Watching Another's Loss

[Teddy bear for child loss-source]

Many years ago, I met a fellow traveler, a friend of my sister.  She had one beautiful daughter and had a son who died just before he was to be born.  She impressed me with her firm faith, how she had even spoken to her unborn, how she knew he was right there with her and often saw signs of him all around her.  Her loss was so much fresher than mine, yet she seemed more advanced in the healing path than I was then and even than I am now.  She was a pillar of trust and belief to me, one who just knew she would hold her baby again and who held her angel close to her even as she couldn't hold his physical body.  

[I can't even see her face without pain.]

Meanwhile, I still feel like a lost soul.  The way I survive day to day is to not think of my angel, not look for her, not do the things that give this friend comfort.  Because when I look at images of my beautiful Alamanda, it takes me back down the dark path of thinking of people who tried to steal my family, of DCSF agents who created a false image of us through intentional deceit in order to destroy my family.  It takes me back to those months when I almost lost everything, when those I trusted turned on us, and even family members invented lies to try to tear our world apart.  It's at those moments I realize that part of the pain is still an open wound, that I'm not sure how to go about forgiving those from whom I will never hear an apology.  

[Surrounded by angels-source]

Allamanda's image also brings me back to miracles when the Lord, Himself, promised angels to help us through.  He promised and delivered the words we would need to redeem our names at just the right time. His Spirit in the room brought tears to the eyes of some of those who heard us explain our side of the story and the truth in the face of lies.  It brings me to the moments when the enemy intentionally laid a trap for us, telling us we wouldn't need a lawyer the day we could have gotten one and then sent us the paperwork the very next day, to ensure we would not get the legal aid we needed for that Monday morning.  Yet the Lord sent us someone to defend us. I see the pain, but I also see the miracles.  

[Grudges like poison-source]

These complications do not mean I can't be healed like my sister's friend. But there's a lot of healing that still hasn't happened, likely because I haven't yet figured out how to let the pain and anger go.  I know the theory that keeping a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other guy to die.  Holding onto that pain will never hurt them and only will hurt me.  But just when I think healing is all but there, a trigger slaps me in the face and helps me realize I'm not there yet, even over 11 years later.  

[Expecting..but what to expect? Source]

This friend, after years of miscarriage and loss with which I can relate, finally became successfully pregnant a few months ago.  She posted her joys and her progress with her new and exciting pregnancy.  Her now-teenaged daughter was giddy with delight.  Their little one came...stillborn.  Another angel to join the first and all the ones in between.  And once again, they met the loss with pain but also an outpouring of love, an understanding they will hold this baby, too, again.  

[Another funeral. Source]

I would be destroyed, absolutely destroyed.  I only attend funerals if I can't avoid them.  Maybe I took the coward's path in backing away from loss after loss after loss.  After 15 miscarriages, I realized my body would not carry another baby, so my husband and I prayerfully gave up.  When I realized the sentence "I'm expecting" didn't end in "baby" but ended in "blood," I knew we were not meant to hold any more live children until the Lord comes again.  We accepted the gift of the angels and children we've been given.  We know we'll see them, hold them one day and gave up on the dream of our rainbow. I was delighted this friend would be greeting her own rainbow, having no idea that she'd be having a funeral instead.  

[A candle for death and rebirth-source]

I saw those images of smiling faces as they held heir baby with blue lips and purplish face and knew I'd be shriveling inside. There would be yet another jagged, bloody hole where my heart should be.  I don't know how they do it, especially this time of year.  I know there's so much more to the story than I could ever see or imagine.  I wish I could be joyous like that in the face of loss.  For now, I'll have to be thankful to know such heroes exist and that we can all have hope in holding our loved ones again, thanks to Christmas and the One we celebrate this season. 

The Holiday Melancholy

[Christmas in minor key-source]

 As the holidays approach, I expect more pain.  It's sort of the nature of the beast when one is in mourning.  Being in mourning is kind of like being an alcoholic. Once it's part of your life, it will always be part of your life, no matter how far you move away from what happened before.  Unlike just after I lost my baby, I do see the bright colors of the season.  I don't cry anymore when I hear songs about pregnancies I won't be having anymore and babies I won't be holding. But I know a lot of people still do.  

