Bears

Meet Fuzzy Freddy and Blue. These guys joined our family last night when the boys won them from a claw machine. They both had one turn at the machine, and they both snagged a bear (this never happens). Elliott pointed out that we have gained a lot of bears since Alaska died--Beary, Oscar, Jeff, Brownie, Spots, Cuddles, and now Asher's Fuzzy Freddy and Elliott's Blue. Each one of these bears is a sweet snuggle from our angel girl.

Because She Lived

Asher: My story is called "The Happy Family."

Me: Is Alaska in your story?

Asher: No, then it would be called "The Sad Family."

Me: Alaska is part of everything in our family. We're happy right now. We are sad that she isn't alive, but we still need to live our best lives. She's with us right now. Alaska is part of all of it, not just the sad.

Asher: Right. Because she's always with us. I just wish everyone believed me that I'm a big brother. Some people still don't believe me.

Me: Those people are wrong, Asher. You are Alaska's big brother. The fact that she died doesn't take that away. Alaska existed. She lived. When my grandpa Neil died, he didn't stop being my grandpa. You and Elliott will be Alaska's big brothers forever.

Healing Hearts

Dear Alaska,       ?!

Today Grandma Dawn told us that she heard good news on her heart! She has been worried that you wouldn't know her as Crazy Grandma Dawn--the grandma who has a bazillion projects going and who thinks that she is "strict." When she told us that she thought she was a strict grandma, we laughed at her. It was so cute! I'm serious. This is why...

If you would have asked her to make a pizza that was in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, she would have found a way to do it (probably by enlisting Grandpa Donnie's help). 

If you would have asked her permission to sled down the stairs, she would have let you (as long as Daddy and I weren't there to stop it). 

If you would have asked her if you could keep a baby lamb, she certainly would have been the one to plant that idea in your head (knowing that it would never happen).

If you would have asked her to read you a story before bed and to snuggle you to sleep, she would have given you the best grandma cuddles.

Alaska, your grandma is about as far from strict as she can get, but she is the best. Her heart might be broken, but it's healing.

Sending you hugs and kisses...I miss you.

                                      Love, Mommy ?!

Time

All day I asked myself: How is it possible that Alaska was born 8 weeks ago?

It has been forever but no time at all.

a band of blue for my December daughter

Michonne's Strength

More evidence that I am changed.

Last night when I was watching The Walking Dead (Spoiler alert!), the highlight of the episode was when a character named Michonne revealed that she had a son who died. Michonne has been mostly closed off since she found the group of survivors on the show a couple seasons ago, but when she spoke her truth in last night's episode, a weight seemed to lift for her. I get it. I walk around in this world and strangers have no idea that my daughter died. As time passes, people who do know will forget or act like it never happened because--it seems--that's what we do with pain that isn't our own.

I have no idea how I would have reacted to Michonne's revelation if I had seen it two months ago. I may have been touched, or I may have skipped through the scene because it would be too difficult to think about her dead son. However, I am changed now, so I celebrate this moment with a fictional character who epitomizes strength--first as a skilled fighter and now as a broken mother who has exposed her damaged heart to love and be loved again. Now that's a story.

Craving Alaska

"Mom, what if a ref kicked someone out of the game for being awesome?"

~Elliott (8)

Countless what if questions are asked in my house each day. I love the silly ones like this and the giggling boys who take turns coming up with hypothetical reasons for how the what if could work. The volume increases until we can't decipher the crazy scenarios with the laughter. I crave Alaska in these moments. I try to remind myself that she is with us, forever part of our family; she holds a piece of every bit of my joy.

I miss you.

Today I am sharing just a few sentences from my letter to Alaska.

2/22/14

Dear Alaska,    ?!
I'm just so tired today. I miss you. There are so many things we don't get to do together. It's not fair. Life isn't fair, though.
                       Love, Mommy   <3              ?!

Censor

Yesterday I was conflicted over whether or not to post the picture of me holding Beary, but I reminded myself why I started this blog. I reminded myself that I didn't start sharing to then censor major aspects of my grief. The only mother-daughter pictures I have with Alaska are my belly pics and now the one with Beary. This entire experience is incredibly messy. It is painful. It is beautiful. To be true to my grief, I share all of these.

Clarity Answered

Throughout each day, I experience moments of clarity. About half of the time, I freeze and know that I absolutely cannot handle my reality. In other moments I am filled with strength and acceptance: I don't want to do this, but I can and will. Occasionally, the clarity of strength will be answered immediately by despair or vice versa.

This mothering a dead baby cannot possibly be my reality. But it is.

Holding Alaska

Interrobang Worthy

I went for another walk this evening. This time I left earlier so I didn't feel like I was pressing my luck as a pedestrian wearing a black coat at dusk. Tonight when I reached the edge of town, the sky was on fire. Well, it was pink--that pink that would be the color of fire if we lived in a world with pink fire. As sunsets do, this beauty slowly started slipping away as I walked around the block to turn east.

The sky has captured my attention for my entire life and has always been interrobang worthy.

Did you see that moon?!
Where is the blue sky?!
Why can't we recreate those colors!?
Have you ever felt this close to the stars?!

Today was no exception--pink reflected around the horizon, barely a hint in some places; blue sky directly overhead dotted with puffs of clouds; angry-looking clouds sandwiched between the blue and pink; all of this continuously moving and changing.

The sky, any sky, is a metaphor for life. This sky was my entire experience of Alaska. I realized, though, that I cannot perceive the entire sky in a single moment. I believe this to be true of my grief also. I feel like if I could bear all of it at once, I would implode or explode or disappear or [something dramatic], so I juggle pieces throughout the day:

always surrounded by Alaska love

living with joy as my daughter's mother

forever stewing with gray