Six months. Today, we celebrate six months of life. It’s your little brother’s half birthday. As I type this, he’s cuddled close to me, sucking on his pacifier, while his softie is nestled into his neck and lullabies lull him to sleep. It’s beautiful. But it stings. It’s bittersweet... I’m overcome with love for him and the joy he brings me to the point that I’m overwhelmed and brought to tears. His breaths fall heavily on my arm, while you remained so still. His little life, in my arms, because your life slipped through my hands. Death literally passed through me, so a new life could be planted. Could grow. Could resurrect from the darkness and bring to fruition a redemption I had not thought possible. There’s so much guilt. But there’s so much love. And grief, it still remains.Read More
Today my grief is a longing. A dull ache that never goes away, stealing my breath and causing me to feel like I can’t breathe. Today my grief is finding beauty. The Eucharist. A smile. A glimpse of joy. A warm fall morning. The flowers at your grave. Standing near you as the sun warms my skin, and the birds sing, reminding me of our silent retreat together. Today my grief is feeling you in my heart, always. Knowing that wherever I go, you are always near. And I feel it so deeply. Today my grief is choosing. Choosing to take another step forward. Choosing to be present. Choosing to remember. Choosing to let God soften the edges of my heart. Today my grief is real and tangible. I am aware of its presence. But I invite it in. I do not hide from it or run away. Today, I step back, and I allow it to take its place in my life.Read More
I shut my eyes in hopes of dreaming of you. Of finding you. Of you finding me.
I see you in my mind’s eye, and I speak your name on my heart. It rests on my tongue in a quiet sigh. No sound comes out. It’s stifled. Unreleased.
I wrap my arms around my shoulders, clenching myself tightly. I envision the weight of your small body against mine. Leaning into me. Pressing against me. Delicate arms wrapped tightly around me with your tiny jaw embedded into the nape of my neck.
In the bed. Holding you. Holding me. I need you to hold me.
I miss you so much.Read More
There’s a deep ache in me that permeates every fiber of my being. A longing. A stillness. A quiet. It’s incomplete and completely painful. It swallows me whole and consumes my existence. It’s presses hard and captures me. I’m suffocating.Read More
I guess I just don’t want people to assume that I am okay, that my husband is okay, that we are okay, or that our family is OKAY. Or to assume that a smile on my face means that I am “better.” That because I hold a babe in my arms, I am over not holding her. That because it’s been a year, life is back to “normal.” We are not fully functioning. We are just trying to make it through another day. Just as pregnancy after loss was unbearably brutal, parenting after loss has been a beast of its own. I look around and see all the ways our lives have unraveled over the past thirteen months. Life still seems so out of control.