Missed Milestones

(Written May 31, 2025)

Every once in a while, missed milestones still catch me off guard. It has been over four years since we lost our daughter Maria. Right after she died, reminders of her missed milestones were everywhere. She would never take her first steps, or grow out of her newborn onesies, or eat solid foods. She would never walk, run, or ride a bike. She would never dress herself. She would never have a favorite color or a favorite toy. She would never celebrate a birthday or a holiday. I would imagine her missed milestones as if she were healthy; all of the things her peers were doing that she would never get to do.

Now that some time has passed, I think about these things a little bit less often. But we are approaching the time when she would be getting ready to start kindergarten, and so I think my grief is surging a bit around this topic. I saw an unexpected photo of a friend’s child’s “preschool graduation” yesterday, and my initial reaction was a mixture of sorrow and anger. Really, the anger came first. My first thought was, “Why is this even important?” Everyone “graduates from preschool” when they reach a certain age, whether or not they have achieved anything.

It took some time and introspection for me to realize that the thing that I was upset about had nothing to do with this child, or with how this milestone was being celebrated. It had everything to do with Maria, and how she would never be celebrated in the same way. It felt like another example of the world moving on without her; one that I hadn’t expected in that moment, which made it even harder to witness. I’ll never have the chance to celebrate Maria’s life, even those “ordinary” moments or milestones that simply mark the passage of time. And there’s no reason for that loss. She wasn’t born healthy, and we don’t know why. We did everything right. She did everything right too.

If Maria had been alive and healthy, we would be celebrating her preschool graduation too.

It makes me wonder how long these missed milestones will be this difficult. I’m afraid it will be life-long. How will it feel to watch children Maria’s age (the age she would have been if she had lived) graduate from high school? Go off to college? Get married? Have children of their own? I will feel grief for the loss of the celebrations our family should be experiencing, and I will feel grief for what Maria lost too. She missed out on so much in this life. She missed out on just about everything.

It also makes me wonder how many of us go through life carrying these kinds of invisible burdens. I really don’t feel like it is socially acceptable for me to talk about this aspect of my grief with my friends and family anymore, especially with my friends who are celebrating these milestones. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe they’d be understanding. But for how long? How many years before their memory of Maria is so distant that it becomes unwelcome for me to talk about it? I don’t want to overshadow every good moment with, “But remember how sad it is that my daughter didn’t get to do this?” At the same time, it’s how I feel. And it’s my burden to carry. I never asked for it, but it’s mine.

For these reasons, I often turn to writing. I turn to this blog, or to my private journal. Keeping the grief entirely trapped inside feels like one of the worst things I could do. And, writing about it allows me to acknowledge it, and in doing so to also acknowledge Maria, even when it feels like everyone else has forgotten.