Someday, I’m going to be a diamond.
If I could choose only one word to describe you, Abby, it would be color-and-glitter-and-rainbows. From the time you were a year old up until the day you passed, you wore everything that sparkled. Whenever we painted your bedroom walls, we always had to add glitter to the paint, and I know for a fact that your hair has been every color of the rainbow.
If I could choose another word to describe you, it would be fierce. A fierce ally, fierce friend, fierce protector. You believed in a world where everyone belongs, and you were always willing to lend your voice to those who didn’t have one.
And what a beautiful voice it was. I shared one of your songs on the video I made of your Diamond’s Homecoming. While it was daunting at first, I was determined. It turned out amazing, and I bet you’re proud of your mama for figuring it out! Your stone has been set into a gorgeous gold band that I wear every day.
This Diamond…it’s you, Abby. Of course it is—it’s literally grown from your ashes, and yet I could not have prepared myself for how remarkably it fits your personality. I’d say “to a T” but that would be cliché, and there’s nothing cliché about you. I chose blue because it reminds me of how you used to dye your hair. You seemed to most often be vacillating between shades of blue and pink.
Getting to carry a piece of your sparkling spirit again marks a new milestone in my grief journey. A brighter one, because when I miss you—which is always—I can look at my finger and see you shining the way you lived: with colorful exuberance, fierce individuality, and a genuine and loving heart. Part of this positive shift, I believe, is due to Eterneva’s approach to the longer grief journey. They understand that it isn’t a one-and-done, over-in-a-week kind of thing. It takes time, and during the time it took your Diamond to grow, I had time to heal.
What makes your Diamond extra special is that this was your choice. I feel so fortunate to know that this is how you wanted to be remembered. I wish more people could have this conversation with their loved ones.
You must have been ten years old when we first saw Eterneva on an episode of Shark Tank. From that day forward, you told everyone who would listen: “When Mom and Dad die, I’m gonna have them turned into diamonds and I’ll wear both of them. And someday, I’m going to be a diamond.”
We just didn’t know how soon someday would be.
I treasure the last three years we shared together. We got really close and in that time, I discovered the magnitude of truth behind the phrase everything happens for a reason. And I know that is definitely a cliché, Abby, but sometimes clichés are clichés because they’re true. We had no clue what was about to happen, and yet in the exact year you left the planet, we traveled to four places across the United States to see all of your favorite people.
In California, we visited some of our lifelong friends, Paula among them. Gosh, thanks to our visits with her at the makeup counter, you knew how to do a smokey eye better than most adults at just twelve years old. In Utah, we visited your brother and more friends. My oldest friend, of course, we saw in New York. And Joci in Florida. She has one of your Diamonds too. I know that was your doing, and I love that.
Just two weeks before your passing, Chase came to visit and we took family pictures. Despite the black hole of missing you, I still look back at that time of our lives and just think Wow, thank you. That time together was amazing.
To be totally honest with you, though, the entire fifteen years you were alive were amazing, and as heartbreaking and awful as this has been, I wouldn’t trade being your mom for the world. You were truly one of a kind, Abby. You still are.
Your brother’s Munchkin Puff.
Your dad’s Tootsie Roll.
My Bug, who I will always miss beyond measure.
There were so many things we were going to do together. Since your passing, I’ve made it my mission to complete them, like buying our house—the one we chose together—and the Paris trip we never got to take. I’m all set and ready to go, and now that I’ve got your Diamond, I know you’ll be with me. Receiving all three of your Diamonds—one for me, one for Chase, and one for Joci—felt like the end of a very long journey, of which grief is a constant companion.
I don’t honestly know what’s next for me. What I do know, however, is that I want to do things that give me peace and happiness and have the potential to help other people, like sharing your story, and I know that in the meantime, you’re stirring up all kinds of fabulousness up there, singing and walking among the rainbows. Save a red velvet cupcake for me.
Love, Mama
