In My Bones

Yesterday I turned forty-one. Today, I renewed my blog subscription. My best friend since 10th grade gave me a new journal for my birthday, so, I know it’s what’s best for me- what’s best for all… Keep Writing.

While it’s a long, sad and unbelievable story (like much of my life) my entire previous blog is gone. Disappeared. I thought that was impossible on the internet. Once things are on the web, I thought that was pretty permanent. But, not the case. In my mental fog and grief clouded judgement, I somehow canceled my blog/ website host and also deleted everything I’d written about our journey as well.

I’ve grieved that loss too. It’s writing it’s words. It’s stories and experiences I mostly shared to help heal myself, but also to help heal others too. It’s still in me. They are still experiences and events that very much impacted my world forever. But they are not accessible in ink. And it was sort of like losing Isabella all over again.

I’ve kept journals since I was sixteen. I never go back and read them. I have written about Isabella with paper and ink, and through my blog. I’ve bought into the belief that writing on paper, methodically with a pen, that through the stroke of ink something sparks in the brain. Some healing. Some “ah-ha” moment. Some release. And I still write on paper.

But I needed this blog in my bones. As a way to share. As a way to connect. As an outlet when I can not keep it in one more minute.

So, here we are again.

Isabella would be a year old April 21, 2021. We continue to talk about her life and remember her in ways that are meaningful to us as a family. I was able to share a bit of her story with a local woman’s organization that is aiding is raising money for a 4-D Sonogram machine for the MFM physician which walked with us for twenty weeks.

I’ve written a piece for the area Hospice facility that supported our kids while navigating these turbulent waters and acted as a guide and resource for us when we new very little about Isabella’s diagnosis and what it all might mean.

I’m grateful to share. I’m happy to tell others about our beautiful daughter. I wish I could have known her more. I wish the world could have known her better. That’s why I share her story, to keep her alive. To help heal my mama heart. To join other loss moms in raising awareness and not remaining silent out of fear of hurting someones feelings to talking about something terrible.

The pain in my heart I’d wish on noone. The way it sometimes overcomes me and I want to hold my child just one more time- it still seems very unfair. BUT, I love Isabella and I’m glad she existed. And I’ll never stop celebrating her short life.