Writing through my grief after losing my daughter Alaska Eileen to a second trimester miscarriage.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Today I have to share my joy. This word like so many others has a new meaning. Joy comes in the form of small moments that are often followed by guilt. Grief can try to negate my joy, and it can even knock me down just when I think I am steady. But the thing about living is that we can hold grief, joy, pain, beauty, and love in one space. We can shatter into a million pieces, but we can also be put back together. We can live with missing pieces; we can live with the scars. We keep going because life can rebuild just as it destroys.
Grief will knock me down, but love, in the form of flowers from my friend, will pick me up. The beauty of the sunset or a single feather on my sleeve will ease the pain for a few breaths. My friends who let me talk about my daughter allow me to heal a little more. This picture of Alaska's name written on her uncle's basketball shoe may seem insignificant, but it is love. Love is never insignificant.