It’s been seventy-three days since we lost our beautiful Lucy. Looking through the span of time that has passed, I almost find it hard to believe that I’ve gotten up each day and lived through all of those sunrises and sunsets. Most days lately, it’s easier to breathe and function. There are still moments of insurmountable pain that suddenly wash over me (like yesterday), but I recover from those setbacks better and more quickly than I was. I can get out of bed in the morning without feeling as if I’m forcing myself to do so. I have embraced the idea of the ebb and flow of my grief, knowing that however I am feeling is perfectly okay. I’ve already overcome the harshest, most crushing emotions many times over, so I know that I can handle them as they continue to appear in future days. I don’t always feel strong, but I’m making progress and am content in the knowledge that I’ve possessed the strength to get this far and more importantly, haven’t given up or caved to bitterness and anger. I maintain optimism that our story still continues from here.

There really is a daily ebb and flow of grief… every day is a different experience, and I can’t always predict when some of the waves of overwhelming sadness will arrive. I just do my best to go with the flow, feel it, and keep trying to go on with my day. There’s a vast emptiness within me that exists because of Lucy’s physical absence, a space that can never truly be filled. I suppose that in time, my heart with simply become larger and fuller as I make room for more love. I miss the feeling of unbridled joy that often accompanies love, but I continue to hope that one day I will feel it again, like the old me once did. I can’t believe that my heart felt that kind of joy only seventy-four days ago… it feels like several lifetimes ago. Yes, I can laugh a bit, smile, and even sing along to a random tune on the radio, but I am just not who I once was. There will always be a tinge of sadness in my eyes and an intense longing in my heart. And I guess that’s okay. Sadness is a companion I will live with for the rest of my life (as if there really is a choice), one I will continue to embrace like a close friend. Immense grief and the sadness that accompanies it is the result of great love. I know that my pain is simply a testament to how much I love (and continue to love) Lucy. It is so hard though, not having her with us. It will never make sense, never be right, never be okay that she isn’t here with us. My heart feels so heavy and burdened when I think of all of the things we should have with Lucy both now and in the future. I won’t ever understand it, but I know my only choice is to accept it and do my best every day. I miss my daughter and all she would have been every moment… I guess with that, there’s comforting reassurance that she is the biggest part of my heart.

I think the hardest part, aside from the horrible pain of loss, is the paradoxical idea that nothing has changed yet everything has changed. Our lives look no different than they did before, but that is what makes it so crushing. Sometimes I get a clear glimpse of what our lives should be like right now with a two and a half month old Lucy, and it crushes me. It’s not even babies so much that bother me anymore, it’s the idea that OUR baby should be here too. I still feel envy when I think of or see families who have all of their little ones, and I don’t think I’d do well just yet being in close proximity to a baby born around the same time as Lucy, but really it just boils down to wanting HER. That will never go away, whether there are more children in our future or not. That’s a hard thing to accept. We’ll never stop missing her and wanting her, but we will never stop loving her either. For now, we just have to keep going with the ebb and flow of it all and hope that the pain lessens a little in the future.