The Struggle

People often ask me how how I survive a life where I have outlived my child. I wonder that, myself, frequently. The honest answer is: I do somehow survive but I don't do it well....not at all. 

I cry in the shower, a LOT.  

I cry in the car, whenever I'm alone. 

I cry in bed after my husband falls asleep. 

I cry until I have to force myself to breathe. There's no relief from it. It just never feels better. 

I try to hide the hurt all day and put on my best face but it's just a mask. 

I lose my temper so much faster than I'd like. I have very little patience. I'm negative and grouchy and short...that's just where I am...and it's not fair to those I love. I hate it so much. 

This life as a bereaved mother isn't fair or easy but it's mine to live. It's the weirdest mix of miserable and happy and it's very tolling. 

However, I try to remember that I'm still here so there must be a reason. God didn't answer my prayers, when my sweet girl died, neither to take her place or to take me with her. He wanted me to be here for my boys. He knew my amazing, patient, loving husband would soon come into our life and help lighten the burden. He knew I would be having two more miracle babies and that my story wasn't finished. 

He always knew how this life would play out and I only thought I had a clue. He gives and He takes away and he LOVES us every single second of our lives...even when we are furious at Him and even though we deserve so much less. 

Life, for us all, is a struggle. We all have our stuff. Trust in God and let Him help carry you through. It won't necessarily change how long you live or what you have to go through but it will make a big difference in just how short or long it feels. 

LOVE💜

The Day Before Your 9th Birthday

Your gifts should already be wrapped with, of course, purple ribbons.

I should be picking up cupcakes for your 3rd Grade class party with purple everything to go with them.

I should be planning tomorrow’s family birthday supper at Longhorn and getting excited for your reaction when the waiters bring out the Chocolate Stampede with candles and sing you a silly song. Your huge smile and infectious giggles were always so predictable and perfect.

I should have the house clean and ready for a pile of silly little girls, coming for a weekend slumber party and happily waiting to pull out my hair from the craziness.

Together, we would pick out your “teenager” clothes for your big day at school and we wouldn’t forget to add the “Birthday Girl” ribbon.

After you go to sleep, on your last 8-year-old night, I would stay up late coloring your “Happy 9th Birthday, Aub!” sign to hang in the kitchen for you to see, first thing the next morning.

None of these things are ever going to be happening again. There are no new birthday celebrations here, for you. 

For me, truly, there is only emptiness and sorrow and all I do is miss you. You didn’t turn 7 or 8 and you won’t get to turn 9. You are forever 6-years-old. You are forever our precious memory.

I cannot believe how much time has gone by since you left. I can’t believe I have survived this pain, this huge void for almost three years now. All things, (happy, sad or somewhere in-between) are always without you and your absence is felt no matter what.

This life God has blessed me with is good, but I would give up every single part of it to be with you again. Selfish, yes, but I am a mother without her daughter and that warrants such feelings.

Every day I finish on this Earth is one closer to you…one closer to Birthday celebrations in Heaven (I can only imagine how splendid that will be). Until that day comes and God calls me to be where you are, please know that I am here…missing, loving and wanting you always.


Happy Birthday, my sweet, precious angel. Mama LOVES you, forever.