I know that the grieving process is made up of the tiny steps we try to take toward healing. On Sunday, we held a memorial open house for our sweet Lucy. I felt that I needed to do this, not just to honor her, but to give myself and those we love a chance for a tiny bit of closure, to share hugs, love, and just be with the people we know best for a few minutes to reflect on our lost little angel. It was a tough day, but somehow it made me feel a little better. For a while. One more tiny little step toward beginning to heal, even though I have a million more to go.

Chris returned to work yesterday and today to knock out the teacher professional development days, and for the first time since losing Lucy, I am completely alone in my own company. I am scared, vulnerable, insecure… It would be so easy to let go and be swept away with the undertow of sadness. I am nearly there, but still clinging to the buoy, anchored by a thread, trying not to drown. I could stay in bed, in the dark, staring at the ceiling with tears streaming down my face all day long, thinking of all we’ve lost, I really could. But I won’t, I can’t, I want to be strong. There are moments in which I am overcome by the harsh knife-point of sorrow ripping and tearing away at my heart, my soul… the only way to get through it is to remind myself to breathe, let the tears flow, and just ride the wave until it subsides. And maybe there is healing in that, in just feeling it. The heartache is always bubbling just beneath the surface, and there are times when it’s impossible to contain, it just comes out. In those moments, I am glad to be alone, with my thoughts, the precious photos of our girl, the things that were supposed to be hers… oh how I wish for any other outcome but this.

I know there is no getting around the truth: my baby died. Seeing those three words typed on the screen feels so empty, so harsh. The gift of being her mother was snatched away from me, just moments before it should have happened. There aren’t any answers, there is no one to blame, and I can’t change it. I can’t change it. I loved her from the moment I knew she existed, and my heart will be forever broken because I couldn’t save my baby. Even though my logical brain knows that I did nothing wrong, I still feel that I let our daughter down… so many broken promises of the dreams and plans I had for her… so many beautiful moments we have been robbed of. It’s all so unfair. Nothing will ever be the same, I will never be the same.