Eight Months

I haven't written in awhile. Sometimes I feel I've said all there is to say and that now I'm just on repeat.

I miss her like crazy.

My heart feels so shattered.

There are moments I can hardly breathe.

Days where all I do is cry. 

Eight months have passed since Lily was born sleeping. Over a year has passed since our world changed forever and I still feel these feelings every single day.

Sunday was eight months and it was a really hard day. I honestly think I cried for the majority of it. So much so that on Monday my eyes were still swollen. I thought that part of my grief would be passed by now. I didn't think I would have another day like the first ones that followed her diagnosis, but I guess I was wrong.

Grief really does come in waves...some waves are gentle with memories that almost lull you to sleep. Others waves ferociously crash into you without without any warning. These waves of grief hit you when you least expect it and almost swallow you whole and leave you gasping for breathe. 

That was my Sunday.

Jason and I decided we would go to the cemetery after Mass. We had not been since Lily's funeral. Her marker was just recently finished and I didn't have the heart to go any sooner (mostly in fear I wouldn't know where she was). 

So we started off Mass emotional, knowing we were going to visit Lily's grave afterwards. 

Then there was a baptism. 

I try so hard to be brave and strong, but baptisms are so hard for me. Baptisms are moments full of so much hope and promise for your child's future and we didn't get that. Every time I see a child baptized at Mass, I'm reminded of just one more moment I didn't get with my daughter.

Mix that with the anticipation of seeing her grave marker and knowing it's been eight months of missing my daughter...I'll just let you imagine the wreck I was at Mass. 

But at the same time, their is so much beauty in this grief. To me, there is so much beauty in knowing that I can lose it at Mass. Some may sit, stare, and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. But many, many families at our church know us and they know Lily's story. I'm not afraid to cry in front of any of them. In fact, I think it's important so they can better understand this journey I am on because it is far from over. 

In fact, it's just beginning.

There is nothing in the world that prepares you to see your child's name carved in stone. It's another ferocious wave of grief that knocks you down when you least expect it. Nothing to prepare you for the first time your 2 year old says, "Love you Lily" and your heart swells with pride and shatters simultaneously. And absolutely nothing truly prepares you for how much your heart still aches eight months later. 

Just the beginning of a lifetime spent missing you...each and every day Lily, we love you and miss you like crazy sweet girl.

"Grief never ends...but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith...It is the price of love." ~ Author Unknown