Mourners talk about the waves of grief. I’ve experienced it. It’s unpredictable. It’s rough. But when it’s calm, it’s bliss.

I’m on the top of the wave now, ready to roll softly and safely straight into shore. I got a visit from my baby yesterday. I couldn’t feel better.

So, I’m riding it. I’m trying to be productive, and efficient, and healthy through this wave. I don’t know shit about surfing, but whatever I’m doing has to be even more freeing, and definitely cooler.

When my angel visits, he shows himself in many ways. #IYKYK right? Grieving parents—you get it.

We’re not crazy. We’re not psychic. We’re not atypical at all.

But we are connected, and communicate with our babies in Heaven. Maybe it’s a bird or butterfly. Maybe a rainbow or full moon. Maybe a whisper, a slight touch, or a vivid, lucid dream.

That connection, for every mother and father missing their babies, and that beautiful baby protecting them from Heaven. They’ll always have each other.

As I slept, he came to me in all his gorgeous perfection—baby squish, sweet breath, whispy hair. I held him. For just a minute. But it was enough.

He always finds a way. We always have each other.

In a day or two, I will go back to a little anxious, a little lonely, and a little out of sorts. When the wave crashes and I start to get pulled into the undertow. When I forget that he’s not really gone.

But right now I know, he’s right here beside me.