Twenty weeks ago today my whole world changed. My worst nightmare came true and I am still trying to wrap my brain around that fact. As a family we are healing and learning to live this new life without one of our members. The hole left by Sophia is as obvious today as it was that day back in July. We have been drawn closer together and our eyes have been opened in a way that I can’t even describe if you’ve never experienced it. We are blessed beyond measure with family and friends that continue to be there for us and help us persevere.
But grief is so lonely.
It hits even when I am surrounded by a room full of people.
It hits when someone asks how many kids I have in front of Toby or Lilly and they both look at me with such pain in their eyes if I say “Two.” They don’t understand that sometimes, some people just wouldn’t understand.
It hits when I realize that we should have been passing our newborn baby around at Thanksgiving dinners. People should be longing to hold her and love her and feel that love that can only be felt with a baby in your arms.
It hits when our family conversations are about how we could decorate her grave. It would be much more fun to talk about how cute she looks in her new holiday outfit or how much she has grown.
It hits when I am in a gym full of people and only one other person knows about the ache in my heart. No one around me knows how much I hate my body for failing her.
It hits when the days drag on and Mark is just starting his holiday hours.
It hits when I notice that people say her name less and less.
It hits when I think of the one person that I don’t have to buy or make Christmas gifts for. Even though I agree with the kids that “everyday is a holiday in Heaven” it’s still lonely here.
It hits when our beautiful 6-year-old proudly shows me the picture she drew of her sister. A picture that exactly matches the picture board from her funeral. The only pictures we will ever have of her.
It hits when I even think about decorating or celebrating another holiday.
It hits when people talk about shopping and things they want. I would give up all of those trivial things just to have her here with us, alive and well.
It hits when I see babies that are about the age that she should be and I long to be able to see her hitting those milestones and growing and thriving.
It hits when I realize that it may actually be getting harder to get through each day without crying instead of easier.
It hits when my son wraps me in a huge hug because he knows I am thinking about her because apparently I “look really, really, sad” so he just knows.
This kind of loneliness is not physical, it is very much a state of mind. Someday though, someday, I will not remember what this feels like. I will hold that sweet baby girl again and I will feel all of the happy, motherly, peaceful feelings that I miss right now. Someday.
“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41: 10