It has been almost a year and a half since I became a mother, and not just any mother, a bereaved mother. Seems like it has been forever. I can vaguely remember the naive, innocent "old me." I don't really miss her, but I do miss the easiness that she had in believing in good luck and sad things always happening to "other people."
Now I'm hopeful, but realistic. Grief, I hope, made me stronger, more compassionate, acutely aware of so much more happening around me: It opened up a whole new world to me. For that, I am grateful.
My relationship with grief keeps changing. As I got used to the pain and horror of Amelia's arrival in and out of this wold, I felt a gentle push of change. It made me slightly fearful, yet I look forward to it.
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