On April 15th, my baby's heart stopped beating.
On April 18th, I delivered her.
Those days in between are a blurr.
These days since have been terrible, lovely, heartbreaking, heartening, lonely and full.
A friend last night reminded me that what is simply is. Thinking about what should be or what I should be doing will really serve no purpose.
But I still miss her.
Omer, our community's dear friend and member, died last week. There is much rejoicing that his life was 90 years full and that his death was not dragged out for longer than a few rough months. We will miss him.
His memorial service was yesterday. Grief is selfish in its very nature and my grief is no exception. While remembering this loved man, I couldn't help but remember our wished-for child. For a second I wished that she would have lived 90 years, that she would have touched so many lives, that she would have had family and friends gather to remember her with such love. And then...She didn't live 90 years, only 7 short months in my womb, but, BUT, she was loved. She did have friends and family gather to remember her and grieve her loss. She did touch people; her loss touched people. Our grief and how we choose to bear it continues to makes its mark.
Grief is selfish, but I am not alone in my grief.
I am not alone.
We are not alone.