Six months. Today, we celebrate six months of life. It’s your little brother’s half birthday. As I type this, he’s cuddled close to me, sucking on his pacifier, while his softie is nestled into his neck and lullabies lull him to sleep. It’s beautiful. But it stings. It’s bittersweet... I’m overcome with love for him and the joy he brings me to the point that I’m overwhelmed and brought to tears. His breaths fall heavily on my arm, while you remained so still. His little life, in my arms, because your life slipped through my hands. Death literally passed through me, so a new life could be planted. Could grow. Could resurrect from the darkness and bring to fruition a redemption I had not thought possible. There’s so much guilt. But there’s so much love. And grief, it still remains.
Read MoreWho am I now? How has this experience changed me? I hesitate to even call it an experience. It was and is so much more than that. It was stillbirth. It was losing a child. It is loss. And it is grief. But nonetheless, I am different.
Transformed, however, makes it seem as though I have come to the end of this difficult road. I am ever evolving. Ever changing. In each day, each moment, in each breath...I am transforming.
Read MoreDear Friend, I’m sorry that someone in your life has experienced the greatest loss—the loss of a child. You must feel so sad, yet so awkward...so unsure as to what you should do. Because, what can you do? What can you say? You can say nothing. You can do nothing. Just be. Just be there for them. Nothing will fix this. Nothing will take away their pain. Nothing will make them feel better. No cliches, no words of wisdom, no biblical quote or spiritual truth. Nothing.
Read MoreEvery night, before bed, I would look at her picture on the mantle. Trace my thumb over the rosary beads made from her funeral flowers. And beg for it to all be different.
Read MoreYour name. It came to me in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. It was early on in the pregnancy, and we weren’t finding out the gender. I had always thought I would have a Rebecca if I had another girl. But God named you before you were mine: Teresa Elizabeth. This was to be your name...
Read MorePurpose. You are the reason. You are the reason I write. You are the reason your little brother is here. You are the reason I am a mother of six. Purpose. What is the purpose of this pain?This loss?This life without you?Your death?This valley? Purpose. Your existence...so short, now eternal. Impacting every fiber of my being. Changing our family. Changing my life. Changing me. I’m trying to discover this purpose, but I don’t think I will ever fully discover it this side of heaven. And that’s something I have to accept. Purpose?My purpose was to carry you. To be your mother. To participate in God’s plan for your life and salvation. The purpose of that day?To experience the grace. To witness the veil being lifted. To be united momentarily to the other side.The purpose of the past 16 months?To survive. To let love in. And your purpose?Was it to bring love?And simplicity? And a life back to the basics?To love big in small ways?To get me to heaven?Let this pain have a purpose. Let this suffering not be in vain. Let this longing not go without reward. Show me my purpose now. Show me how to move forward in this life, where you and I do not reside together.
Read MoreThe joy that stirred me awake this morning shocked me. Excitement over this adventure? Excitement of greeting the sun? Excitement for today’s feast? Even your sister remarked about the beauty of today’s sunrise. “It looks like heaven,” she said. Yes. Indeed. I thought the same. Heaven...where you are. Heaven...where we will see you again. Heaven...where you celebrate today on this feast of St. Therese. Even the sky splashed your colors...orange, yellow, and pink. Beautifully and delicately arrayed like you. This morning the sun welcomed me into a new day, it left behind the tears of yesterday, and it stirred me on to start anew. To find beauty and love in big ways and small in the midst of the bittersweet reality of today’s anniversary. Even though the darkness finds me...the light does, too.
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