Eight Months

I’m not sure how this grief thing is supposed to work but I can say this much: at month eight, it hurts more, not less.

It’s incredible, really, that she is gone. I had a daughter, and then I didn’t. How is this possible?

I was there when she left and I sit in the silence now. It is obvious that she is gone, but my mind doesn’t understand it and my heart doesn’t accept it. Surely this didn’t happen– right?

The thing that bewilders me most is the love. Where, exactly, does the love go when you have loved someone with your whole heart – with desperation and joy and fury – and that person is gone? This kind of love cannot be ignored and it cannot be contained. Where does it go? What do I do with it now? This is the part I can’t get past; this is the part that hurts.

I have no answers, just love for a girl with the loveliest of hearts and the most buoyant spirit. The love never runs out. She taught me that.

I would do it all over again, with full knowledge of the pain ahead. I would do it again and again and again, because the only thing worse than the pain now is the thought of not ever knowing her at all. I am forever blessed because I got to be her mom.

So at last, here is something I understand: love is greater than the pain. It’s already won, but in this imperfect place, it coexists with the pain.

One day, it will be different. Until then, I love and I hurt, I love and I hurt some more. It can’t be any other way.

 

Two more things I know: she gave love, and she knew she was loved — both in massive amounts.

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(photos 1, 5 and 6 – Aubrie LeGault; photo 2 – Charles Gullung)