorable sunshine finger puppet, has been a tangible way for our four-year-olds to stay connected with their stillborn sister buried in Maryland who we can no longer regularly visit. We give a kiss to the little sunshine puppet and say goodnight to Blair, every night. (Surprisingly, V found this book on her own at the library and clutched it tightly in her bed after we brought it home. Eventually, we got our own copy for our house and then a second copy for C to each keep in their beds.)
For V & C, and of course me, the song has deep meaning. I sang this song when Blair was bouncing in my belly. I sang this song when I was mourning her death while waiting to be born in the labor and delivery room. I sang this song while holding Blair in my arms for the first and last time. All things yellow and sunshine have always connected us to Blair.
R of course does not have the same background and feeling towards the song, but the routine of singing it is engraved in her. It’s the first song she’s ever sung. She bounces on my lap and plays with the finger puppet as much as her big sisters will let her. She watches me sing it once to one sister, and move to the next bed and sing it to the other. At some point, she will understand more of the reason why we sing the song so much, but for now, what matters more is that we do sing it.
After two and a half years since Blair’s death and birth, this song has transcended time and meaning for our family. I probably didn’t sing it aloud until recently with our girls. It just made me too sad. Now, it’s become a daily ritual for our family to continue to include her in our most quiet moments as a family as we wind down for sleep.
Through the sunshine, Blair lives on.
P.S. By the way — the author of the finger puppet version changed the lyrics from “…please don’t take my sunshine away”, to “I’ll give you lots of hugs and kisses everyday”. While we don’t all get to give Blair hugs and kisses the way we would all like, isn’t it such a nice way to turn the lyrics around? Thank you to the author, Sandra Magsamen.
