Nothing Left Untouched

Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything. ~ CS Lewis


When I used to think about this long road of grief that was before us, I imagined Derek and I walking together with a few close friends and family. I never could have imagined how losing Brooklyn would literally affect every single aspect of our lives.


I am grateful for every single moment I have on this earth, because I am now aware that my life, or the life of those I love, can end at any given time.

Friendships and relationships have been forever altered - both in good and hurtful ways.

While my faith has become stronger, it has also caused me to wrestle through who God really is, why he doesn't stop things like this from happening, and if I really believe he is faithful and true.

My role as a wife has drastically changed. I have never felt so close and connected to Derek. Together we formed a precious life, and we have seen with our eyes how beautiful that little life was. There is just something about seeing your husband hold your daughter for the first time, even with the understanding that you won't get to take her home. 

I used to absolutely love babies - now this causes a great deal of pain. I catch myself glancing inside of strollers and car seats, but instead of smiling, I wonder what Brooklyn would be like these days.

Seeing pregnant women also used to make me smile; knowing they are holding a precious life inside of them. These days it makes me want to tell them not to take for granted the time they have with that baby; because none of us know exactly how long that will be. 

Family has never meant so much to me. I feel like after becoming a mama, I have a deeper understanding of the love our moms and dads have for Derek and I.

I'm not even able to eat some of the same foods or wear some of the same outfits because it reminds me of when I was pregnant with Brooklyn, and causes me a great deal of pain. 

My career path currently has nothing to do with what I went to school for. And my passions and goals for this life have been greatly simplified. 


I really could go on, but I would be spending the rest of my life counting and naming all of the things that have been affected since losing our sweet girl. See the thing about grief is, it leaves nothing left untouched. It rips through lives and hearts like a tornado and completely alters the state of everything in it. Some things are changed for the better, some changes are much harder, but everything is different. Nothing remains the same. And nothing will ever be the way it was meant to be. I am mourning a lifetime of memories and "firsts" that we should be having with Brooklyn.

I still have days where I am able to laugh and enjoy things, but there are many days where I am a complete mess. While know that there will be better days ahead, I need to prepare my heart for the harder days that have yet to come. Even still, I have been able to find comfort and hope in many things.

Whether it's in someone I don't know coming up to me, telling me they follow my blog, and encouraging me to continue writing. Someone saying Brooklyn's name out loud. Getting a message from someone who had a dream of a curly haired little girl laughing in her Daddy's arms. Someone asking about my pregnancy or delivery; helping me to feel like my story is somewhat "normal". Knowing that people go to visit with Brooklyn in her special place. Having a conversation with someone also on this grief journey, where I leaving feeling like they "just get it." Friends playing catch by our daughter's grave on Father's Day. Hearing story after story of people who have also had a stillborn baby, or know someone else who has. Or  learning how many of these people go on to have healthy babies in the future. All of these things have provided me with even just a little bit of healing and hope.

Please continue to pray for us and keep us in your thoughts. People say that "time heals everything." But I am finding that as time goes on, I am grieving even more deeply. I am starting to believe that time in fact does not heal all. Time makes things different, but I know that I will still have days 50 years from now, where my heart aches exactly the way it did on the day we had to say "see you later" to our daughter. There will always be a Brooklyn sized hole in my heart, and nothing will ever change that.