Tag: grief

The Girl that Loved Dogs

stephaniemoorewrites

For Rory’s birthday service project last February, we took needed items to the Humane Society.

We brought in a couple boxes.

The manager of contributions, Lisa, gave us a wagon.

We rolled in a huge stack.

Then had to go back for more. And more.

Lisa was so appreciative.

She hugged us.

Cried with us.

Celebrated our girl with us.

Right before we left she said she wanted to add Rory’s name to their memorial garden.

Lance and I came up with the wording.

Her brick was placed yesterday.

To the girl that loved dogs.

That loves dogs.

Thank you for continuing to help us remember and celebrate her!

We miss her.

Mental Side Effects: The Impossible is Always Possible

stephaniemoorewrites

Rory’s death is statistically not great.

Her age.

How she died.

All of it.

It makes everyday feel like anything can happen.

Since her death, I panic a lot. Especially about my family.

When the boys sleep in longer than they usually do, I creep toward their door.

With every step I’m praying.

Please let him be alive.

Please let him be alive.

Please let him be alive.

I can’t breathe again until I see their chests going up and down.

Today, Chiler went outside and was lying on the trampoline.

In my head I kept trying to convince myself.

He’s fine.

He’s just enjoying the outside.

I couldn’t stand it.

I had to go outside and make sure he was okay.

Praying the whole way.

Time Will Tell

stephaniemoorewrites

“All will be well.

You can ask me how,

But only time will tell.”

–Gabe Dixon

A couple of months after Rory passed, I cried to Lance that we needed to have another baby.

Not that any child could replace Rory. She’s irreplaceable. One of a kind.

But I couldn’t see happiness in the future.

I wasn’t ready to stop being a mom to a young child. I wasn’t ready to not have a baby anymore.

My baby is gone. She’s gone.

And babies are hope. I mean, they’re a lot of work! But they encompass love, innocence, joy, and progression. Hope.

I’m not announcing anything here. There’s no baby in my belly.

As Lance and I talked about it, prayed about it, and talked to the boys, it felt okay.

It felt like having a baby is a righteous desire for us.

But it also felt like it wasn’t the only way we could go. There are other things that Lance and I could do in our future. That it wasn’t going to be as bleak as it felt.

I got the feeling that we’d be able to love and care for people. That my mothering wasn’t going to end as the boys left the house.

I have no idea what our future holds. It’s not something I allow myself to think about often. I still struggle to see joy in my future.

But somehow.

All will be well.

Only time will tell.

Memory! When the Boys Are Away

stephaniemoorewrites

In May Lance and the boys would go on a camp out with our church.

Rory and I didn’t waste time.

We got McDonalds.

We took it home and feasted.

Then we got in our pajamas.

Manicured and pedicured it up.

Played a game or two, usually Candyland.

Then laid back and enjoyed a movie. Her go to was always Tangled.

My heart.

In pictures.

I miss those nights.

The Hyphenated Life

stephaniemoorewrites

Living with grief is a hyphenated life. There are very few times that I feel just one emotion anymore.

When I’m experiencing a moment of joy, I’m also experiencing sadness because someone is missing. Rory should be here, experiencing this with me.

When we were in Hawai’i, we were standing by a cliff’s edge. The sun was shining down on us, warming our skin. The wind blowing through our hair, knocking hats off.

The moment was beautiful.

One of my boys came over and wrapped me in a hug. “Rory never got to go here. She never felt the wind and the sun like this.”

She didn’t. She doesn’t.

A broken-hearted thought, in the middle of remarkable experience.

A hyphenated life.