It’s hard to explain but after we lost Jenna the world became black and white.
There was beautiful, and there was ugly.
There were people that cared, and people that didn’t.
There were places I could handle, and places to avoid.
Things that mattered, and the dreams I no longer felt passionate about.
There were good days and there were days I wish I would never have climbed out of bed.
The grey area somehow disappeared, and after the fog of what really just happened cleared, a whole new perspective on life, faith and everything in between settled in.
On the good days, the sunshine felt like candy on my skin. I wanted to soak up every bit.
The gerber daisies and roses were not just decorations for a yard, they were a gift from Heaven. And they felt like they were sent, just to cheer me up.
The wildflowers were like God handing me a bouquet in the most unlikely of places. Bluebonnets, Indian Paintbrushes, and the pretty yellow ones that tend to take over Texas fields. I couldn’t believe I never stopped to notice them before.
When the butterflies would dance around the yard, it wasn’t just pretty… it was a miracle. They would often remind me of my tiny miracle, especially the little yellow ones.
On the bad days, a hard rain felt good. It reflected the drowning sorrow of my heart.
Writing consoled my soul. Somehow pouring it all out there helped me. And music made me feel closer to our sweet girl.
There were places I clearly could not handle to be anymore, and sadly, friends that I no longer felt a connection with. The world was a different place, but deep inside I knew I was the only one that changed. The world had always been this way.
Letting go of some of the dreams I felt so passionately about before losing Jenna almost felt natural. They weren’t in my heart anymore. I had new dreams, induced by a crude awakening to this world of baby loss.
It’s been a little over three years, and quite frankly I still don’t recognize this new me. I’ve accepted the world for what I see it to be, but there are parts of this new person that I sometimes feel disconnected with. It’s more obvious when I get around people I used to be close with, or visit places that stir up old memories.
Death has changed me, and that’s okay. But it won’t define me.
I will look to the sky, and just be glad in this moment that I can find beauty. Sadly it has taken so much for me to get here, and appreciate these little wonders. But I am here, nonetheless.