[All in black-and-white-source]

For a lot of people, the hardest part of the holiday is the expectation by almost everyone around them that this will be "the most wonderful time of the year." But around the holiday for those in mourning lies a pall, a discoloration. To some, it robs all color, all light, all hope, all joy from what's around them. Time may or may not touch that.  To others, it's simply a slight dampening, a melancholy as you reflect on what could have been if the loss had not happened.  I will sometimes reflect on the hole, the place where my angel Alli would have/could have/should have been. The feeling that the holiday would have been simple delight instead of faulty, shaky contentment.  

[Kids in subtle mourning-source]

I see it in my kids, though they probably don't know it. I see their depression and hope it's simply situational. Yet I know at the base of it somewhere is that seed of loss, that feeling that something is off because someone is missing. They'd cite other things, and those other things are probably bigger factors.  But many of those bigger factors likely started with the one factor of their world being shaken unexpectedly by the loss of their baby sister when they were tiny and that fear they both dealt with that they could be next.  

[The point-source]

We'll fulfill our traditions. We'll find joy and laughter.  We'll list the things for which we're grateful.  We'll keep putting little slips of paper into Alli's jar that speak of the deeds we do in her name to make this holiday season a little brighter for others and, thereby, for ourselves.  We'll open our gifts on Christmas morning, including the angel jar.  But it will all feel a little off, like it usually does.  I just have to remind myself of the reason for the season, that the hope that is easy to lose is in holding her and being a whole and healed family again because Jesus came to the world as a baby, grew up, and felt our sorrows and died that we may overcome death and pain.  This is the reason for the colors and the songs and the lights. And if I can remember that, maybe those lights won't seem so dim after all. 

Another Miscarriage?

[Baby shoes, source]

16 years ago, I had my first child, conceived on our honeymoon, even though we figured we'd wait a bit before we'd be ready to add a third party since we were both older when we got married. We wanted a little time together first. God had other plans, and my boy joined the party. 

[Girl booties-source]

14 years ago, I had my second child, conceived the very first weekend we even tried. I was giddy with delight the day I found out I would get my girl. It seemed our plan of having four beautiful babies in a row was right on track. Even though my husband was 38 when we had our first, and I was 28, we looked forward to joy with our armful of little ones. 

[Rose-Colored glasses fading-source]

12 years ago, we had our first miscarriage, and our glossy, rosy-eyed view of this baby-making process faltered. Devastation set it. Loss apparently COULD happen to us. Then, we tried for 11 months to have another baby. It was a struggle and a bit disappointing. But no worries. Everything would still be fine. 

[Miracle baby booties-source]

11 years ago, we welcomed our second daughter, precious Alamanda.  Her life was a miracle because we found out with her we were homozygous for Kell antibody, which kills through anemia almost every pregnancy it touches. All of that waiting and praying was worth it. She was tiny and honked like a gosling. But she was our little miracle, and we loved her. My little girl was beyond delighted to have her very own baby sister born just after her birthday. Our boy was mystified by our weird taste in pets because he didn't quite register babies as people. We were back on track. 

[Loss with a capital L-source]

Four months later, Alli was gone. I'd rearranged my life, our lives around her, and she rolled into a pillow that was nowhere near her, with unexpected and inexplicable actions she hadn't shown herself capable of before. She suffocated, and the doctors couldn't save her. And just like that, she was gone. My perfect princess number two went Home to her Father in Heaven, and we were left reeling. Not only could loss happen to us, but it was becoming a pattern. 

[Angel statues-source]

For the next several years, I dreamed of completing my perfect family. I yearned for that perfect rainbow baby, so I could once again count fingers and tiny toes. Instead, time and time again, no sooner did I get a positive pregnancy test than I'd also get a still, silent ultrasound or blood to show my dream of a rainbow had fallen into darkness again. Two or three years ago, we prayerfully decided we were done trying for a rainbow. We had 15 little angel statues representing 15 miscarriages on our angel shelf but only our first two children to hold.  

[Only babies allowed are cats-source]

I've come to terms that we won't hold any more babies until the Lord comes again. Once, my kids would have been delighted to pick out a name for a new little one. Now, they would vote me off the island if I even suggested the idea. They're teenagers with no interest in little ones unless they have four legs and fur or scales. 

[When the body is broken-source]

I missed a period recently, and when no symptoms came, I decided it must be the beginning of menopause. I actually viewed it with a kind of relief. I know symptoms pretty well by now. I've been pregnant 19+ times. After the second month, I even took a test, just to bring myself peace of mind. But the next day, I had what I'm pretty sure was yet another miscarriage. I'm not even sure how to feel about it. I don't feel the devastation I once did. Just a hollow echo of the melancholy I used to have every time. I'm more numb than anything. Too much loss is too much. 

