JACKSON

A month before Quinn's first birthday, I'm worried the party that I have for her won't be enough.

All it took was me voicing my concerns to two people: my mother, and Izzie. I wasn't aware the two of them were even in contact until my mother told me not to worry about a thing and that they had planned out the entire day for Quinn and me. I can't help but think of April and how it would have driven her crazy to have things out of her control like that, but for me, it was a welcome relief. I'd never been able to plan as she did. But Mom and Izzie? They were planners and they were over the top. They could make something April would have been proud of.

Pink and purple balloons completely take over the house and backyard. Most everything was set up outside, a table with colorful desserts no doubt handmade by Izzie presented underneath a balloon arch. She kept me out of the way, tasking me solely with getting the birthday girl dressed and ready. When she's in a good mood, that's an easy task. Fortunately for me, she's happy.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Queenie…"

The chorus of voices between adults and children alike is loud and chaotic. Quinn doesn't quite understand what's going on or that the party was for her but it doesn't stop her from inevitably covering her mouth and face in some of the chocolate cake that had been brought.

"You did a really great job," I complimented Izzie, squeezing her shoulder. "And congrats, on the engagement." I nodded to the new rock on her finger.

"Thanks." She beamed up at me. "I'm glad that I could help. I know April would've loved doing this."

"Yeah," I sighed out with a nod. "She would've. She loved birthdays."

"Planning a kid's birthday party is at least a lot easier than doing an adult's," she said with a chuckle. "But thanks for letting me do this for you. I know that you've had a hard year."

A hard year didn't even begin to describe it.

"Uh-huh," I shut my eyes and took a deep breath for a moment before my gaze found my daughter. She was laughing at stupid faces that Karev was making, a smile stretching wide across her features and crawling toward him. "But I have her. And she's perfect."

It was difficult to fathom the fact that when we had first gotten the diagnosis about Quinn's Down Syndrome, I had questions and hesitations as I tried to wrap my head around what the rest of our life was going to look like. I'd been so worked up about how things would change. It turned out – that didn't matter. None of those questions had. My life had already taken a drastic left turn when I had least expected it by losing April. Planning and having expectations didn't make a damn difference in the future. What was that thing that April had always said?

Man plans. God laughs. Something like that.

Even if I was agnostic, if there were any of her beliefs that I could find some truth in, it was that one. Nothing had gone according to plan with losing her in the way that I had. So suddenly. After a few months, it doesn't feel easier. Time was supposed to heal, but did it do its job Sometimes it felt like she had died yesterday. Other days, it felt as if she had been gone for a million years.

On what should have been April's thirty-second birthday, it's nearly impossible to get out of bed. The scent of her on the sheets and pillow is gone. Even with all of the throw pillows that I put up on the bed, making it how she had liked it, her smell is still gone. I spritzed her perfume on the sheets.

"Are you sure that you don't want me to take her for today?" Mom asked through the phone.

"No, it's fine." Being alone wouldn't do me any good. "I'm just taking off work."

"Well, let me know if you need anything." She hesitated. "I'll call you later."

April 23rd held no significance in Quinn's mind yet but when she was mentally mature enough to understand, she would know. I'm still not entirely sure if she understood what had happened – why her mother was no longer here, why she only heard the same recording of her voice playing for her every night. That was where the developmental curve got me. She'd been quick to sit up alone, but slow to start crawling. She didn't speak yet but she could stand on her own. Likely, she would have no memories of her mother. Videos on my phone, on April's phone, they were still there. But it wasn't the same. I just hoped that one day, she would be able to feel the infectious amount of love that her mother had for her.

She's not in a good mood that morning. Maybe she could feel it coming off me. Quinn fought with every ounce of strength in her little body getting dressed and flung food all over the kitchen. When I get her in the car seat, she screamed at me until finally quieting down, the paw of a stuffed lamb in her mouth.

It's not rainy like it was on the day of the funeral but a thick mass of gray clouds threatens the prospect of it. Picking her up and opting to carry her instead of bothering with the stroller in the trunk, the walk to the grave is a short one. Yet every step taken feels slower than the one before it. I hadn't been able to avoid confronting the reality that April was gone, which for my daughter's sake, was a good thing. But even know that the stone in her memory had been erected at her grave, it's still a painful place to be.

