There are days I can wrap my grief up into a pretty little package with a bow and eloquent words. Then there are days (nights? Mornings? Who knows…I can hear the birds chirping with the sunrise and I’ve yet to lay my head down to rest tonight.) like today.

Sunday is International Bereaved Mother’s Day, a day I didn’t even know existed until recently and wish I didn’t have a reason to know about it. It’s also the anniversary of when Andrew & I found out we were expecting our first baby. I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years since that time last year when I saw those two pink lines and the word “pregnant” on the tests.

My grief isn’t wrapped up with a bow lately. It’s painful and heart wrenching and just when I think I’ve gathered all the pieces again to place them neatly in a box, a bomb explodes and they go flying in all different directions again. I’ve been struggling to put words to it all, leaving this page empty and quiet because I’ve not been able to put that bow on it and make it perfect for the world to see.

Mostly, my heart just aches for my baby. A deep, chest tightening, heavy shouldered ache. An ache thats easier to hide than share because it feels too heavy, too personal, too much for others to hear about. I don’t want to be “that girl” that always talks about her dead baby. I’ll be the first to admit that I probably would’ve written a bereaved mother’s grief off before all of this. I would have thought “You’re young! You can have another!” and probably would have thought it was time they stopped talking about it so much. I didn’t understand. How could I?

My brain knows all the right things to say right now. In fact, the phrases about God making all things new and beauty from ashes are rattling around in my head as I type. And yes, I know it to be true. But there are times I wish my ashes didn’t have to exist. Couldn’t He just make beauty from nothing? Why did my baby have to be part of my ashes? I suppose that’s one of those things I won’t know the answer to on this side of heaven. And by the time I get to heaven, the why won’t matter because Ollie will be in my arms again.

I guess all I’m really saying is I miss my son so much lately that I can hardly find words to express it. I’ll share a glimpse here or there on social media but try to keep the sadness talk to a minimum to avoid driving people crazy with my grief….and mostly because it’s my fight as a mother to fight. Like Jacob wrestled with God, I too feel like I’m wrestling Him in my grief and right now it’s ugly. I probably have a theoretical black eye with a broken bone or two….or maybe just a really bruised ego. Losing a child will humble you pretty quickly like that. It pins you to the ground as soon as the words “fight!” are spoken by the ref.

To be honest, I didn’t start writing this post with a direction or story in mind. It’s early morning and my brain can’t seem to get my thoughts organized or settled enough to get some rest so I thought that getting them out of my head may help. My eyes feel a little heavy so maybe it did. Time to attempt a visit into dream world. Maybe I’ll see my Ollie there.