[Through the glasses darkly-source]

I'm thankful I can feel empathy for those who bury a baby or have a miscarriage. But it's a hard thing when rose-colored glasses become sunglasses, where darkness is all you see. I am also thankful to mostly have peace with the whole situation. I remember the pain of fresh loss and can reach out to those who are new or at least newer to the empty arms club, also called parents of angels. I'm also thankful to know I will be able to hold my little ones again, thankful for the knowledge that families will be reunited again and that loss is not forever. In the meantime, the wound is still there. The pain is less acute, but I will always, at least in this lifetime, be a mother in mourning.   

One Troubling Day

 

[My brother]

Every year, my late brother's birthday is a mixed bag.  He passed away at the age of 37, the month before my baby died.  We all got the news he'd passed away on Mother's Day, which is just about the worst day for my mom to find out her son was dead.  My family with seven kids got pretty close growing up because we moved around a lot.  We only had each other most of that time. My best friend through all of that was my older brother, Brent.  He was my mentor and my creative center as we seven kids raised each other.  

[my penpal-source]

My dad was an emotionally abusive tyrant and my mom, his resentful servant.  He didn't want her spending any time with us, so she didn't, not much.  We invented our own creative world and spend all day every day in it, Brent, me, often Kevin, occasionally Lyn, and my little brother, Bryan.  I grew up as basically one of the boys. The two little girls were in a separate orbit. Even as the oldest brothers moved away, then I went away to college, and then on a mission for my church, Brent stayed my buddy, calling or writing regularly. 

[Grave-source]

A couple of years after I got married (on my brother's birthday 17 years ago Saturday), we went to visit my parents (where my brother was living in the basement) and found the computer riddled with his child porn. We had to make the hardest call I've ever had to make, which was to put my childhood best friend in prison for what would turn out to be the rest of his life. After two years, he died there of a sudden medical condition.  So September 4th, my late brother's birthday and my wedding anniversary, already make for an emotionally complicated day.  And, like I said, his death day came a month and a half before my baby passed away; thus, any reminders of my brother also lead back to Alli.  

[Bad luck for the black cat-source]

Saturday morning, before we went to a play and out to eat to celebrate our anniversary/our family's founders' day with the kids, I walked outside to grab some catnip from my yard for my girl's one-eyed kitten.  And there, I found a tiny black cat, a juvenile, I'd seen wandering around my yard and running from us every time we came near.  I'd even debated just the previous night starting to feed her because she'd adopted our house.  But feeding one cat brings a clowder (a group), and building a clowder here on the highway would be bad for the herd. But she seemed so lonely and hungry.  Yesterday morning, I saw her there, floppy and dying, having lost all control of her limbs.  

[Batman the kitten]

Last year, we fostered a kitten who showed the same symptoms. The vet could do nothing for little Batman because he had feline parvo. He seemed healthy one day and was gone by the next evening. Since then, every cat or kitten who has come into our house has gotten feline parvo shots.  We knew this little girl was on the final stages of parvo. She couldn't lift her head, couldn't even lap up the water I droppered into her mouth. But she did weakly massage the air like a nursing kitten when I pet her. It was a heartbreaker, especially on that of all days. 

[Woman waiting-source]

Within minutes of watching the kitty fade, knowing there was nothing I could do for her, my neighbor told me that her boyfriend, who she was so excited would be coming home, had disappeared.  She believes he would not intentionally disappear on her and also knows he has ties to a gang.  She had reason to assume the gang may have had something to do with that disappearance.  It felt like I'd stepped into an episode of one of my true crime shows.  Until that day, I had pictured her having brought him home, and they needed some peace and quiet together.  Instead, she was panicky and grieving the future that was just starting to form. 

[Woman in grief. Source]

It was hard to leave this neighbor like that, knowing what fresh loss feels like.  And she doesn't have the closure of knowing whether he disappeared himself, someone disappeared him, or if he may show up tomorrow.  I can't imagine being able to hold up my own weight under those circumstances.  But then, my family went off to have our fun time, with the awareness of this darkness undercutting the joy of the moment.  

