It’s a sunny Saturday, the first day of Spring Break, and we are leaving tomorrow morning for a little getaway to a little cabin in the Ozarks where we can rejuvenate in nature. I should be feeling pretty cheery, but instead, I’m feeling rather low. That’s the thing about loss and grief, there’s never the choice of just deciding not to feel sad, even when I should be happy. What is ‘happy’, anyway? I’m not always sure I remember that feeling fully. I thought I was doing fine yesterday afternoon, but then the unexpected happened. I was switching out our old vehicle registration in the Subaru for the new one, and as I grabbed a few things out of the glove box, I noticed an envelope in my hand. The other stuff fell on the seat as I realized I was holding Lucy’s certificate of cremation. There still are no words that can possibly explain what sorts of feelings such a thing triggers, but I guess I could start by simply saying that it feels like shit. I didn’t even realize it had been put in there, because a part of me has blocked that day out of my memory. That day, when we arrived at the funeral home, I waited in the car while Chris went in to pick up Lucy’s ashes, trying to brace myself for what was next. I vaguely remember holding the envelope then, along with the little cloth bag that held her urn and ashes. I think I put the envelope in the glove box, so as not to bend it or ruin it while I held the remains of our baby girl on my lap all the way home. Thinking back to those days, those moments, brings about a torrent of emotion, and even an air of disbelief. I look at those situations that Chris and I found ourselves in, especially in the early days, and it is hard to believe that we did any of that. How did we do that? How did we make those decisions? How did we survive such an assault upon our lives? It is absolutely unreal, and I can’t believe that those are memories of real events. Since that damn envelope, I have been on the emotional rollercoaster. And rightfully so. I am giving myself permission today to feel what I need to feel, even if there is a little ‘happy’ mixed in there at random.

This morning, while I cleaned up the kitchen, I was missing Lucy with such a heavy heart. I looked at our refrigerator, and saw the sunlight streaming through the skylight and directly onto the ultrasound photo of Lucy that I’ve never been able to bring myself to take down. She was bathed in light. My heart suddenly felt lighter and more broken all in the same moment. For a moment, I was comforted by the coincidence, then a wave of grief washed over me, and I felt the pain of losing her all over again. Completely unexpected. You’d think the waves would be a little less shocking by now, but they aren’t. They still take me by surprise. There is so much missing from me, but at least these moments of grief still bond me to my little girl.