One Year
Dear Sally,
Grief is an interesting thing. It has been one year without you. Last night I looked at the memory jar. I created it after you passed. It holds memories of our time together. The last few months are ones I struggle to remember due to my postpartum brain back then.
Meanwhile, Noah is running circles around us. He is the cutest when he runs. Well, he is the cutest when he does anything. We love him to pieces. Things would be different if you were here. I miss the lightness you carried. The ease you radiated. It makes me sad that you don't get to see him grow up.
When I think of our time together, I need to really sit with it before I can feel the comfort. Because first comes the pain. It burns and stings, and I want to turn away. But when I let it be, I can go deeper, look underneath, and down there I catch glimpses of something soothing, warm and bright.
And if I lean into it more, despite the pain, the warmth grows. It is where you are. It doesn't take the pain away; I don't think anything can. It simply exists next to it, and I can choose what I want to go with. A year ago I could not. The pain was everywhere. As I said, grief is an interesting thing. Here are some of my memories I wrote down. Reading them now, I remember.
All of us with you at the park in Saratoga. You were looking at the ducks and ready to jump into that little water pool.
You and me outside our new home, looking at the sky, remembering our old nighttime ritual. Together. Connecting. Miss you.
I let you out while Noah naps. You walk outside and lie down in a sunny spot. I sit down next to you and pet you.
All of us are going on a walk together. You made sure everyone in the pack was there.
I love you, always.
Carolin
Comments