Capture Your Grief - Day 9. Family

 What does your family look like today? Who is your family to you? What do they mean to you? 

... 

My family. I treasure these people so dearly. 

My ever loving, sensitive husband. I was terrified when I saw him in the depths of his grief, but I adore that he wears his heart on his sleeve and isn't afraid to feel his sadness. He supports me fully, especially on those days where I just can't keep it together, which are thankfully fewer and farther between. He works so hard to support our family so I can stay home with our children. He loves us all fiercely, worries about being a good daddy, makes our kids laugh like I never could, and always, always takes the very best care of me. 

My tender hearted seven year old, Gabriela. This girl is amazing. She has shown herself to be so brave, to handle with such beauty grief that no child should have to bear. I notice her doodling her sister's name here and there, writing stories and songs about Simone. She honors her sister's memory always, sure to remind others that she has a baby sister, and not just the one growing in my belly. And on the days when it's just so hard, she gives herself permission to voice it, to let out her sadness and anger, to ask for help in staying afloat when a new wave of grief hits. I am so very proud of my big girl and how she's managed through horrors I desperately wish she could have gone her whole life without ever experiencing. 

My Easton will proudly inform anyone he is three-and-three-quarters and is "into" Star Wars. My little guy was only two when his sister was born and he never met or saw Simone. I thought he was too young to understand. But I was wrong. Easton took on the role of official comforter and master hug giver after Simone's death. This little toddler would literally throw aside his toys, stop whatever he was doing to give the biggest, most heartfelt snuggles and hugs when he saw us breaking down, which was often. He asked why the tears came down, and after a while would answer his own question, because our baby died. He and his big sister have kept Simone close to their hearts often asking what she would be doing if she were alive. It makes Lane and me consider little things like how she might be doing baby signs or kicking her legs in excitement, or grabbing at our dinner plates and just picturing Simone doing normal baby things. 

And now, there is another baby girl, only a few short weeks until we meet her. She has given me hope again. This little life that wiggles and squirms inside of me. Maybe she can sense how much love we already carry in our hearts for her, how terribly anxious I am to hold her in my arms, to hear her strong cry, and watch her little chest rise and fall with every breath she takes on her own. 

I truly cannot fathom how I would have been able to navigate through these last nearly eighteen months without these wonderful, loving people by my side. It feels strange to say, but despite living through my daughter's death, I feel so very fortunate.