As I write this, I feel a bit strange. Usually when I see these titles in my blog ticker, I can easily guess what they are about. "One Month" would generally mean a month old-- as in a living child.
Well, that's not the same month we're talking about here. Dates have such significance when a point of trauma or triumph occurs in your life. This happens to be trauma, but thankfully we are healing a bit. I am abundantly sad that I still wake up every morning to the realization, the very painful realization, that Andrew is gone. While some days I float through life just as I did before, I am easily reminded when I unveil the body beneath the clothing just before a shower, walk by the closed and completed nursery upstairs, or see anything related to babies.
I have gone a few days without tears, but definitely not void of sadness. I'm pretty sure a piece of my heart is gone. At least that's how it feels to me. Perhaps there's just a hole. I don't know.
So here we are. One month. I have wonderful friends who have sent emails and text messages acknowledging the "anniversary" that this sadly has become. In many ways, I am so happy it's been a month. It's almost like I can breathe a sigh of relief that I've reached a milestone and have somehow maintained my sanity.
We love you, baby Andrew. Happy one month in heaven.