Written: October 24, 2024

Today was a “good” day. I seemed to hit my cues a little better in this dance routine I’ve been practicing between grief and joy.

Plagued by the nightmares and your sister crawling in bed with us to invade my bubble of personal space I probably spent more time waking up than actually sleeping. 

Perched at the counter, your daddy and I cried together over our morning coffee. It’s a sacred space when we feel the immensity of losing you at the same time. You have a wonderful daddy. 

When daddy took off from work, I slowly made my way to the clothing store. My postpartum body is much softer after you, more rounded and my wardrobe still doesn’t fit two months out. Shopping sometimes takes my mind off of you for a moment or two, and then I remember why I’m here in these clothing aisles. I’m here because of you. Not the loss of you but the life of you. These body changes sometimes feel unfair. My body is more full-figured, but inside I’m emptier than ever. However, today I’m “happy” to buy bigger clothes because I am not the same woman I was before you. And though, yes, your death has changed me, your life has too. My body is the tangible evidence of that.

I picked up your sisters, put one down for a nap and took the other outside to practice riding her bike – trying to help her grow in resilience. I wonder if I am resilient. Today I feel resilient, but will I tomorrow?

We had a wedding rehearsal. Daddy is officiating and Rellie is the flower girl. I walked around the golf course watching your sisters run, giggle and hold hands as the sunset. I felt “happy” to soak in your sisters joy even though your absence was pronounced. The thought of your daddy holding your body after you died crosses my mind. He swayed to a song as he wept, the wedding dance he would have with you stolen for a moment too soon. I counted the birds in a flock of geese flying overhead to see if there were five of them like our family. There were six. 

On the way home we stopped for some good’ol Mickey D’s. Bryn loved to ask for more “nuggies” and exemplified impeccable generosity when Rellie ran out of french fries. She could hand them to her sister because your car seat is not rearranging the back rows to separate them. 

Joy and sorrow are now forever mingled in a dance that weaves its way moment to moment. As an amateur, I don’t quite know the steps yet. Today, however, I seemed to keep time and take each step without feeling so clumsy. 

My day ended as each day lately has, holding your picture in bed, covered with blankets and tears.

It will probably not be this way tomorrow. But I’m grateful for it today.