Hello Grief, I Remember You Well

Hello Grief, I Remember You Well

I don’t believe in coincidence. It is something I openly make known. All coincidence has meaning. The synchronicity of the universe is beautiful if you just open yourself up to see it. There lies all the proof you need that our loved ones continue on the other side.

Lately life has been all consuming. I had 4 different freelance projects going at once. It has kept me busier than I’ve been in a really long time. While it was nice to have work (and the money), it provided me with a lot of distraction. Intuitively it would seem distractions are good when you are grieving. They take your mind off it. Give you something else to focus on. Unfortunately, that is not always reality.

You submerge yourself for a short time. Life fades into the background while you focus on a task. What you learn in grief is that you can’t let yourself dive too deep. Being in too long can have a physical impact. Manage it or you may crash and burn.

I almost forgot.

I had spent a good amount of time submerged. When one of the projects wrapped, I came up for air. Yet, I was still distracted. I forgot to re-ground myself in grief.

I opened Facebook for a mindless 30-second scroll when I saw it. My reminder. It was like a big flashing light drawing my eye right to it. Only it. Exactly what I needed in that moment to keep myself in check. Tears gathered in my eyes. Immediately I knew there was a reason this was the first post in my feed.

I’m not sure of the author, but it is such an incredible letter I had to share it here. The person that posted it is part of a Facebook group I am in for people who have lost a son. She didn’t know the author either, but I know it was delivered to my eye by my son in that exact moment. It was his way of telling me to step back and re-center.

*** Author Unknown ***

Dear Mom,

I am still here. I am here for you when desperation creeps in between the spaces of our new realities. I am not gone. Every tear you shed, I collect it. I gather the rain, and to each drop I give life to the memories you and I have shared. I step into your dreams when you least expect it, and if you look hard enough, you can find me there.

Say my name. Remember me in the quiet moments. They will sustain you when the world intrudes and tries to drown out the sound of the conversations that you still have with me when you think no one else is listening. I am still here.

Mom, my soul is quiet now. It no longer yearns for the things my physical body needed to survive this particular battle. It took everything from me, and I know it took everything from you;  you will never realize what that did to my spirit when I passed from that life into this one.

I know that you feel like you are losing your mind some days, but when you hear a heartbeat where none should exist, know that it is mine, keeping time with yours.

I am still here. I did exist. I left my mark upon this world, and I am at peace now…

Love, Your Child

child loss

Related Posts
Comments ( 3 )
  1. Diana sims
    May 25, 2017 at 1:21 AM
    Reply

    This was beautiful! I too lost my son at 36 weeks pregnant. He was born still on 7/5/14. I will never forget thet moment. The letter described above is a reminder that our babies are not hurting, they are alive and well our Heavenly Father is taking good care of them.

  2. Sherry
    June 2, 2017 at 2:58 AM
    Reply

    I feel your pain. Seemingly daily. Over and over. Some days are okay…others are BAD.

    Thank you for the small bit of sunshine and connection.

    • Emily Graham
      Emily Graham
      June 2, 2017 at 3:09 AM
      Reply

      Much love to you Sherry. You are definitely not alone. One day at a time. Sending hugs. XO Emily

Leave a reply