Friday, June 14, 2013

Tomorrow We Walk

Tomorrow we walk.

Well, every day we walk, one foot in front of the other on this broken, bumpy road they call grief.

But tomorrow, we walk with a specific purpose.  Tomorrow we walk for one reason only. 

Tomorrow we walk for Brynn.

Tomorrow is not about busy schedules and work requirements.  Tomorrow is not about homework needing to be done or reports needing to be signed.  Tomorrow is not about yard work or cleaning house.  It’s not about settling family drama, or mending broken relationships.  Tomorrow is not one more thing that needs to be checked off the “to-do” list before we tackle everything else that “needs doing.”

Tomorrow is about Brynna.

One day.

She only gets one day a year.  One day a year when we can focus on the time she was with us in this mixed up, physical world.

All the other days, all the looming tomorrows, are given to the “everything and everyone else” in this world.

Tomorrow is her day.

Please join us in honoring our sweet girl.  It’s all we’ve got.  It’s all we ask.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Just not sure.

June 5, 2013                                                                                                                                    11:00 a.m.

Dear Brynna,

I am so sad you are not here with us.  I know you are doing wonderful things that are much bigger than I can comprehend right now, but as your mom, I really, really miss you.
I wish I understood more.  I wish I had a way of really knowing that this is going to be okay.  I feel silly even writing that because “okay” seems such a small word.  How could it ever be “okay” to be a parent without a child?  I just wish I were more “zen” and could take more solace in the fact that you are busy working in this universe in a capacity my human mind can’t truly reconcile.

I miss you, Brynn. I really, really would have loved the opportunity to get to know you.  You were a whole person, with a very potentially wonderful, full life, ahead of you, and I would have loved to watch you grow.  I can’t help but feel confused and brokenhearted that a life as precious as yours, ended before it even got started.

I love you.

Do you get my notes?  Do you feel my heart?  Do you know how much your momma loves you?  I sometimes worry that because you are where you are, not limited by a human body or mind, you may not “remember” me.  I worry that you may not “know” me in the way I know you.  I don’t want you to be sad in the way I am sad, and I would never wish for you the longing I feel in my heart, but I’m just afraid that you might not know how much I continue to love you.

I am frustrated because I don’t have the right words.  I feel limited by language.  The way I feel and the way I long for you cannot be summed up on paper, and that is maddening when so much of how I heal is through writing.
It’s just a feeling.  A whole bodied, whole hearted, all-encompassing feeling. 

I miss you.  I just really, really miss you.