After a cold and dreary few weeks, it now officially feels like spring. The snow has long melted and almost overnight the grass has turned into a bright, lively green after what felt like weeks of rain. The tree branches are full of swollen buds with the promise of new life to come. The sun is shining, the clouds have cleared. For months I have been longing for the sweet smells of fresh cut grass and morning dew. I walk outside and take a breath, and the warm, blossom-scented air fills my lungs then overwhelms my throat and I am choking, gasping for air as I realize, it is spring. It is May. Soon it will be Ava’s birthday. The day I learned I had a daughter and in a single moment watched a lifetime of fantasies of tea parties and princesses and braided pigtails, first crushes and first kisses and first dances, come to life and then shatter instantaneously in front of me. In an alternate reality, the one where Ava had lived, I would be planning her first birthday. I’d probably be thinking about what she should wear to her party. And though I always promised I’d never be “that mom,” I’d probably have picked a tulle tutu with pink Chuck Taylor high tops because they’re too cute to resist and I’d pair it with a cute onesie declaring something along the lines of, “I’m one-derful.” and Logan might have a shirt too but I’d try to make it funny, like, “my sister is turning one and all I got was this t-shirt.” But we do not live in that reality and there is no party to plan. Instead, I’m planning how to honor my daughter, and googling things like, “how to install a headstone.” And the world doesn’t appreciate my dark humor, so there will be no sayings on t-shirts for Logan like, “my sister died and all I got was this shirt.” Instead, we will plan to just get ourselves dressed on May 16, because to get myself dressed is enough of a goal to have for that day.

If you’ve talked to me on the phone or seen me in person since the start of May, you may have gotten an idea of how I’m feeling. Or maybe you haven’t, because I’ve been trying to hide it, but I don’t care to right now. For those who don’t see it, I’ll tell you the truth; I’m starting to fall apart. For the last six months, I’ve been so proud of myself, giving myself perpetual pats on the back for my strength and my ability to crawl out from my pit of grief. I’ve been high-fiving my accomplishments and my growing strength and my ability to love myself and show gratitude for my life, but then the calendar flipped to May and it was like none of the last six months mattered. The days started growing longer and my anxiety and depression started building, but I haven’t allowed anyone to truly see inside of it. I feel like I’ve been leading a double life as I attempt to maintain outward appearances while quietly backing into my dark and empty place. I can feel myself shutting down emotionally, building a fortress of solitude behind walls of, “I’m fine,” keeping out the entire world, my husband included. I find the tears build easily and at random but I have built such a wall that I can no longer find ways to let them out, I can’t even find a way to let myself cry. The sadness is building so much in me that I am becoming physically ill. My head is literally spinning with grief to the point of vertigo and nausea and migraines, and yet I still have found no release. And so I write this, and share it, in the hopes of finding some respite, of getting something off my chest, because if my mouth will not utter the words, at least my fingers will do the typing. I have to admit that I am struggling.

This week has been a dark struggle. And before you start texting me endlessly, or calling to check on me, or jumping in your car or on an airplane to save me, I’d also like to add that it’s ok, I’m ok. I’m sad, I’m anxious, and yes, I would likely say, depressed, but right now that is ok with me. Because grief is a part of my journey. And because my grief is a part of my love for my daughter. And because to be perfectly honest, right now I am not ready to feel better. Right now I’m ok with feeling sad. Because it is temporary. This feeling is not forever. This feeling is just for right now. And sometimes right now is a day and sometimes its only a minute or a matter of seconds, but this is not forever, it is only right now. I know I will get through this. Ava’s birthday will come and go in 11 days and then I will be able to say the worst is behind us. I will have lived through the first days, the first months, the first Thanksgiving, the first New Years, the first Mother’s Day and the first year without Ava, and my life will continue on and on and on.

This is not a call for help, or a post to make you worry, or a post that requires any type of response. This is simply me being honest and real, and admitting I’m not doing so well right now, and it is an opportunity for you to allow me to be that way. Because what I need most right now is permission to just grieve and feel sad. Allow me to share my burden with you and lighten my load, because although it seems silly, with every keystroke I feel the weight lifting off of my chest just a little bit more. This week I am sad, and I might feel this way for the rest of the month, but I will not feel this way forever. You do not need to fix me. I do not want you to fix me. Because this is not forever, the worst is almost over.