Dear Mom.

Dear Mom. 

The day I lost my child, you lost your grandchild. 

When I look back at pictures from the funeral, there are pictures of me hugging everyone else, but you. 

And I’m so sorry. 

While I was grieving, and I was lost, in the sorrows of moving on with out my child, I forgot that you were grieving too. 

And I’m so sorry. 

While I was being hugged by people, some that I barely knew, you were working. You were setting things up, and tearing things down, and organizing flowers, and taking care of me, of my pregnant sister. You were passing out tissues and drying my tears. 

And I’m so sorry. 

I wouldn’t have survived my grief with out you. I wouldn’t have been able to pull myself out of some very dark spaces, with out you. 

Thank you. For reminding me to shower, for brushing my hair, and bringing me coffee. Thank you for letting me know, that a little deodorant, and basic hygiene would go a long way.  Thank you for the smiles and the laughs, that you forced onto your face to keep me moving in the right direction. I know that that couldn’t have always been easy; and I’m so sorry, that I never stopped to ask if you were okay.

 I know people will say that I was lost in my grief and that it was okay, to think of myself, and they are right. But it would have been okay for you to think of yourself too; but you didn’t. You thought of me.

You put your daughter before yourself, and you met my needs before you even evaluated your own. 

I’ve always been good with words. But I’m not sure I will ever be able to say how much I appreciate who you are. All that you’ve done. And all that you’ve taught me. I made decisions about my daughters life, death, and funeral, with her in mind. What was best for her? What would she have (hopefully) grown up to want? What choices might she had made if she were given the choice. And I made those choices because you taught me to put my child first, by always showing me that. 

You’ll never ever know, just how amazing of a mother you really are… and I’m so sorry that I don’t have the ability to make you see. 

I love you, to the moonshine and back, Momma. More than Iced Lattes. 

Ditching the guilt.

When you find people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them. 

I’ve never had a hard time sharing images of our daughter, images of our grief, but there are some photos that I shy away from posting. Mostly fear of judgment, but also guilt. I feel so incredibly guilty that there are several images of me smiling after my daughter died, smiling at her funeral. When we were in the hospital, they give you a “pillow” which was actually a rolled towel in a pillow case, to press against your incision, when you need to sneeze laugh or cough, after a cesarian. After I had my daughter, my family labeled mine, my “Giggle Pillow”, and it drove me nuts, I felt guilty every time someone said it. 

So while I was going through the images of her funeral today, I stopped on this one. It wasn’t a moment of happiness, but a moment of love. Loving this man who had taken such good care of me unconditionally. Loving him so much, that I could look into his worried and stressed eyes, and know that somehow we would survive this. Our daughters casket is behind us, and our family is all around, but in that second we found a way to just be him and me. We found a way to communicate that we loved each other endlessly, and that we were gonna push through this together. 

And I thought “It was okay, for me to feel that. It was okay, for my grief to not overwhelm every single second of me.” And I thought about how this may be one of the most intimate photos of the two of us, ever taken. And that its okay, to share, and okay, that it happened on what was one of the worst days of our life. 

When you find the people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them.  And if you’re grieving; ditch the guilt. Embrace every single second that the guilt isn’t drowning you. It’s okay, I promise.

So while I am at it, Here are a few more. 

Pretty sure Matthew wasn't impressed that I forced him to smile for the first one ( tickling never fails) but the second one was much more free. It was us releasing balloons in her honor, and It felt like a beautiful way to say "happy Birthday" to her. Even tho her Birth, day was shadowed by her death .