Backpacks.

The day Amelia died a weight was put onto my shoulders that I can never take off. It feels like a large, heavy backpack with straps that reach around my whole body, preventing me from taking a deep breath.

When I first got it on March 24, 2011, it was so much bigger than me. For a long time I could not get up, let alone walk with it. It took months before I could lift it off the ground, and almost a year before I could walk with it without falling. In that time it didn't get any smaller, instead I got bigger, stronger.

This awful backpack is not just overwhelmingly large, it is also excruciatingly painful. It is covered in spikes, large and small, for all the things I will ever miss with my daughter. They dig into my body at all times, taking turns in what hurts where. Sometimes it's in my heart, sometimes in my arms. It never stops hurting, but I'm learning to live with the pain, pretending that I'm ok with it.

As life goes on, other stuff gets added to the pack. For example, my sweet Mr. Wiggles came with his own backpack, light and soft, it is full of love and joy. Some days it helps me carry my other one. Other days it makes it harder, as I learn to carry the pain while feeling the joy. It's jarring how out of balance my two backpacks are, so painfully different, yet the same, because they are both mine and I love them no matter what...

Grief. Almost 2 years in.

Grief is a continuation of love. 

You can't grieve a person you didn't love, you can't not grieve a person you loved. 

To deny grief is to deny the existence of love. 

Grief is normal, after all, they do say that love hurts.

Five Valentines Days

My dear sweet girl. As you must know, you papa and I have been together for five years this Valentines day.

Today, as we spent the day with your papa and little brother, I missed you so much I can't find words to describe my heartache for you.

I look at the crib your grandma bought you and you are not there. I took down one of the butterflies I had on your wall and you are not there. Everywhere I look are little girls and their parents. But you are not.

I love your brother and I can't imagine my life without him. Still, I can't quite believe I have to live my life without you. Would he be here had you lived? I think he would have.

You should be sleeping in your crib while your little brother sleeps in his... And your papa and I should have both of you in our arms tonight.

We are one and the same.

I found a sister in pain in the most unlikely person.

While we were waiting to get a blood test done for Mr. Wiggles at a local hospital (our last jaundice test), a woman and a man came into the empty waiting room. They looked rough. Definitely drugs. Definitely street life. I stood back a little, unsure of what to expect.

With a cheerful smile the woman said: Congratulations!

She meant it, I realised, with the most sincere of hearts. I thanked her for that and looked her in the eyes. There was something there...

My baby is in foster care, they took him away when he was three months old, she said while reaching into her plastic bag to pull out a picture of a beautiful little boy, blond with chubby cheeks. The picture was attached to the plastic bag with clear tape, to save it from the rain and from being lost...

The next gesture she made was like looking in the mirror: she pulled her sleeve to reveal her baby's footprint tattooed onto her forearm. I took a step closer, pulled my sleeve up and put Amelia's footprint on my forearm right next to hers.

In that moment we were one and the same: two moms who lost their babies and who miss them deeply no matter what.