One year ago, Riley’s parents met her and said goodbye all in the same breath.
It was the kind of heartbreak that leaves a scar no time could ever erase.
In that single moment, they became parents, and in that same moment, they learned what it meant to live with an ache that would never fully leave them.
Since that day, every sunrise has carried with it a question: who would Riley have been?
They imagine her laugh, soft and musical, filling the house with joy.
They wonder about the sparkle in her eyes, the little quirks of her personality, the way she might have reached for their hands or wrapped her tiny arms around their necks.
They ache for all the milestones they never got to witness.
The first smile, the first word, the first step.
They long for the cuddles that never came, the chance to soothe her cries, to tuck her in at night, to cheer her on as she grew.
Each of these missed moments is a silent wound, a reminder of what was taken from them too soon.
And yet, even in her absence, Riley has never truly left.
In the quiet moments, she reminds them that she is near.
Sometimes it is a butterfly crossing their path, delicate wings fluttering as though carrying her spirit.
Sometimes it is the soft glow of a rainbow stretched across the sky, arriving just when their hearts need light the most.
Other times, it is a sign so subtle only they could recognize it—a whisper of her presence in the rhythm of their days.
They know these are not coincidences.
They are reminders.
They are love notes from Riley, telling them: “I am still here. I will always be here.”
They also believe Riley sent them her baby brother.
When he arrived, he brought joy, healing, and purpose back into their home.
Riley will always be his big sister, the one watching over him from a place beyond their sight.
She is the guardian who will guide him, the gentle presence that will forever be part of his story.
Her parents are endlessly grateful for this gift.
They hold their son close, all while holding Riley just as tightly in their hearts.
They live with the knowledge that love can expand to hold both the ache of loss and the beauty of new life.
On this day, her heavenly birthday, they celebrate Riley.
They celebrate the little girl who made them parents, who changed their hearts forever, who taught them the depths of love and grief all at once.
They speak her name with tenderness, letting it roll off their tongues like a prayer.
They imagine what it would have been like to bake her a birthday cake, to hang balloons, to sing her a song.
Instead, they send their love upward, into the sky, where they believe she is listening.
There are no words that can fully capture the ache of losing a child.
It is a wound that never closes, a journey that has no end.
But woven into that ache is gratitude—gratitude for the brief time they had, gratitude for the ways Riley continues to show up in their lives, gratitude for the family they are because of her.
Her mother and father often whisper to her: “We love you endlessly, Riley. We carry you with us in everything we do.”
Every decision, every joy, every sorrow is touched by the fact that Riley exists—though not in the way they had once dreamed.
To the world, she may be gone.
But to them, she is forever present.
She is in their stories, their prayers, their dreams.
She is in the moments when her baby brother laughs, in the quiet pauses when they feel the weight of her absence, in the bursts of joy when they know she is smiling from above.
Her parents close their eyes and picture her.
They see her dancing in the clouds, free of pain, free of sorrow.
They imagine her holding their hands one day when heaven reunites them.
That hope—the hope of reunion—carries them forward.
Today, they say: “Happy heavenly birthday, Riley Kris. You are our beautiful daughter. You are our firstborn, the one who made us parents. We love you endlessly, and until the day we can hold you again, we will carry you in our hearts.”
From mommy, daddy, and her little brother, love flows upward like a river that never runs dry.
A love that even death cannot silence.
A love that is forever.
