I am in mourning, but the world keeps on turning.
People laugh; I laugh, while I am mourning.
The calendar and time mean little to me because I forget to notice.
My heart is capable of great love and compassion even while I exist with this unimaginable pain while I am mourning.
The dictionary and life refer to those who lose both parents as an orphan; those who lose a spouse are referred to as a widow or widower, but there is no word for the broken hearted who lose a child.
FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act) will protect your job for 90 days when you welcome your child into this world but do not acknowledge the time you need to mourn when the worst thing that could happen, happens.
Music no longer brings me joy. There are times when I want to scream, turn it off! From classical to Bruno Mars, it all makes me cry when I am mourning.
While my body continues to work in an autopilot mode, my mind and soul cannot find the autopilot switch so there are many instances throughout the day or entire days which leave me broken and confused.
The waves of grief have no respect for where I am or what I am doing and ambush me without warning in the most un opportune places.
Who knew my body could generate this many tears and I would ever cry for 322 days straight, sometimes numerous times a day?
Who knew that a door to a room in my own home could take on a life of it’s own and it would take so much strength and courage to turn the door knob and peak in to confirm, yes, she has moved on.
But I will see my Amy again, right? Please don’t ever plant one seed of doubt in my mind because it’s essential to my sanity that I believe we will be together again. While I respect everyone’s individual right to believe, I cannot hear your thoughts on this subject any more …
Who knew some of my family and friends possessed such amazing grace and compassion?
Who knew some of my family and friends would break my heart?
Who knew I would meet so many new compassionate friends who have listened and shared the deepest, saddest parts of their life and heart. Their honesty and willingness to be present for me as they deal with their own horrific raw pain will never cease to amaze me and serves as a reminder of the goodness in our world. It is my personal belief that our precious children orchestrated our connection.
Who ever thought I would have to self coach myself to get out of bed in the morning or have to ponder whether I was capable and able to accept a simple invitation.
Last year at this time, who knew I could live in a world without my sweet, precious Amy and I would be mourning my daughter for 322 days?
Who knew an artist, despite never meeting her, could use just a pencil and his gift to capture the essence of my beautiful daughter?
Please remember Amy…