"Do you know who we are visiting?" I asked her as I slowed to a stop at April's grave, taking a deep breath. I don't expect an answer.

Quinn doesn't say try to say anything. Instead, she just buried her face in my neck.

"It's okay. We're going to sit down for a minute." Taking a deep breath, I got down on my knees. She rested on top of my thighs, still turned in toward me.

IN LOVING MEMORY OF APRIL KEPNER.
BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER, & DAUGHTER.

There was a thick cross engraved at the top of the headstone. Even if I didn't believe in it, I knew that it was something that she would have wanted there if we had time to discuss that kind of thing. I reach out and touch it against my better judgment, running my finger along the vertical and horizontal lines.

Naive curiosity following my movements, Quinn shifted away from me and forward on my knees to try and follow my arm. She couldn't reach the tombstone on my own. On two unsteady feet, she wobbled as she pushed herself to stand upright. I stay right behind her to make sure that she doesn't fall, or if she does, that I was right there to catch her. But she managed to stabilize herself on both of her feet with her back turned toward me, looking at my hand and the headstone that bore her mother's name. I knew she couldn't read it. But maybe she could feel it – her presence, being watched over by her mother from above.

I doubted Heaven. I doubted God. But I didn't doubt that April was still watching over her daughter from afar.

Thoughts are ripped from me when Quinn does the most unexpected thing. Instead of grabbing onto my arm like I expected her to do whenever she stood up for more than a moment or two, she mostly ignored my presence and took a step forward to her mother's headstone, then a second, gripping onto it for support and placing her hands over the cold stone that read her mother's names.

Her first steps. Her first two steps.

April must have been here, in some way or another.

"Hey, look at you go." I cooed as I shifted toward her. "You took your first steps! All by yourself!" No camera and yet I felt like the people who needed to witness it more than anyone else in the world had. "You're such a big girl! I can't believe you just did that. So good."

Babbling escaped her lips as she stared at the headstone, her hands looking so tiny next to the letters on it. She touched the cross with one hand and April's name with the other. It's hard to make any sense of the noises that were coming out of her lips, but I would have liked to think that she was trying to say mama. She would say it eventually.

When Quinn does say her first words, it was what I had hoped for and yet not in the circumstances that I would have expected. Fifteen months old, sitting on my lap with a book in hand, it was focused on colors – a See Touch Feel book. I think that now it's a little young for her, but she likes being able to get her hands on the pages and feel something other than the stiff wood that most kid's books had. Mostly, she liked running her hands up and down the textured pages. She loved weirdo textures. Lately, Playdoh was her favorite.

Fat fingers traced around one of the red circles on the page. There's no texture to it – I wasn't sure what it was drawing her attention so much more than anything else on the page. But she was completely enamored by it. It's only once she spoke that I understood.

"Mama."

The red color on the page reminded her of April – of her mother's hair. She did remember something about her. Her most distinctive feature, the one that I had always been able to spot in a crowd or busy area no matter what there was going on.

"Yeah, mama." I kissed the top of her head loudly. "Red just like mama's hair. Mama who loves you so, so much." I encouraged her.

"Mama," Quinn repeated. "Mama, mama, mama."

"Keep saying it, just like that, sweetheart." I beamed down at her, cheeks nearly aching with the force of the smile on her lips. "Mama. Mama loves you."

My heart swelled with joy and sorrow to hear her say mama like that, knowing how proud it would have made April to hear her say her first words, how ecstatic she would have been that it was her name. I say mama more than I do daddy, probably – it's so easy to talk about her, all of the things that she would have wanted to do with our daughter. Mostly to hold myself accountable, to make sure that I did everything she would have wanted and more.

Babysitters were something that I tried to avoid at all possible cost, relying on Mom and Izzie when I wasn't just dropping her off at daycare for work. I wanted to spend every moment that I could with her. I didn't want to slack as a father or dip out in any way. April would have done everything to be there with her, I knew that, and I had to make sure that I was with her for every possible step of the way. If I could do that, I succeeded. My social life plummets because of it, but there are some things that I still know I shouldn't skip out on. I don't regret it. So much love had been lost from my life with April's death, and the only healing had come from loving our daughter.

