After returning home from our little getaway to the Ozarks, and all I can say is that I didn’t want to leave. It was so magical to have a break from our heavy reality; I soaked it all in like a plant in need of sunshine (turned out, we only saw a little sunshine, but it didn’t matter). We rented a beautiful log cabin, explored the adorable town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and spent some time in nature. It was magical, a breath of fresh air. I was stunned by the beauty of the rolling Ozarks. Eureka Springs is indescribable… it’s so different than what I’d imagined it to be. Very artsy and cultured. The locals we encountered in the shops and restaurants were kind, interesting, and loved chatting. We both fell in love with the downtown district, and I was absolutely enamored by the lovely homes and historical buildings. Everything is so well preserved, ornate, and beautiful. The whole town is stacked upon itself on the rock faces of the Ozarks, giving it almost an otherworldly feel. Whimsical is the word that continuously came to mind as we walked around. I was ready to drop everything and move there, right to the downtown area in one of the gorgeous, colorful little Victorians that make up the residential part of town. It was so charming, and the first thing I have felt excited about in a very, very long time. I even ‘washed’ my hands in one of the healing springs which the town is known and named for, hoping maybe to soak in some of the magic of the place. On the day we had without rain, we hit the trails with Waggs. The clouds cleared away, the sun peeked out, and we were surrounded by dragonflies and butterflies. I had hoped that Arkansas would be ahead of the curve with Spring (goodness knows Michigan is far behind the curve on that!), and it was… I felt Lucy there with us in the Springtime air, and in the fluttering of the wings of her dragonflies and butterflies as they flew around and past us. It was so healing and comforting. I wanted to stay, I wanted to keep being immersed in the rejuvenation of Spring and sunshine. As we made the long drive back to Michigan, I could feel myself beginning to shift back into reality, like I was slowly deflating. My mood changed. I knew we were coming home to the loss we feel so permanently, back to work and all of its stresses, back to all of the constant reminders. I think that perhaps our vacation changed things for a bit because there were no sad or bittersweet memories of Lucy, because we’d never been there. Not that I’d ever want to forget those memories, because they’re all that I have of her. I do have to admit that initially, I had some reservations about leaving home for days at a time… I was afraid to leave Lucy behind. I was in knots about it actually… do we leave her urn at home? What if something crazy happens and the house burns down and we lose her all over again? What about her memory box? What about her things in the nursery? What about Nelly the Elephant? If I were to take any of those things with me, what if something happens to them? Wouldn’t they be safer at the house? And on and on and on. I knew these were irrational fears, and I managed to calm myself down and decide upon a compromise. I took one of the little glass vials that the nurse had so carefully and lovingly placed a lock of Lucy’s hair. I carefully wrapped it up and tucked it in my things; it made me feel better to have a piece of her with me. The truth of it is, she’s in my every waking thought anyway, so she’s always with me. I guess it just made me feel better to keep a physical reminder near me, that she truly was able to go wherever we went. Pitiful, isn’t it? But it’s all I have.

I’m doing okay I guess, but sometimes I cannot believe that this is my life. When I was pregnant with Lucy, I had that very thought so many times, “I cannot believe that this is my life.” It was because I was so happy. Now, it’s because it’s so hard without my baby. I’m proud of how far we’ve come, how far I’ve come, but if I had a wish, well, you know what it’d be. My whimsical wish will always be for her.

Driving around to different appointments yesterday, I heard on the radio “Good Grief” by Bastille, and found myself singing along to the chorus at the top of my lungs. I miss her. I ALWAYS miss her and wonder what she’d be like right now. 8 months tomorrow, baby girl.

“What’s gonna be left of the world if you’re not in it?
What’s gonna be left of the world, oh
Every minute and every hour
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more
Every stumble and each misfire
I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more…”