It’s so quiet

Our home used to be chaotic. Television was on, dogs barking and running around the house, our children coming and going.  Arguing over who is emptying the dishwasher or taking out the trash was a constant battle between Mali and TJ.   “What’s for dinner?!” was a common question.  “I need help with my homework Mama” was a usual request from Mali.

When I would pull in the driveway Mali always ran out the door to greet me by opening the car door and kisses.  She always helped with groceries, mostly to snoop her treat she knew I would get her. Green tea ice cream, a Hershey cookies and cream bar, can of cheese Pringles.

It’s painfully quiet.  It’s hard not to miss that chaos.  It’s just Tim and I in the house now.  The TV is never on.  We rarely play music.

Our grandchildren visit sometimes on the weekends.  Peyton misses her Auntie who always had time for her.

Finding a new normal is tough.  It’s like stumbling around in a dark room trying to rearrange furniture.

Sometimes Tim and I barely talk.  Other times we talk about our good memories of our children.  Recently we both have started talking about losing our baby girl in depth to each other.

The days we share have been mostly treading water so we don’t drown.  Today has been a rare good day where the pain isn’t so sharp and consuming.

I am hopeful for more days like this.  I want to choose those kinds of days without feeling guilty for being alive.  For not being able to save her.  Everything in its own time.

Until that day comes when I can consciously choose to celebrate her life and not be bitter that it’s over, I will lean on faith, my husband and my unconditional love for my daughter Mali.




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