[The baggage of grief; source]

It's hard to know how to process a day like that.  Birthdays and anniversaries of those we have lost are hard days. Add all the rest of this baggage, and I really didn't get to process it, just as I never got to process my brother's loss in the first place since another loss came right after.  Loss is just hard and not fun.  It's nice to have the empathy for one who has lost. It's just hard understanding it first hand.  

Unexpected Reactions

[Triggers of Christmas-source]

There are certain things someone who hasn't lost a baby would see as mundane.  Yet, those things may trigger someone who does know that kind of catastrophic loss. I've responded to little things like blankets, empty swings, Christmas songs about babies, kindergarten graduations, pregnant women, and so many more little things I never would have expected. It's hard if not impossible to predict those triggers for an outsider, yet they can even take the grieving one by surprise.  

[ultrasounds-source]

For instance, one may see ultrasounds of babies as perfectly normal, not meriting a thought because they are so common.  Yet, to someone like me who has lost 17 babies in a row (a miscarriage, a child death, then 15 miscarriages with no rainbow to be seen), it's often a trigger.  I'd just be scrolling FaceBook, and there was a post filled with excitement and anticipation.  Most could say, "Congratulations" without a second thought. I'd have to wipe a tear and scroll past quickly.  Recently, I went in for a regular checkup. I was asked if a novice at ultrasounds could use me as a test run for her skills.  There was a time I may have found an empty space inside myself triggering.  Now, a fetus and impending loss would trigger me more. 

[doll-source]

Dolls can be very triggering, but possibly not for reasons you may expect.  We have a doll that looked so very much like the baby who passed away.  I've often felt twinges looking at it.  But the doll in the Halloween store that looked like my baby post-autopsy, created for ghoulish entertainment, made me swear off Halloween stores for a long time.  It's only recently that I can periodically step in since I haven't seen one since.  Recently, I saw an ad for a doll made to look like the image of a lost baby or a baby long since grown.  To me, it looked like a dead baby.  Once again, I reacted far more violently than I would have expected.  

[Minefield-source]

These reactions have gotten increasingly rare over time, but the world still feels like a minefield after a war.  You never know when you may step on a bomb, and you pray it doesn't happen at the worst times.  I am thankful to know I will hold my babies again, that families are forever.  But that doesn't stop those mines from creeping \up on me, not entirely.  I wonder if their disappearance will be a sign that I've finally healed.  

Another Angelversary Came and Went

[The tiny coffin I will never forget]

On June 29, as it does every year, the Angelversary came.  My brother had just had a close brush with death when a car hit him while he was on vacation.  He's recovering now and will probably go back to full functionality at some point, which is a miracle.  Mortality was fresh on my mind as I entered the Dreaded Date.  I'd been keeping so busy that I was mostly able to ignore it until it came upon us.  I had one brief crying bout the night before when Mom called and in the morning when I was posting my dread and her pictures on FaceBook.  Mostly, I had held up well.  But I knew the real tears were yet to come. They had to be.  It's part of mourning and loss.  

[Temple-Source]

After that, we were finally able to go back to the temple on Alli's day.  It's either been on a weekend or during COVID for the last free-flow years.  It was good to be able to do that for her, and I thought of her as we did it.  

[4-Wheeler]

Then, after that, it was all about keeping our minds off the pain, as we do every year.  We've been to Lava Hotsprings, Craters of the Moon, Bear Lake, Yellowstone National Park, and several other places on that day, doing anything but stay home and stew.  This time, we went up the canyon near our house and rented a four-wheeler for almost four hours, taking a couple of cousins with us.  Most of it was an adventure as we shot up dirt roads, inhaling dust, as we saw sights like a plane crash zone and an obscure lake we'd never seen before since they are so far off the beaten path.  It was boring and fun by turns.  I think my favorite part, other than spending time with family, was smelling the wildflowers, fields and fields of them with a medley of pungent aromas.  

 

[Her peaceful face not long before she left us, holding a doll that looks like her.]

It wasn't until we got home, and I pulled out Alli's baby book that the tears flowed freely.  They hit like a wall, all the way through her book with her happy face and bright eyes.  The worst part was when I got to her cold, waxen face and that tiny coffin.  Just twenty or so pages in.  Too short a time.  I lost it and cried harder than I have in a long, long time.  But they were good tears, healing tears.  Even with the ending, it will still go down in memory as one of the better angelversary days because we spent it together, I didn't have to mourn another death, and starting the day with the temple visit reminds us we will hold her again and be together forever.  

