The World Didn't Stop. Mine Did

There are days when I still can't believe I live in a world where my daughter doesn't.

It feels impossible to write that sentence because my heart still argues with it.

The morning after Rhaegan died, the sun came up.

My alarm went off.

Cars drove past. People were heading out to run errands because that's what Saturdays are for, right?

I lay in bed, my body paralyzed by a feeling I cannot put into words, my mind replaying the horror that took place less than 24hours before.

I turned my head to my left, there lay my husband and son, still asleep.

I turn my head to my right, there stands an empty cot.

I search for messy blonde curls with a dribble filled cheek, her signature morning look.

NOTHING...

And I remember thinking...

How?

How can everything still be normal when my entire world has just fallen apart?

I wanted the world to stop.

I wanted someone to say, "Let's just pause. A little girl is missing from this world today."

But life doesn't work like that.

It keeps moving whether you are ready or not and all I sat with was an overwhelming sense

of betrayal.

People go back to their routines because they have to.

And I don't blame them for that.

But when you are the mother who buried her child, it feels unbearably lonely.

In the beginning, people check on you often.

They bring meals.

They send flowers.

They sit with you in the silence because they don't know what else to do.

Then, slowly, life calls them back.

The messages become fewer.

The visits become less frequent.

People stop saying your child's name because they're afraid it will upset you.

The truth is...

I was already upset.

Every single day.

You couldn't remind me of my daughter because I had never forgotten her for even one second.

Not while making coffee.

Not while driving.

Not while folding washing.

Not while lying awake at 2am wondering who she would have become.

Grief doesn't take breaks.

It quietly follows you everywhere.

Sometimes people tell me how strong I am.

I smile because I know they mean well.

But most days I don't feel strong.

Most days I feel like a mother learning how to breathe in a life she never wanted.

There are moments that catch me completely off guard.

A little girl with curly hair.

The song she would always dance to.

An endless list to be honest

For a split second, my heart still hopes it's her.

And then reality arrives all over again.

It's like losing her twice.

Every single time.

People often say, "She would want you to be happy."

Maybe they are right.

I hope they are.

But happiness and grief are not opposites.

I've learned that they can exist in the same heart.

I can laugh and still miss her.

I can smile and still ache.

I can be grateful for today while wishing with everything in me that yesterday had never happened.

That's what grief has taught me.

It isn't about moving on.

It isn't about letting go.

It's about learning to carry someone you can no longer hold.

I don't know what tomorrow will feel like.

Some days are softer.

Some days knock the wind out of me.

I'm still learning.

I'm still grieving.

I'm still loving her.

And after everything that has changed...

one thing never will.

I am still her mother.