It’s that moment no one wants to admit.
The one where you know you wanted it more than them.
I could argue I spent my entire childhood in this state.
The one where I was the bastard child, and they were the full-blood.
The one where I was lucky he wanted to keep in touch with me.
Yes, in my child’s mind, I had to be worthy.
And it never left me.
I’ve lived a life proving myself worthy.
And you know what?
I’m tired.
I’m too tired.
I. am. worthy.
If you want me, then meet me halfway.
I’m worthy.
“Unable are the loved to die.
For love is immortality.”
-Emily Dickinson
Looking around, questioning the validity of everything I sense. What it must feel to walk on the moon. Like I’m floating out of this world. Not really here, but watching from the outside in. This is how it feels to live after loss.
And the more I realize I’m actually here, and she’s not, the more painful the reality becomes. Words like unfair. Too soon. And Why plague my mind.
The phrase “Be Kind for everyone is fighting a hard battle.” takes on a new meaning.
Suddenly, that asshole on the road is just another poor bastard doing the best he can.
And my child’s fit, is just that: a fit that will pass.
Love and Loss like spaghetti and meatballs, peanut butter and jelly- one not without the other.
And for a time, Kelly and Lauren. Best friends forever.
Rest In Peace my sweet friend. You are loved.
4 A.M.
And the moment I’d been dreading for 39 weeks.
No movement.
I sat on the side of my bed, sobbing. Begging my husband to get the baby to move, knowing I had waited one day too long to induce.
See, the day before had been my daughter’s spring concert and I figured delaying a day wouldn’t make much difference.
But in this moment, I regretted it all.
In a panic, I called our doula and midwife first and next, our neighbor.
She arrived within seconds. I folded into her arms, scared of what we would find when we arrived. She steadied me, reassuring that our three daughters at home were safe and off we went to find that baby Elizabeth was indeed alive and well.
Fast forward 18 months.
Same kitchen, same neighbor.
Our friends left and she stayed to ask the simple direct question: “Are you OK?”
“No.”
No, I wasn’t and all it took was for someone to ask.
I unfolded right in front of her, releasing the floodgates and once again, she took it. She held it. She steadied, reassured and stood me upright.
She looked me in the eye and said, “You are going to be OK.” And then she followed through.
She called to check on me. She invited me to run with her.
She held my hand.
And because of her, I made it.
There she is.
My superwoman. My angel. My friend.
New Leaf Parenting 