Emotions are draining.
So tiring.
The 13th was exhausting.
But.
In the middle of the day. I was sitting in the chair that I rocked all four of my babies with.
I had a sense of peace roll over me. A lift of my burden. For a few seconds.
In the year, this has only happened twice. Each time for only seconds.
I know it was the wave of good thoughts, of prayers, of love being sent our way.
Thank you.
Love you.
This past weekend we got to spend time with Lance’s family to celebrate his dad’s 80th birthday.
Almost all his siblings were there. We played games, did work around the house, ate great food, and just enjoyed being together.
My mind kept reflecting back to when we were there two years ago to wish Ron a happy birthday. 
I have no doubt Rory’s there wishing you a happy birthday too.
Love you, Ron!
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.
One of my goals is to continue to have good times in our sorrow. I want the boys to feel like they’ve lived. I don’t want Lance and I to just get by for the rest of our lives.
I have mixed feelings with joy. But not in the way many think I do.
I don’t have guilt.
I have sadness.
Happiness isn’t what it once was.
It’s scarce.
It’s fleeting.
Lance and I are on our way back from a Southern Caribbean cruise.
We love to travel! It fills our buckets.
We had many new and amazing experiences.
We zip lined for the first time.
We snorkeled with turtles.
We drove through rainforests.
But this time also felt different.
I felt the separation from the boys more acutely. I knew they were having tons of fun with my parents. But anxiety tugged at me more than it has in the past.
And there were a couple of times I’ve imagined Rory being there when I got home.
We took a similar trip last year.
She was there when we got back.
I know she’s not going to be. But it was a nice thought for a moment.
Anxiety with fun.
Grief with joy.
I think the rest of my life will be emotional contradictions.
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.
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 