It's so very hard to believe that yet another July is almost upon us. Shannon would be turning one soon, and I guess in the alternative universe, where the bad stuff doesn't happen, she is turning one. I look out the window, at the summer flowers that are almost in full bloom and I am struck, again, by how much things change, yet how much they stay the same. I still miss my little girl, she has changed me in numerous ways, some that I recognize right away, and some that are too subtle to really put my finger on.
But what strikes me the most is how much time marches on, whether you want it to or not. If someone told me a year ago that I'd be sitting here, staring at the same flowers, and wondering what was next for me down the road, I would have laughed. I am hopefully shortly going to welcome Shannon's sibling into this world, yet I still worry and wonder and miss my baby girl everyday. I worry about my answer when people ask - is this your second? Well, actually, it's my sixth, but you probably don't want to know that story.
And I worry, and wonder, about the passage of time on the human heart. How does time change how I miss Shannon? Does time make it hurt less - yes and no. Time makes it hurt differently. Time creates a big scab that, for the most part, keeps the hurt in one place, but constantly reminds you that the hurt is still there. At the same time, though, that scab gets slightly smaller with time, constantly reminding you that life does go on, and that you are, despite your best efforts, moving on too.
For me, though, moving on is not moving away from that essential piece of what and who I am because of Shannon. I don't want to change in that way. Shannon made an impact in my world, and through me, I guess, Shannon makes an impact on the rest of the world.
She gives me empathy to cry for other lost babies and sad moms, and to really get why I am crying. She gives me strength, to know that I have made it another day and that I can tell people that, they too can make it another day, and believe it to be mostly true. She gives me hope, that things and people can change because I've changed. And she gives me the butterflies, who linger too long in my garden to be anything other than gifts from her. And I love and miss her for it.
