I write this with caution, almost hesitantly, because I know that life can turn on a dime, and so can feelings in grief. I feel like I am beginning to live again. I am not sure if I am altogether comfortable with it yet; it feels strange to breathe lightly, to actually enjoy things again. For now, I am carefully embracing it and doing my best not to feel guilty for feeling like my head is clearer and that everything doesn’t hurt. I have had almost 10 good days in a row. Of course, even on my good days, the sadness still hangs upon me, but it hasn’t pulled me under the way it usually does. I haven’t had that many good days since before Lucy was born, and I’m almost unsure of what to make of it. I almost mistrust it.

I’ve been thinking differently and making small discoveries lately. Lucy is often on my mind and I have found comfort in the thought that perhaps she is never far from me. She is forever a part of me. I am finally prepared to live life enough for both of us, to find joy in the small things. I am accepting that joy is acceptable . I’m finding more evidence of Lucy’s purpose all the time, which is helping me recognize the goodness that surrounds me. I am fearful that this change is waiting to unravel, but I am taking it one day at a time, and appreciating the rare moments of peacefulness. I’m not foolish enough to think that I am finished grieving because I will grieve Lucy for the rest of my life. I know that those waves will continue to wash over me, but I also know that I can handle them. As Lucy’s first birthday creeps closer, I feel less fear than I thought I might. I know that day, and the day following, are going to be difficult, but I also know I will make it through. Somehow, it will be okay again. In fact, it almost is okay again. Hope is beginning to float to the surface and linger there longer. I feel that Lucy could be proud of me, as I am, like this.