The Simultaneousness of Grief

I remember reading Erin's blog right after Violet died.  She was writing about the educational and enriching activities that she always does with her son, Chase.  I remember waiting every day for her to write about her other son, Christian, the one she lost.  I wanted to read about grief while I was grieving.  I wanted to know how the journey was a year later.  Yet, she was cooking, crafting, teaching.  I marveled that she was living a full and happy life.

Now that I am further along in my own grief, I realize that she WAS showing me exactly what life can be like a year later.

Violet would be 17 months old tomorrow.  I had a difficult time this weekend imagining the brown haired girl she would be, toddling along, finding all the purple Easter eggs.  I still have days that make it hard to breathe.  Sometimes I write about them, but sometimes I don't.  I always want to talk about her.  Instead I attempt to find ways to incorporate her into our lives seamlessly.

I am simultaneously grieving and mothering all three of my children at all times.  I need the balance of three.

I am holding, missing, loving, laughing, feeding, aching, crafting, bathing, grieving, nurturing, smiling, talking, healing, writing, playing, remembering.

Before Violet was born, I heard this song and quoted on Facebook, "What makes a falling star go by?  Why does it fall and where does it go? And how does it make that glittery glow?"  I was anticipating her arrival as my shooting star, brief, beautiful, then gone.



As I'm writing this D is napping.  E is upstairs playing.  Sesame Street is left on the abandoned television.  This song comes on.  Maybe it's a coincidence.  Or maybe, as I am mothering the other two in my daily life, she is reminding me that she's not that far away either.