Close to another Death

[close call-source]

Even as my baby's angelversary looms in a very few days, my dear brother came close to death.  He darted through a dark, apparently clear road in Hollywood to find a restroom and was slammed into by a car.  The officials told him he was lucky.  Almost always, any car-on-pedestrian accident like that in that area results in death.  His step-kids watched the accident and will probably need therapy.  His natural kids and the rest of us could only stand by helplessly as we heard second- and third-hand.  Since his kids had just lost their mom a couple of years ago, I can only imagine how their hearts clenched within them when they heard their dad had been hit by a car and that he was in the hospital with a head and leg injury. Especially the head part.  Too many head injuries don't end well.  

[The Bionic Man in pieces-Source]

After the rest of us heard via FaceBook, Leo's natural children all chatted with him for four hours on a conference call.  I know it soothed their immediate fears of loss to hear him talking and joking with them through the night.  We even heard back from him after the surgery on his leg and his torso.  He's now the bionic man, as his kids joked.  But I'm sure it haunts us all to think how close we came to another tragedy. 

[Cherish the love-source]

Which all brings me back to Tuesday, that upcoming wall of pain.  I'd forgotten that my buddy's husband died just two days before Alli's angelversary (leaving behind her and their two kids), but she reminded me again today with her FaceBook posts celebrating his life.  It's just a rough time for us and for her. But all of these factors, my brother's brush with mortality, my friend's loss, and my own, remind me to cherish the times we have with friends and family.  To be grateful for the loved ones I've been given. To not take for granted a single moment. Also, that late June is just not a safe time to go anywhere or do anything. Kidding about that last part.  But I am truly grateful for the time I have with those I can hold today. 

The Angelversary Approaches

[Count down to death date-source]

We're already setting up plans to do something for my angel's deathdate.  We never like to be home for it.  It tends to pass slightly less painfully when we're anywhere but home.  Last year, we went to Yellowstone.  In years past, we've gone to Craters of the Moon, Lava Hot Springs (with a friend who has since passed away), and just about anywhere else we could think of.  Last year, I was afraid we'd have to skip travel due to the pandemic, and it was depressing.  This year, it's just depressing that the date is coming at all. 

[source]

I used to like June.  It was the beginning of freedom for the kids for summer.  I'd have more time than the rest of the year when I was working all day, every day.  It wasn't yet the hottest time of the year, still technically spring for most of it.  But now, it feels like the whole month has a pall over it, like every day of it marches us closer to the worst day of the year.  

[There should be more color here-source]

This year, we're going up the canyon to do some six-wheeling, zip-lining, and go-kart driving.  It all sounds like fun.  Or would, if it didn't come with that date.  Maybe if we have enough fun, it won't hurt so much.  But if the day passes easily and without a lot of pain, I feel guilty, like I'm not missing her enough.  That seems to be a common problem for people in mourning, that feeling good in the face of days like this doesn't come without a price tag.  Can't we just skip June 29th?  

Happy Mother's Day?

[source]

Mother's Day is one of those holidays that is such a mixed bag for so many people.  It's a time to remember mothers but also a time for mothers to remember children.  For women with darling children all around, or for women who have older children living nearby, it's a time to pull children close as they embrace her and give her gifts from the heart.  For those whose children and/or grandchildren live far away, it's a hard day. For single or married women who never had kids or who have never had the chance to hold any of their kids who came and went, it's often a time to be keenly aware of what and whom they don't have.  For women who have emotionally lost children in whatever way, it's a time of pain and reminders.  For those who have lost a wife and/or mother, it's a day of sadness. For those whose babies have fur, it can be a time of joy and/or sadness, depending on which side of the rainbow bridge they're on.  For women like me who have angel children, it will never be the same.  As with Christmas, we'd like to think of it as a day for simple joy, but that joy can be complicated or absent. 

[source]

But it's also a day to remember and embrace the bond we do have with relatives and friends and animal companions.  It's easy to get so focused on whatever you're doing, whatever feels critical at the time. But times like these, and, ideally, every day, it's a thing of power to stop whatever we're doing and truly just live in the moment.  It's a time to cherish and hold your human children or fur babies close, to not push them away because they don't fit in our schedules.  

