Ten months of grief and love

Over the last ten months, my grief has transformed in countless ways. It has shaped and molded me. Grief has made me feel both incredibly uncomfortable and totally safe at the same time. It’s tough to explain, sometimes I crave the overwhelming agony of grief, and sometimes I just want to be rid of the heartache.

It is really hard not to equate the agony of my grief to the love I carry for Aria. I often feel the most assured in my worth as a mother when I am in complete despair. I suppose it is because I often wonder how I could possibly go on without someone I love this much. If I’m not crying, does that mean I don’t love as deeply as I thought? The rational part of my brain screams that isn’t true, but the part that has been scarred by grief still isn’t convinced.

Today, I’m feeling relief from a lot of the pain I have felt for the last ten months. I’m not sure how I feel about it to be honest with you. It makes me feel numb, but only because I’m not accustomed to feeling so close to normal. I had gotten used to the intensity of grief. It had become my comfort zone. Strangely, moving through it is the thing that scares me most. I don’t want to move on, and I don’t want to forget the little girl who made me a mom.

I know a lot of this guilt and fear is connected to how distracted I have been for the last four weeks. I haven’t had as much time to saturate myself in Aria’s memory, and it makes me feel distant from her. But I know that just as I have many times before, I’ll relearn how to balance it all and find comfort once more.

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