Tag: crying

Bracing For Impact

stephaniemoorewrites

I feel like I’m in a car.

The rain is turning to snow. My limbs are cold, a bit numb.

I don’t know the destination, but I have my family in there with me.

As I go to make a turn, my tires slide. I turn into the slide. And I spin. And spin.

Then I see it. Five feet ahead, there’s a wall.

I take one last glance around at each face then I grip the steering wheel.

Bracing for impact.

That’s where I’m at right now.

Bracing for impact.

I’m staring down the year mark. One year without my baby girl.

One year without her hugs.

One year without her laughs.

One year without her cuddles.

One year of holidays without her.

One more first holiday without her left. Halloween.

The tears are coming quicker.

My heart pounds harder, faster.

The breakdowns are increasing.

I’m in a tailspin.

Holding on.

And holding on.

Trying to prepare for what’s coming.

The Rory from My Dream

stephaniemoorewrites

Yesterday I posted a drawing made for our family on Facebook.

It was commissioned by my parent’s friends from a congregation they previously attended.

My dad sent me a picture of it in a text.

Tears sprang to my eyes.

That was the Rory from my dream the night before.

In the drawing she looks slightly older than when she was my Rory. The chin line, the posture, her fingers a little longer, she looks just a little more grown up.

This is exactly how she looked in my dream.

I miss her.

I love her.

God is good.

Here’s the website of the artist that was commissioned:

http://www.jeankeatonart.com

Physical Armor

stephaniemoorewrites

Most of the time it comes out of nowhere. An unexpected email. Finding a Rory treasure I haven’t seen since her passing. A reminder.

I’m so grateful for these things. I hope I have unexpected Rory things happen for the rest of my life.

But it also provides increased emotion. Anxiety. Tears.

My first instinct is to close off. My hand goes to my shoulder, shielding my body. Soon, I started reaching for her. Things that remind me her.

I wear jewelry everyday that keeps Rory close to me.

A ring with her fingerprint on it.

Or a bracelet and ring that has Rory and my birthstones, given to me by my sister-in-laws.

Necklaces, given to me by dear friends, some with Rory’s picture in them.

And sometimes, I just need a comfy pair of purple shoes.

They’re touchstones.

Something I can physically grasp.

When I need her to be with me.

When I need to feel not so alone.

My Relationship with Grief Today

stephaniemoorewrites

Grief is isolating.

We mourn with others.

We grieve alone.

The pain is the missing.

Her voice.

Her sweet smile.

Her laugh. Even the fake ones.

Her snuggles.

Her winks.

It’s in the quiet moments.

Those soul crushing quiet moments.

Banging on the steering wheel.

Pounding the bed.

Dropping to your knees, pain.

Curling up in the closet, crying.

Grappling with the could of’s and the should of’s.

That will never be.

Trying to find contentment.

Trying to be as whole as possible.

Never quite successful.

But I want to be.

I have hope.

Not always on the surface.

Not always accessible.

But there.

I have hope that I will see her again.

Because of Him.

Memory- No Crying

stephaniemoorewrites

Rory was very sympathetic. Maybe even empathetic.

She did not like for others to be sad.

She played with anyone and everyone on the playground.

When people were sad, she freely gave hugs.

When I would cry she would hold my face in her hands and wipe my tears. Then ask me if I was okay.

I guarantee I wasn’t only one that received that blessing.

She would’ve hated the last 9 1/2 months as I’ve cried everyday.

She would not have liked to see me this way.

I’m trying.

I’m doing.

I’m loving.

Like you did, sweet baby girl.