The messaging we give to each other is to buck up - it was hard for me, now it’s hard for you.
Around and around it goes.
Photo by Roberta McLean Photography
This is not forced, these are not words I say because I have to...
THIS the truth about the diagnosis - she is incredible.
Photo by Jayme Lang
I made all the arguments with myself , including “she might surprise us!” And then I looked from other side, and the only one that mattered was… “she might not take all our attention from Wally…"
Trigger warning - because someone might see this and cry. Someone might assume it was easy for me.
And it wasn’t.
Eventually he and I stepped into a rhythm of him doing peculiar things in a particular way, and me knowing that was exactly what made him happy.
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Tragedy has no patience, it will not allow for daydreams. No part of him could be saved for my future self.
I’ve let go of ever slipping into her shoes again, I could never fit, and maybe I don’t want to. They hard edges of me muscled forward by loss have also made way for my soft insides.
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One image of heartbreak infused into today’s waterfall of happy photos. This isn’t meant to dampen your mood, only to stir a greater understanding that the world is full of happy & sad parents today.
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Holy smokes, it’s already been three months since we moved the twins into bunk beds an onto their Endy mattresses!
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Photo by Cali Peterson
So many incredible woman sharing their stories of brave times of life. Journeys that were uniquely theirs but that also brought a sense of connection to others who may have or do share a similar walk.
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Our entire family is rooted in loss. We navigate a child who can’t communicate the way she wishes. We have a baby that completes us. When I tally off that list, where does Wally fit in?
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A few years past that loss and a few more children grown inside me, I can see that I need to keep a part of me separate, I need a small slice of pie for myself - to feel whole.
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I needed to see that it was beautiful, this thing that I did everyday. The mess, the tears, the dedication, the love.
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Maybe the Universe knew you were coming, watched from above and whispered... "Just wait mama. That ache will ease and the rhythm will soften, a little one is coming with a needle and thread to stitch you all together again."
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This metamorphosis of motherhood does a number on a woman, body and soul. We work so hard to get ourselves "back" again after 9 months of pregnancy and endless months of parenting, but I've only recently discovered it isn't possible to be the person we once were.
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Not every photo of a mom breastfeeding is sweet and blissful, that mom might be in the depths of heartache and struggle.
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Time moved slowly for a very long time, we blindly went through our days for weeks on end, always keeping busy but never doing anything at all – the hopeless dance of the grieving.
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