I have been a bereaved mother for 2 years, 3 months, and 6 days. My sweet baby, my first, and only born son, has been in Heaven for 829 days. These days have been filled with a suffering and a longing I never knew existed, tears I never knew could fall so steady and streaming, and an overwhelming abundance of love and support from those who both knew and loved him, as well as those who never had the pleasure.
My heart has been broken since that day in March, 2 years, 3 months, and 6 days ago. It has taken a conscious effort – 829 times – to force myself out of bed in the morning. I have told myself on 829 consecutive days, “You can do this today. You are strong. You will make him proud.”
If I did not believe, if I did not know, that my sweet angel has been watching, guiding, helping me through this time without him, I would not have survived his loss. He is the reason I continue to tell myself I am strong, I can continue, I will survive.
After two years, life has changed so much, I often do not even recognize the family we are today. We are busy, we are successful, we are blessed. We are happy.
But that happiness, as wonderful as it is, makes me so sad. Because he is not here to enjoy any of it. I know he sees it. I know it’s because of him. But tomorrow, on day 830, I will have to coach myself once again as I try to rise, because all I will want to do is stay stuck in my dreams, where I know I can find him once again.
I have been a bereaved mother for 2 years, 3 months, and 6 days. As time continues to pass, I hope that I find a way to grieve gracefully, and impart some wisdom on others who suffer a similar fate. But for now, I am just going to prepare my 830th pep talk and attempt to wake tomorrow with purpose, and joy.