In the last two months I’ve lost almost 15 pounds, but I feel heavier than I have in many years. The weight of responsibility in a world where I am now in control of my body, my emotions, my feelings, my little family, is absolutely, terrifyingly suffocating.

The world that consumed me just months ago was one where my grief, my loss, my living day to day without my baby, was excuse enough for anything. A missed phone call, a late arrival, a day off work, a forgotten appointment. I had a ‘free pass’ because I was in the throes of grief. My pain, my mere existence without my baby, was reason enough to excuse my failures.

But today is different. I have accepted a new reality. I have taken charge of my family, my career, my finances, my health, and I am making it work despite my pain, in conjunction with my grief, with the presence if my angel watching over and guiding me.

And I am proud of that. I was meant to be this person. A person who does not accept defeat. Someone who makes the best of a rough situation, and a mama who, every day, aims to make her angel proud.

So now, on days like these, when the heaviness of all this pressure, all the responsibility, all the life, feels like it’s just too much, I want to just crumble. I want to scream to the heavens and say, “Come back, baby! Whatever this life is, it’s nothing without you!”

But I don’t mean that. I am proud of who I am, what I’ve done, how I’ve evolved, and where I know I can eventually be. But, lord, would it be so much nicer to be celebrating all of this if he were here with us. If I were making a stop at kindergarten before I stopped at preschool. If my calendar were filled with two sets of curriculum nights, and two PTA invitations, and even more insanity and craziness than fills the calendar now.

I love the life we are creating and continue to grow. But it’s always just missing something. Something, even in the fullness, is always a little empty.