She was the catalyst for this movement and the reason this project began. She's not here to leave her own legacy so I've created this space in her honor. Sharing personal words here on a difficult day. -
Hello // Goodbye -
Five years ago today, my daughter died. -
It has been five years and I don't know how to be the parent of a dead child any more today than I did in the moments after learning the operation meant to save her had killed her instead. -
I do know that grief and growth and pain and purpose are not linear. Last year, this day felt much like any other. While today this anniversary feels fresh. There is a physical weight to it. An ache. A catch in my throat
and my belly and tears flowing with their own free will. -
I know that I no longer recognize the person I was before I became her mother. I know that my heart and spirit and purpose were changed by her existence. I know there is beauty in that. -
I know as folks who don't understand how grief and loss works have reminded me often, that I'm lucky I "at least have one" of my twins. I also know that the life of one child does nothing to replace or repair the death of another. I live the bittersweet beauty and curse that comes with knowing exactly what Aurora would look and sound like because I get to have her mirror image thriving in front of me each day. There is both elation and heaviness when progress and milestones are met for one when there should be two. Getting to have the light of one life does not eliminate the darkness of losing another. -
Perhaps it's the love, and safety, and support I now find myself surrounded by that is allowing me to look back and feel. I can go there and know I will safely return. Perhaps it's the wake of Nova's own voice sharing her experience of loss and longing for the first time. Perhaps it's that five years feels so very far away from that day, so far away from her. -
Whatever it is, it is here.
Riding the waves.
And breathing in whatever needs to be.