Two Years

I am not looking forward to today. I hid in my bed this morning trying desperately to have sleep protect me from the sadness I knew the day would bring, but the crash of thunder and sound of falling rain awoke me. Of course that's how this day would start. Two years ago it started raining on the day of Emma's funeral and rained for a solid week afterward. It was as if the universe was crying with us. It should not have happened.


I willed myself back to sleep, but was awakened two times by the sensation of tears streaming down my cheeks; proof, once again, that grief is involuntary and uncontrollable. I wasn't even dreaming of Emma, but somehow the grief I was trying to avoid by sleeping found its way out of my chest and through the corner of my eyes. Sarah had a similar start to her day. She got out of bed exhausted from a restless night and with a terrible stomach ache.




 I wanted to share the perfect memory today; the story or image that would beautifully capture my lovely Emma and convey the great joy she brought us. But, unfortunately, this anniversary brings back horrifying memories of that day two years ago when we lost Emma forever. The trauma we experienced has left a scar, and on this anniversary that scar is more like a weeping wound. As hard as we've tried to outrun or channel grief these past two years, it has a way of catching up with you and getting its due.




As sad as I am today, I have been heartened over the last two years to see how much Emma remains a positive part of my daily life. I can't hug her, or hear her voice, or hear her playing her flute; but her face in pictures still makes me smile. I still laugh when I think of impersonations she did, or jokes she told. I am still proud of the person she was and what she accomplished. I still share fond memories of when she was a baby, or two, or five, or sixteen. I still connect her memory to food she liked, or music, or places, or clothes. I carry her with me everywhere, like a heart-shaped stone in my pocket.


And I know that many, many other people also are carrying her with them. The messages they've sent to us and to Emma on her Facebook page are so full of love and reflect such a powerful connection. What more could you ask?


Outside, the rain has stopped and slivers of sun are trying to dry the wet streets. I'll get on with my day. Grief has had its time and now its time to push away the clouds, so that I can see the beautiful gift I was given.


Click here for a link to a beautiful video done by Emma's friend, Emilia. Thanks, Emilia.