[source]

Even just a few years ago, I found myself pushing away from human and animal children alike, finding their clinginess frustrating.  I was busy.  Why couldn't they understand?  I had a dog of my own for the first time and found him annoyingly needy because I'd always been a cat person.  But then, I had a moment of realization.  I was the one who didn't understand.  They just wanted me to love them.  That's all they wanted.  So I opened my heart and fully embraced their arms or paws reaching out.  I found all my love was returned in spades.  It was so worth it.  It somehow hurt so much more to lose a baby to whom I'd given my whole heart. But it was worth it because of those four months of pure joy.  

[source]

I hope that whatever your status as a mother, as a parent, as a child, you can find joy on this day of reminders and, better yet, that you can give joy to those you love most, whether they be here or beyond the veil.  That is, after all, what this day is about.  Happy Mother's day.  

Easter for Me

[Easter of my childhood-source]

What does Easter mean to you? I meant to get this out on Easter, but it's been a busy week.  I grew up loving Easter mostly because of candy, the Easter Bunny, oh, and as a footnote, a celebration of Jesus.  It was just a fun day, and it showed we were close to summer, closer to freedom.  I imagine I wasn't alone in seeing it that way.  It always seemed like a fun, safe, holiday, not nearly as interesting as Christmas, but still passable.  Christmas, meanwhile, was a good day to remember Jesus, yes, but it was also the most fun time for food, family, and giving.  They were important to me, but I didn't have a clear vision of their purpose. 

[Color gone-source]

Just after I lost my baby, the days transformed.  Christmas, with its songs about babies and giving birth, became painful.  Easter became another day to remember when  I'd held my baby.  I watched the joy in everyone else and wondered where mine was.  They both became days when she should have been there, when a third child should have been reaching for the baskets and candy and eggs to dye.  They were days with big holes in the middle, black holes that sucked the life and color out of days around them.   

[The source of love and joy: source]

Since then, I have been making a study of what brings joy and peace.  And what I've learned is it all comes back to the healing hand of Jesus in my life and the lives of others, whether they're fully aware of it or not.  He is the source of all true peace, all true joy.  Joy is a shared happiness.  Our joy grows when we serve and love together.  Now, I see Christmas and Easter as two ends of the same glorious holiday.  They celebrate how He came into this world as a tiny, helpless little one, willing to grow up like the rest of us and willing to suffer our suffering, guilt, and agony, willing to die in pain, and then overcome death, pain, and sin for us, for each of you, for me, for you.  In these two holidays, we celebrate that our love and our life doesn't end here, that we can have joy in spite of our pain, and that we always have hope in the future.  Now, these days are truly days of shared joy, even when they're painful.  Because of these days, I will be with my angel Alli again and forever. Now that I understand them, these holidays mean so much more. 

Another Birthday Come and Gone

[A candle for her birthday-source]

I'm not sure why my angel Alli's birthday passed so gracefully, almost (but not quite) painlessly this time.  I always brace myself for a tsunami of pain that these dates--her birth and angelversary--always bring with them.  I expect the worst.  But this time, I was so busy leading up to and through her birthday, that it mostly just played in the back of my mind.  

[Hairy Baby]

Part of it may also be that I do have babies.  I never got my rainbow baby, the baby after loss.  I only had miscarriage after miscarriage to the point that I lost count.  I think we had somewhere around 15 before I gave up trying.  But I have filled the hole she left behind with fur babies, small, loving, friends that are much easier to acquire than a human baby.  I adore my cats.  I love my older dogs.  But when I think baby, I think of my Pom Bean, who I raised from birth.  He's my faithful, adoring baby who keeps me the busiest.  This really hit home when he was gone for a day to get his baby teeth pulled, and the house got so quiet.  

[Busy-source]

Obviously, a dog or cat cannot truly fill Alli's place.  A human baby couldn't do that, either.  But between working full time plus a side job and helping with my teenaged kids' needs (since they're home much of the time on Zoom) and writing and caring for my pets, I scarcely have the time to think about my loss and pain.  

[Angel Food Cake for the broken heart-source]

The significance of the date really hit home twice: once when I was writing her FaceBook birthday tribute and once when we were throwing Alli's brief angelversary party by eating angel food cake and going through her baby book.  I'm glad we have these traditions, or I'd wonder if something was wrong with me, that I'd forgotten her or something.  I don't know how I could.  It does make me wonder if there's a third reason that the day wasn't so hard: have I healed?  Is that even possible?  I'd like to think I have.  But there are moments that tell me I'm not quite there yet.  I guess I'll know more when her angelversary comes.