Stillborn and Still Breathing: Letters to Nora

September 23rd, 2013

Dear Sweet Nora,

It has been a few weeks since I have written to you or over a week since I have written on my blog. It’s not you honey. I really want to write, but my energy is low and I feel stretched thin with life right now. We have spent the weekends, this month and last, celebrating you in some way that I haven’t had time to write about yet, but so want to share with others. And then with my new teaching gig and new responsibilities at work it’s been hard to keep up with the blog, which makes me sad. I have still been doing my grief project! I just haven’t been writing about it. I hope to share more about it by the end of the month. I want to share with everyone the great ways we celebrated you this month and the nice things I have done for others in your name! You are touching lives still, Nora, even though your feet don’t touch this earth, your spirit still does.

I don’t know, maybe my lack of writing also has to do with the fact that my grief has morphed, changed shape, and settled in to my soul in a new way, now that it has been 9 months since you died. It’s impossible even to think that your dad and I would have a 9 month old in our house. Maybe it’s not impossible; it just hurts too much to think of what that might have been like, having a beautiful 9 month old little girl in our lives. Nora, I think there are parts of grief that I am still not brave enough to uncover. I’m not sure if I ever will be and a part of me is starting to realize that might be okay.

But my grief is a silent passenger on my journey through life. It’s like a small black shadow that sits on my shoulder. Some days it’s bigger than others. Some days you can hardly see it. But it’s always there, never to go away, always with me. I guess that’s okay. Because the grief I carry for you is my love that I will always hold in my heart for you. I just wish it didn’t hurt so much! I wish it would be a happier feeling of love.

I have to let you know though that it’s not always depressing in our lives right now. Your dad and I are actually doing OKAY! We spend time together, love being in each others company, and even go out and have a good time. We LAUGH more then we used to. We smile more, cry less, and even hope more for the future while honoring the past. I know it might be silly, but here is a picture to prove to you that dad and I are okay. We are out at Oktoberfest. We danced to polka music, drank beer, and had a happy moment again. It’s not much, but it’s something right? It’s the little moments of love that count, and that’s what makes the difference between a life well lived and a life waiting to be lived. I hope your dad and I still fall into the first category.