The importance of hope should never be underestimated.
My grieving process is tightly bound to hope. Hope for the future. Hope for my family. Hope that this has to be the darkest part of my life and things can only get better from here on out.
For me, it’s inextricably linked to comfort and peace. To have hope drives you forward, keeping you moving with a focus. I simply can’t imagine the healing process without it.
There are moments when my hope seems to fade and the overwhelming sadness casts a dark shadow over every positive thought I have worked so hard to cling on to.
The lights go out.
The pain takes over.
The loss of my daughter is all that I can feel.
In these moments, I don’t appreciate the smile on my son’s face the same way I did just seconds ago. The thought of interacting with my neighbours fills me with dread rather than the warm fuzziness that I once felt after our brief encounters. Physically I feel different: more irritable, zero patience, on the brink of tears, to name a few changes.
It’s hard to accept that moments like these are okay. To let the pain in, and acknowledge how life has dealt me an awfully shitty card.
But since Ivy’s death I’ve managed to make it through every day. 11 whole days. 11 days that I shouldn’t be experiencing. That my family shouldn’t be experiencing.
But hope has everything to do with me getting here, to day 11. So it’s precious to me.
My hope is simple, and one that I’m sure most of you share with me; the safe arrival of a healthy child.
Baby number 3 – I’m hoping to kiss your little nose next year as I have done to all of my gorgeous babies!