I wore a Claddagh ring facing inwards for a long time after the death of my son. I wanted to send the message that my heart was already taken, even if it was “taken” in a different way than those rings normally represent.
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.
These tools were available to me and I chose not to use them. I didn’t choose for you to die, but my choices did not save you. I wish that I had saved you.
This is such a bittersweet day. I loved this house. I was so excited to share it, to share my whole world with you. You would have been four months old tomorrow. You died four months ago today.
I thought I knew everything. I knew nothing at all.
I see her on the other side of the glass, and my heart breaks for what we both have that the other needs.
After he died, after that scream, I shattered. It wasn’t that time flowed differently. It was a completely different life.
I didn’t ask to live here. I loved Sunshine. I had so many plans. I built my peaceful house there. But my key doesn’t fit.
I found the snow again today. I found flight, and I’m spinning, and it all came back so easily. And I watch as the children go flying down the mountain, and everything feels empty.
It’s become a trend these days to put quotes and proverbs on packaging, including tea bags. I used to find these captions comforting. I used to think I could handle anything with the right attitude. Now I often feel like these things miss the mark. Is it the proverb that is incomplete, or is it me?
When a Type A personality grieves, at some point grief becomes her job. She finds old focus and determination. She reads books and attacks her grief with her previous energy.
