I once saw an Instagram post where the author implored her readers to allow their children to grieve. They had recently lost  a pet and she was allowing them the space to honor that loss.   I almost flicked right past it but instead I found myself just staring, reflecting on how we all need to be allowed time to grieve.  Not just for the obvious moments like death, but for all the changes that come our way…the big, the small, and the moments in between.

This life is ever-changing and sometimes, to appreciate this moment, we have to stop and grieve the loss of what we loved, what we hoped for, and what we held close to us…no matter how small the loss may be perceived by the world around us.

This time last year I was broken.  I was pregnant for the second time since Katie and there was no heartbeat.  Hope died with the 3rd ultrasound and I wept with the love only a mom can feel.  My heart was sad.  My kids were sad.  The days were dark, both literally and figuratively, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and sleep the winter away.  But I pressed on.  I did not pause.

I dealt with the drama of knowing the baby was no longer viable but waiting for that sweet little soul to pass (all through the holidays) along with a trip to the ER for excessive bleeding in the midst of all the loss.  By the time that baby finally passed, school had started back up along with all of the extra-curricular activities and I did not pause.

I listened to my children, disappointed with the loss, scared that maybe we’d never be given the opportunity again.  They cried, they poured out their vulnerable little hearts and I stood strong.  I let them grieve.  But I did not.

Until I finally did.

Because you just can’t move forward when you haven’t accepted the past.

Because grieving is the balm that heals the soul.  It’s intentional.  It’s important.  It’s hope wrapped up with trust and love and vulnerability laid bare.

Because to allow myself to grieve allowed me to finally accept what was.  What is.  What may never be.

I was broken for a long time this year.  Without even realizing how broken I was.  I was sad and unsorted and not myself.  I stopped writing, I stopped thinking, I stopped hoping.  Until I grieved.  In my own ways, in my own time, in my own little corner of the world.  I settled my unsettled feelings and allowed myself to wallow in my sadness.  And only then did I begin to heal.

We laid that little baby to rest alongside my other little souls waiting in heaven, right beside my sister’s little babies and there was peace in my soul.  A peace that only comes from accepting what is.

A year ago I was broken, but now I’m sorted.