One Month

Thursday, June 17th

The 17th will forever be my least favorite day of the month. It will always signify a measurable passing of time... a month, a year, a decade since Avery left us.

The sun continues to rise each day, and we continue to move forward. Shon and I have both been back at work for a few weeks now. The girls are engaged in all of their summer activities - tennis, piano, art, swimming, summer reading, and time with friends. We have vacations planned and are making plans for the school year and fall activities. Most days are bearable at best. But despite the fun, smiles, and moments of joy we are able to have, everyday and every moment just seems a little off.

Most often for me, Avery's absence is felt the deepest in the little things. It is:

• Pulling a warm towel from the dryer and having no one to wrap up in it

• Glancing in the rear view mirror and not seeing a car seat in the place it's always been

• Fitting in a booth made for a family of 4

• No head on my chest and arm around my neck at bedtime

• Seeing boxes of Legos in my room that we never got to build

• Not hearing "Mama" yelled across the house multiple times a day

• No impatient calls to my phone when I have been gone too long

• No weekly Starbucks or Krispy Kreme after clinic on Wednesdays

• No end of the school year picture

• A partially painted birdhouse that she never had an opportunity to finish

• No one to run a nightly bath for

And all of these smalls things add up to a very large, sometimes overwhelming, emptiness. Some days it is a daunting realization that this is how the next 40-50 years of my life will feel. And yet, I still rejoice and feel a peace knowing that Avery is in Heaven and forever free of pain and suffering. I am not sad because Avery is not here with us; I am sad because we are not there with her.

I've always tried to focus this blog on Avery's medical journey, but I did want to share a few things I've realized over the past couple of years in hopes that it may help someone else:

1. Pain is not something to be compared. There is not a competition on whose pain is greater. The worst day of my life and the worst day of your life may be very different, but they are still both of our worst days. Always treat others with kindness and compassion.

2. Grief is also not something to be compared. I can't imagine what it is like to lose a parent, a sibling, or a spouse, but unless you have lost a child, you can't imagine that either. Think before you speak. Don't strive so hard to say the "right" thing and end up mistakenly invalidating someone's grief. A simple "I'm here", "I love you", "I'm praying" is all that is needed.

3. Grief looks different on everyone. Don't assume that someone is not grieving based on outward appearances. Also, don't assume that someone is overly grieving based on the same. Grief has no time frame, no limits, and no boundaries.

4. There are no "magical" words that will make everything better. If there were, we would have figured them out by now, so we are not expecting you to either. Instead, if you see us out, treat us like you always have.