I've met many people over the past 4 years. Many know our story; many do not. Countless people lived through our journey with us- remembering when they heard the news and sharing in our grief over the years. And more were not in our lives, but have since taken on our sorrow as their own and love a little girl they never met.
So, if you don't know, on February 5th, four years ago, our daughter's heart stopped beating. And, after carrying our sweet girl over 37 weeks, I delivered her, we held her, then had to say goodbye. That day, 1460 days ago, left me forever broken. There is a hole in me that will never be filled this side of heaven. The future that we thought was in front of us, wasn't. And every day I have to navigate our new future. A future of one less child. A future without Lincoln's big sister. A future where our sweet Olivia is in Jesus' arms, not mine.
Every year, as this time silently and heavily approaches, I prepare myself. I withdraw, huddle down, and brace for the waves. This weekend is no different. I expected that our little family would cry, relive the time we had with her, and give ourselves lots of grace to do, say, and feel anything we need. Alone, our world stops.
But I forgot.
I forgot that I have people who pause their world and remember. That promised we would never grieve her alone. That, after 4 years, they continue to say We Remember. We hurt with and for you. We are here. You are not alone.
I am not alone. I wasn't alone in that doctor's office. I wasn't alone in that hospital room. I wasn't alone when we returned home to that silent, empty house. And I'm not alone today. I don't know why I keep forgetting that I'm not alone. But I'm thankful for friends who remind me.