Izzie and Alex's wedding is my first big reason to get out of the house. April would have wanted to do – maybe even stood up with Izzie as one of her bridesmaids. I'm sure she would have been happy to help plan it. She would have insisted on getting a babysitter for Quinn for the night, so I do.

"Congratulations, man." I clapped Alex on the back of his shoulder. "You deserve it."

"That's a lie," he laughed. "But thanks."

"I guess Izzie did all of the planning?" I glanced around the large banquet hall with raised eyebrows. "'Cause this is all kind of insane. I mean, it's great. But it's insane."

"Yeah," Alex nodded. "You ever think about getting back into it again? Seeing people?"

It didn't surprise me that he would be the one to ask. I wasn't sure if other people had thought it given that my social circle was solely at work and my daughter, occasionally my mother or Izzie if she inserted herself into the equation. He was always the blunt one. If there was a timetable for this kind of thing, which I had been told numerous times by my therapist that there wasn't, then he would have been happy to brush past it and ask anyway.

"No, I don't," I answered honestly. "I miss her. But I don't feel like my life is missing anything."

"Good for you," he nodded. "You got a great kid."

"You think about having them? Kids?" I turned the conversation back around him.

"Like Izzie's gonna give me a choice," he snorted.

"Are you trying to hog my husband from me?" Izzie swooped in as if she had heard the conversation between the two of us, a bright smile beaming on her lips. April and I hadn't had a formal, traditional wedding – but if we had, I imagined that she would have looked something like this. "Sorry, Jackson, I need a dance."

There was some somber jealousy as I watched the two of them go out to the dance floor. April would have loved to be here for this and dance the night away. She loved weddings. I was sure that she would have cried if she were here, too. She always cried at weddings.

I did miss her. Every day, when I woke up in our bed alone and as I got our daughter dressed, when I drove to work and heard one of her favorite songs on the radio, when a massive trauma came in and I thought of the way that she would have totally taken control in the emergency room, making dinner for myself and knowing that it wasn't as good as she would have made it but she would have smiled and wrinkled her nose if she found me cooking on my own, packing up the leftovers. There was no replacing her, or love that wonderful. But I had to keep living my life as she would have wanted. I had to keep being a good parent.

I had to keep being a surgeon, too. Money was not an issue that I had to worry about but there needed to be normalcy in my life. I don't work as much as I might have under other circumstances. Plastic surgery is second in my life to being a father and always would be. For better or worse, there are memories at the hospital I don't want to let go of.

There are moments of difficulty that come and go. Car crash victims who look just a little too similar to her. Parents who have lost their children too soon. Redheaded women. I can't control it.

"Hey, baby girl." No matter what happened during the end of the day, it feels good to pick up Quinn. "Are you ready to go home? Daddy missed you today."

"Daddy." Two years old now, single words were coming much easier to her than they had before.

"Do you want to walk? Or do you want Daddy to push you?" I squatted down as I zipped up her jacket for her and adjusted one of her shoes. "You get to pick." Anything to help her learn independence.

"Daddy," she repeated herself. It was a mostly clear answer.

Scooping her up into my arms and placing a kiss on her forehead, her head tilted so it rested on my shoulder as we walked toward the door of the hospitals. I drive a different route home from the hospital now – I don't want to go down the road where it had happened. It's only an extra three minutes on my commute. It feels worth it.

"Shoot, sorry–" As a fellow doctor nearly ran into the two of us, I stopped in my path. Reflexively, I tensed when I realized that it was Nathan Riggs.

"It's alright," I gave a slight nod.

"Hi there, Quinn." Nathan smiled, giving a little wave of my daughter. She doesn't lift up her head or wave back at him, just staring with wide eyes. I resist a snort. There's no reason to hold a grudge against him now, but it was just a little funny. "Wow. She looks just like April. I've never really noticed before."

"Yeah, she does." I saw it every day. The way that she smiled and laughed – even if her physical features in some ways didn't look like either of us, anyone who knew April could have watched her and known that this was her daughter. "Just like her."

"You're a lucky man." He looked at me and from the seriousness in his eyes, I knew that he meant it.

Even after everything that had happened, I couldn't disagree. "I am."

"Hey, look, I know that it's way overdue after everything – but I want to apologize for the way that I first treated you. I really did like her a lot and I acted like a kid. Wasn't right of me. I wish I could apologize to her for it now, but…" There was nothing could be done there.

