It has almost been two years since I last held my baby boy. I remember those last hours before he took his last breath. I remember panicking trying to make as many memories possible in the short time before he would die. I remember running my fingers through his hair so vigorously, almost pulling it just trying to feel so deeply what his hair felt like. I remember holding him and putting my nose right up against his skin panicking that I may one day forget his scent.
Today as I was working on this blog trying to write Gavin's story, it just hit me. The deepest grief, as if I were sitting in room nine at the end of the hall all over again. But this time I can most definitely say that I have not forgotten. My love for Gavin is still so strong and my pain in still just as raw. And that's ok. In these tears that hurt so bad I feel -- I feel, something I was worried would one day stop.
Death is crazy.
Once I became a mommie I had one job -- to make everything better. When my babies cry I hold and comfort and meet their needs. This is the most difficult part of losing a child. Nothing -- nothing I do can change the fact that he is forever gone.
And this is where it gets amazing.
In the midsts of my pain there is still Hope.
For me to ignore that fact would be forgetting everything I learned through the life and death of my sweet boy. It's in my pain that beautiful healing can come, it's moments like this today where I'm dressed and ready to go to the gym and not expecting to grieve that God can come and simply love me -- love my ugly grief and help me put back together the pieces until I need breaking again.