There are a lot of things that I find myself doing that most would probably find a bit odd, unless, you too, have known the depth of losing a child. I scroll through my Emme’s pictures every night, and listen to Amanda Cook’s strengthening lyrics, all while I lay down with Emme’s heart on my chest. A dear friend sent me a beautiful heart a little after Emme’s passing. It weighs exactly what Emme weighed at birth, and it’s beautiful. At night I lay it on my chest and clear all my thoughts, and I can feel Emme ‘s skin against mine. I can smell her soft smell. I can smile and picture her with our Father, dancing on his feet, as the happy baby she was.

I have been called brave a lot lately. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself brave, but I would say I am trying my very best to be happy. Happiness. As I write the word it almost seems so far away from where I am now. But I am happy for many things. I am happy for Emme and the time I was given with her. I am happy that I got to take pictures of her. I am happy that she slept on my chest a whole night. I am happy I was able to love her for a lifetime in 8 days. I am happy that all she knew on earth was love.

A few weeks ago I had to leave an event to go pump.  As I sat in the hotel room, with tears streaming down my cheeks, I stopped myself from feeling the way a child feels when abandoned by its parents. I felt alone and inconsolable. I got up, pulled myself together and headed towards the door and just then I thought aloud: I am not without my baby, in fact, you could say I am a mother to many infants because my little Emme’s milk is feeding many little ones. I smiled.

Every day is a new day. What made me cry yesterday may not today. What made me cry today may bring me joy tomorrow. It’s all new. Every day. And in my Father my hope is renewed.