"It's alright, I forgive you." That was what April would have wanted me to do. It was in the past now, and I hadn't thought about it in a long time. "I would've been a dick to anyone too if we had split."

There were days where I still wanted to be a dick to people after it had happened. I'd been a dick to Mom and Izzie in the immediate aftermath. If I hadn't gotten talked into going to therapy by Mom, then I was pretty sure that there was a solid chance I would still be a dick to everyone who walked through my path on the wrong day of the week. Grief counseling hadn't fixed anything that had happened or rid me of that pain, but it had at least taught me a semi-constructive way of dealing with it and made sure that Quinn wasn't going to be the one to pay the price.

Quinn keeps up with her therapy, too. She liked her therapist. The therapist had had using spoons and drinking unassisted, building up physical strength with exercises that she liked. If she hadn't been so good with her own therapy, then I probably wouldn't have been as good with mine. Parenting was a two-way street. I was learning just as much from her as she was from me.

When she was five years old, the sun hit her hair and brought out the red that she had gotten from her mother. Her skin might have been closer to mine than April's, but there's still the prominent freckles that came out from the Kepner in her. Both front teeth had fallen out. She was dressing herself independently on the days she was in a good mood. She was happy to sit and watch The Little Mermaid when I was busy, and she was learning to clean up after herself. Izzie and Alex's daughter, Ellie, was her best friend even though she was about two and a half now. Her lamb went with her everywhere, even to the gymnastics class that she adored. Every day, there was loud laughter.

The fifth anniversary of her death is when I make the executive decision to sit her down and tell her about her mother. She remembered things so well these days. This seemed like the right time to talk with her about it.

"Queenie, will you come here for a minute?" I had a physical photo album of pictures. It had come from Karen.

"Yea," she answered. It's a moment before she appears, lamb in hand and sitting down next to me.

"Today's a very important day to Daddy," I began as I took a deep breath, pulling her into my lap and wrapping my arms around her. "Something sad happened five years ago on this day. Mama had to go be with God." That was what she would have wanted me to tell her. "But I want to tell you all about her. She would have loved to get to know you. Is that okay?"

She reached out to the photo album, running her hands over the plastic. "This Mama?"

"These are photos of your Mama, yeah." I flipped it open to about a third of the way through. It's pictures of both of us when we were in high school, two peas in a pod. "She's beautiful, just like you are."

"Looks like Ariel," Quinn said.

"Yeah, she does." I thought that was why she had liked her for so many years. Even if it wasn't a conscious memory, she knew deep down. "She was a doctor, just like me. She had freckles just like you. She was kind and good at cooking. Much better than I was." I couldn't help but let out a slight laugh at the fond memory, kissing the top of her head. "And she loved you more than anything else in the world. You were her sunshine. She loved you so, so much. When you were itty bitty, she liked to sing you to sleep. She would hold you and sing to you and you would go to sleep so fast because it was nice." I missed that.

"Mama loved me." I have to blink back the tears as Quinn repeated the words and nodded my head. "I love Mama. Want Mama."

Oh, baby. So do I.

"I love Mama too." I took a deep breath, releasing the sigh and shutting my eyes briefly. "I love her so much. And she gave me you. And I love you so much, too. I love you more than anything else in the world. Do you want to hear her voice? Like I play you at night?"

"Mama's 'oice. Yeah." Her lisp comes out with the word and I smile, turning the page and shifting to grab my phone from the table. It took me a brief moment to pull up the reduced version of the call. Her last one.

"Tell Quinn that I love her. That I loved her more than anything in the world. Please make sure she knows how much I love her. And please know how much I love you. I love you, I love you. I love you."

"Mama…" Quinn sighed out, reaching forward and placing her hands on one of the photos. This one was the two of us when we were residents in our light blue scrubs, sitting on the same chair together with me on the arm of the furniture. My arm was singed around her shoulders and she was leaning into me, clearly in the middle of a laugh and looking at something other than the camera. She was happy and beautiful.

"She loved you," I repeated the words one more time, rubbing Quinn's back. "Just like I do."

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has stuck with the story! I know it took a long time from beginning to end. I hope that you ultimately enjoyed it. Please be sure to leave me a review and let me know your final thoughts on the story!