One year ago, today, was the last day before. Before I endured the trauma of losing my daughter. Before I became a bereaved mom and my husband and I entered the “club nobody wants to be a part of”. Before I had to make previously unthinkable decisions. Before I knew what true, deep, soul-crushing grief felt like. Before I had ever known what it felt like to scream from the weight of so much emotional pain. Before I had ever felt a numbness that kept me from feeling anything. 

Before. I was a different person. I am forever changed and now it’s hard to imagine the person I was before.

I’ve been trying to find all the joy I can throughout the past month. The month that Maddie was here. That month was so bright last year, and full of sunshine. 

The days that followed after her death were so dark. I don’t want to go back.

Many have asked if I’m doing OK, leading up to this “anniversary” tomorrow. I think all things considered, I am OK. We celebrated Maddie’s birthday on March 28, as we always will. That day, while sad, brought me peace. It makes me feel like we are honoring her memory and I feel connected. I know some find connection in their child’s “angelversary”, but I’m not there. I don’t know if I ever will be. To me, it’s just a reminder that she got her wings before I did. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Mamas aren’t supposed to outlive their babies. 

I’ve tried to stay busy. I’ve checked off house projects, worked, homeschooled, have gone to my prenatal visits, put together the nursery for our sweet boy who will be here in just over a month, read books, watched mindless television, watched meaningful television, tried to cross stitch – the list goes on. I’ve sat in my grief. I’ve cried anticipatory tears, dreading these next 24 hours. I’ve prayed. I’ve talked through the hard days and attended therapy. I’ve done my part, and I’ve done the best I can. 

I’ve tried to avoid being sad tonight, because I don’t want to go back to those dark days. I think I’m scared. I’m scared that I won’t be able to sleep and that I’ll have to lie awake all night and relive the worst night of my life. I’m scared that I’ll cry all night and that I won’t stop crying. At the same time, the other side of me is OK with that, because it’s just my love for my baby girl, with nowhere to go but through tears. 

I don’t want tomorrow to mean that every day that follows will be like it was a year ago. However, I think I just need to be – however I am, whatever that looks like. I think this night and day will always be painful in some way. It will always hurt, and it will always remind me of the depth of the loss that we endured. It will always feel like salt on the wound of the hole in my heart. However, I do know that it won’t always be so raw. It isn’t as raw as it was a year ago, and it won’t be so shocking. I’ll be able to anticipate it a little better, and feel it, and it will become more dull as time goes. But it will never go away, as my love for her never will.

We will get through tonight. We will get through the days that follow. We bought flowers and plants for tomorrow and we will plant new life and be together, knowing that – as Greyson says – Maddie is everywhere and in all of us. 

My heart hurts, and I suppose it always will. Time doesn’t heal wounds. It just changes them.

I miss you, Maddie.