095 – Fri, Apr 13, 2018, 10:23 PM
April 1, 2019
I never thought I was the person who counted, the one making marks on tally forms. I never imagined red x’s on a calendar, and a day that both destroyed and created me.
After Letters 2018
- I wrote letters to Adrian throughout my pregnancy and after his death. This is an archive of all Letters to Adrian written in 2018.
094 – Fri, Apr 6, 2018, 11:46 PM
April 1, 2019
I hear the children playing in the daycare down the hill, and I think of you. Rosemary* is talking. She said the word, “Mama,” and I think of you.
093 – Wed, Mar 21, 2018, 4:18 PM
March 1, 2019
It’s strange how we perceive change. Today, I can walk 20,000 steps with something like ease. It’s hard to remember the challenge. The change kind of snuck up on me.
092 – Tue, Mar 20, 2018, 2:26 PM
March 1, 2019
I keep waiting for sunshine, for something to tell me life isn’t always blue. I live in shades of blue.
091 – Sun, Mar 11, 2018, 1:10 PM
March 1, 2019
I have often examined the symptoms of my grief. It still feels so weird to me. The simplest things now make me cry. I examine those tears under a microscope. I examine everything, all while I’m feeling it.
090 – Sat, Feb 24, 2018, 5:12 AM
February 1, 2019
I miss you so much. It was nice to see your face in my dreams.
089 – Sat, Feb 17, 2018, 3:55 PM
February 1, 2019
Without you, I live in a world of unwanted freedom. I live in a world where I can pack up and head to Tahoe on a random weekend, but none of this is enough. So much of this feels empty.
088 – Thu, Feb 15, 2018, 6:40 PM
February 1, 2019
I was just reminded that you had dreams. I wonder what they were like?
087 – Wed, Feb 7, 2018, 4:16 PM
February 1, 2019
This is the day I found out I was having you. This is the day you became real. Everything feels like another lifetime. I love you.
086 – Tue, Feb 6, 2018, 3:52 PM
February 1, 2019
I ordered flower seeds for the backyard. I ordered bluebonnets, though I heard they may not grow here. You should be sitting in bluebonnets, learning to grasp things; starting to smile and hearing me read. I should be reading to you.
085 – Fri, Feb 2, 2018, 10:09 PM
February 1, 2019
If grief were a gesture, it would be hands on my heart, one flat on the other like bad CPR. My heart is still beating, I don’t need this rescue. My soul needs it though. Every part of me needs you. Sometimes, when I’m very still, I still feel you kicking.
084 – Thu, Feb 1, 2018, 8:44 PM
February 1, 2019
I think a lot about the day you were due. I think about how different our lives would be.
083 – Mon, Jan 29, 2018, 5:09 AM
January 1, 2019
It feels funny to say that: I miss you. It feels like there should be another word, something that acknowledges that part of what is missing is this unrealized idea.
082 – Wed, Jan 24, 2018, 3:46 PM
January 1, 2019
I think about “moving forward”. I think about “trying again”. These words are hurtful. These words feel like I’m trying to replace you. It isn’t possible to replace you.
081 – Tue, Jan 23, 2018, 8:29 PM
January 1, 2019
I don’t think I ever told you, but I used to dream about you, before you were real. It seems silly, but you always “felt” like a boy.
080 – Sat, Jan 20, 2018, 4:09 PM
January 1, 2019
I live in constant fear of the person I would become if I ever chose to live without you. I’m not capable of living without you.
079 – Wed, Jan 17, 2018, 4:24 PM
January 1, 2019
I remember that last visit to the midwife. You were 39 weeks and 6 days. I sat on the table, holding my enormous belly, and I told her I was ready, that everything was ready for you to come, but I was content to wait.
078 – Mon, Jan 15, 2018, 11:32 AM
January 1, 2019
I think it would be so much easier if I believed as other people believed. It would be so much easier if I could close my eyes and know with certainty that you were listening when I said your name. It would be so nice. But it’s not real.
077 – Fri, Jan 12, 2018, 2:38 PM
January 1, 2019
I’ve told people that I feel more awake now, more present. I think I’m only now beginning to understand what this fork in our road means.
076 – Wed, Jan 10, 2018, 11:47 AM
January 1, 2019
A father and son play on the beach. One of them squeals, avoiding the waves. It’s a bit warmer today. I wonder if the water is cold.
075 – Tue, Jan 9, 2018, 10:04 PM
January 1, 2019
When I think of thankfulness, all I can think of is the time I had with you. The whispered conversations. The whoosh of your first movements. The tactile knowledge of your hands, and your face, and your very active feet.
