Somehow, I’ve survived. Somehow, I’ve adjusted. Somehow, I’m capable. Somehow, I’ve kept right on living. Somehow, I rise each morning and go through my day. How? I don’t really know how… just… somehow.

There is nothing that could have prepared Chris and I for the most painful loss of our lives. Is anyone ever prepared for such a thing? No, I can tell you that- NO. In those first weeks, I never thought I’d ever take another breath that didn’t hurt, smile sincerely again, laugh, get through a day without a breakdown, or look at my life as something I wanted to continue living. Somehow though, I can now do all of those things. I absolutely still think those thoughts on more occasions than I really want to admit, but now that the smoke has cleared just a little, I feel okay more often than not. I’m not certain of when the ‘okayness’ became the dominating way of being, it happened slowly, gradually. I still have terrible days, and I am still not who I used to be (I never will be again). I still feel like I want to quit everything- my job, my responsibilities, even life sometimes, but somehow, I keep going because I know I’ll get back to being ‘okay’. Every day, even more than five months later, feels like I’m walking through a bad dream, one I keep hoping I’ll wake up from. Though I’ve completely accepted the reality of living without my beautiful child, every day is still filled with longing and heartache. That’s the thing about grief, you carry it with you through everything. Some days, the load is a little lighter, but on others, it’s so heavy that the strain of taking a step is more than you can bear. I have surprised myself by my ability to carry this sadness with me; the fact that I can get through each day, doing all of the things I needed to do in the “Before” phase of my life, is at least noteworthy.

This “After” existence is a hard one, and it has required all of my strength and focus. It hasn’t been easy, and I’ve changed a lot. I’ve developed some odd habits and tendencies, I’ve distanced myself from most people in general (and some have distanced themselves from me), I care much less about a lot of things that I used to care about. I used to think that being a teacher was one of the things that defined who I was… now, not so much. For me right now, getting through a full day of teaching, interacting kindly with everyone who walks through my classroom door, executing good classroom management, keeping up with an overwhelming amount of paperwork, grading, etc., and essentially being an actress on a stage for eight hours a day is an accomplishment. It is often all I can manage to do in a day; when I get home, there’s not much left of me. I have become terrible at returning phone calls and texts, because often, I just don’t have any energy left to interact. I used to carry work home with me, literally and mentally/emotionally; now, it is left at school. I do not have the capacity to take it home with me any longer. Home is my safe place, our sanctuary. When I am here, I am free to grieve, reflect, and take care of myself. Here, I can work on my ‘okayness’. Unfortunately, right now, it’s not a place where my work self can live too. I don’t know how this might impact my teaching effectiveness in the long run, and most days, I’m not sure that I even care. When I am at work, I work hard. I treat my students with respect, and I teach to the best of my ability. For the sake of my sanity, I just can’t bring it home. I know it won’t always be like this, but the ‘okayness’ could not exist in my life if I didn’t work on it. Home is my place to do that.

Reflecting on the past five months, I see how my priorities have shifted. I don’t know that I truly knew just how amazing my husband is, and how lucky I am to have found him. While I love each person in my life, I have grown to love Chris more than I had ever even imagined I could. I love him more than I love myself (and yes, I know I need to work on loving myself more), and I have serious doubts about my ability to get through something like this without him. Love for Chris, love for Lucy, love for everyone in my life is what keeps me going. It is the most powerful force in my life. Though life has been excruciatingly unfair to us lately, I still love the life I’ve created.

I think the most powerful lesson I’ve learned through all of this is that somehow, life goes on. It’s a harsh yet comforting lesson. I’ve been thinking about this a lot in the past week or so. No matter what happens, life goes on. There are times that I feel guilty that I’ve continued living and have found ways to enjoy life again here and there. Then I have to remind myself that my baby would probably want me to be happy. I’ll get there again. Life moves on, and I won’t always feel like this. I will feel peace again. I won’t ever get over Lucy; there will always be scars on my heart, but they’ve become perhaps the most beautiful part of me. Sadness will always be part of my life, but it will coexist with joy.

I’m going to try to enter this next week with optimism. I’ll keep looking ahead to better times, and applaud myself for the strength I’ve developed through this journey. Somehow, I’ll keep getting through.