We are never alone in our grief.

How do you heal grief? It's not something that can be covered with a band aid. I fee like it is a deep, gaping wound that always aches. And just when you think that it is starting to get better, that it is starting to heal, it breaks open and starts bleeding all over again. 

Sometimes it's in the car. Sometimes you are driving and nothing in particular happens that you'd think would spark something, but suddenly you're pulled over on the side of the road gasping in tears. Or you're just making the bed in the morning and you lose it, and you ugly cry there on the floor in a heap of blankets. Or you wake up in the night, and you swear its all been a dream, and you think you can go to the hospital and he'll be there waiting. And the would bursts open again when you realize it has all been so real. 

So, do these kinds of wounds ever just become scars? Will we ever stop bleeding?

For a while it really did feel like things were getting easier. Like there were more good days than bad days... but then it turned. The days feel harder now. Just last week, I actually woke up in the middle of the night so confused that I almost called the NICU to check on Max. That hasn't happened since the first couple weeks after he died. I feel like I just miss him so much more suddenly. 

People stop asking about him or talking about him. And I think it's because they are afraid to bring him up, but I desperately want to talk about him. I had this amazing, beautiful boy and I only got to show him off to a few people, and then he died and its like everybody got nervous to bring him up. But I just want to talk about him, to remember him. He's my baby, my world. Everyone else gets to take their babies everywhere and show them off, and show that they're sitting up or cutting a tooth or starting to laugh, and my baby isn't here, but I still want to tell you about him. 

In the beginning, I could feel his spirit around me all the time. He walked every step with me. I could go in the nursery and rock next to the crib and close my eyes and feel him. But as time goes on he's here less and less. I know he has work to do in heaven, and I'm sure he has some amazing and important, incredible work to do and he doesn't have time to babysit his mom anymore. But I'm selfish, and if I can't hold him in my arms I just want to feel him near me all the time. 

I want to see him, cause I know he's perfect now. At last, he has two perfect eyes and a perfect mouth and perfect feet, and I want to see it. I want to see if he is strawberry blonde like me, or if he has flaming red hair like his daddy. I just want a glimpse of him. I just keep hoping that if I'm just good enough, if I can just be faithful enough maybe God will let me see him, maybe He'll give me just a little glimpse of him. Maybe that would help heal my grief... or maybe it would just make me miss him more? I don't know, but I still want it. I'm human and I'm his mother and I am sad. I miss him.

I'm sorry, folks, this is not an uplifting post. This is not what you come here for. But, today, this is what you get. You get the real deal today. I'm not super human. I am not perfect. And some days I am just broken. But I won't stay broken and I do NOT feel hopeless, because when I am pulled over on the side of the road gasping in tears, or when I fall apart making the bed, or when I lose it over his grave I feel the Lord wrap His comfort around me. I see the atonement of the Savior go to work in my life, and I know I am never alone in my grief. And you are never alone in your grief. We are never alone. The grief is real and it sucks, people! I will never tell you it doesn't, and I can't pretend like every day is sunshine. But you hold on to the days that are, and you hold on to your faith when the storms roll in, because it somehow gets better. I promise you that we never go through any of it alone.