A letter to the bereaved parent with another new season upon them

I get it.  A new season (or chapter) now sucks.  It used to be a time of renewal, excitement, anticipation... A time that you looked forward to.  A new beginning.  Maybe it was a new job, a new relationship, a new home, a new opportunity, a new year, a new holiday season...these were all things that I would have been excited about 'before'.  It was kind of like starting over in a sense, in what ever area it was in.  And who doesn't like a fresh start?

Now, these new seasons and chapters are filled with anxiety. Anxiety about having to meet new people at your new job, to put on a happy face, to tell your story (because you know it's going to come out, as it should, your baby very much existed and gave your life purpose).  New seasons are also reminders for me that my baby isn't with me.  She isn't doing life with me on this side of Heaven.  She isn't going to be here to participate in our silly family Christmas festivities.  She won't be turning a year old here on Earth.

It just hurts.  It hurts to the core and I've realized it isn't a feeling that can be described.  It is an experience that we are living every single day.  I'm almost to the point that I don't want people to try to understand because they wont.  They can't.  All that they need to understand is that we need them now more than ever.  And maybe in a few months more than now.  We need people to cry for us when we can't cry another tear, pray for us when we can't catch our breath to pray, and just 'be'.  People don't understand the impact that their presence has on someone who couldn't feel more alone... All because this precious tiny human isn't here any more. We need people who will just listen... Listen to us talk about our child. Listen to our frustrations.  Listen to our questions.  If you've found someone who doesn't want to hear about it anymore, let them go.  There are so many precious souls who will listen to you.  We will never 'get over it'.  Ask them how many times a day they think about their living child and them ask them to not.  It's impossible.

I pray that any new season, chapter, or beginning will take on a new meaning for you.  I am wholeheartedly going to approach these times as a positive.  Yes, we will cry.  We are sad.  But we can also smile at the impact that our precious one has made.  I am realizing more and more every single day all the ways that my Avery blessed us and changed us and left us with things that we will have forever, until we see her again.  My heart grew 1,000 times when I met and loved her.  I now have so much love to give.  She made me see how brave I am.  I've done things in the last 8 months that I never ever thought I'd be able to do.  Imagine what I'm capable of now.  I pray that I will teach my students lessons that go way past the textbooks or curriculum.  Avery taught me so many.  I am realizing that there is a love, a happiness, a kind of joy that you can only experience after sorrow.  So I look at these new seasons in anticipation for that very joy.  I pray you can too.

I cry as I write this.  I cry at the fact that there are so many others hurting the way we hurt. Please remember your child in your new season and smile... Smile because there is so much beauty that is going to come.

I have to believe this.

I want to remember. I need to remember...

Your little fingers..your little toes..your perfect lips and nose. I want to remember it all. I need to remember it all.  I look at pictures because they are all I have.  

It is amazing (and by amazing I mean frustrating) how the things that I want to NEVER forgot somehow find a way to start looking foggy in my mind and the terrible things that I would love to never think about again won't leave my mind. When I close my eyes, I can feel your little body curled up in my arms, the way you nestled right in so comfortably that just melted this momma's heart.  When I look at your pictures of that beaming wide-mouthed smile, I can hear you cooing and laughing, remembering how it just made our whole day to have our baby look up at us with such love.  When I walk into your nursery, I can still smell diapers, blankets and clothes washed in baby detergent (yes, it has a different smell than Tide), and I pray these smells never go away.  It's funny how smells have a way of bringing memories rushing back.  I've had one friend come into my house and simply say, "It smells like Avery in here..." I know what ya mean...I am beginning to realize that all of the beautiful pictures that I have are all the pictures that I'll ever have of you, making them more and more precious every single day.  I look at these pictures so often, trying to burn into my memory (if that's possible) every detail of your sweet face, the unique little ways you held your hands, the curves of your feet.  I don't want to forget any of it.  I can't forget any of it.  It seems like a lifetime ago that life was so simple.  We had our routine (and oh it was glorious). Morning nursing around the time daddy was going to work, then snuggles in momma's bed (you always seemed to get your best sleep during that early morning 'nap'), then a good 'ol diaper change.  Insert many smiles and wiggles.  You loved when we would pass by a mirror and I'd sing "Who's that girl? Oh that girl...."  It was no nursery rhyme but it got you smiling.  The days went on as simple as this and I soaked in every minute.  I still think about what the pastor said at your service, that you were loved every minute of your life.  What a blessing.  How can we want anything more for our child?  Thank you for loving us.  You are my greatest accomplishment and deepest love.  And now you're being held by our Lord and Savior until momma can hold you again.  What a perfect life.