I had a dream last night. Something that doesn’t happen often.
Rory was there. I recognized her but she felt a little older.
We pressed our foreheads together, touching our nose.
Beauty. Joy.
Then we pulled away. She ran her index finger down my nose and smiled.
She said, “Just like you used to.”
I stayed in that moment with her face glowing at mine.
Perfection.
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 believed that all animals, even inanimate ones, needed to be covered up.
I loved walking into a room and to see this.
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.
I’ve heard this concept explained in a few different ways but my favorite is the visual of the pendulum.
On one side there’s extreme joy.
On the other extreme grief.
Then in between are various levels of grief and joy.
When one experiences great joy with a person, when that person is gone, great grief is felt.
I experienced extreme joy with Rory. Which then leaves me with extreme grief.
Would I be willing to give up the joy I had with her to now lessen the pain I’m in?
Would I give up the daily kisses and hugs that made me feel special?
Would I give up the hilarity of watching her try out new dance moves?
Would I give up the comfort of her morning cuddles?
Would I give up the extreme pride I felt when I watched her conquer her anxiety?
Would I give up the funny faces she would make with me at church?
Would I give up making her my buddy for those years? Taking her everywhere?
Each of those make the pendulum tip a little higher.
That girl.
She brought extreme joy to our lives. Her absence has left extreme grief.
But I’ll take the grief.
I’ll live with it for the rest of my life. Because it meant that she was part of it.
Part of me.
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 