Thursday marked 4 months since Gabriel was born and died. Tommy and I both feel like it’s been much longer than that. Maybe that’s because today marks 8 months since we learned that our baby was very sick. We were loved on — Thursday I got a sweet text in the morning from my friend who was at the beach, we got some love from our moms, our friends who were having a baby that very day had left something on his grave, and a sweet message from my sister all reminded us of our Baby G. And I got to spend the day with Tommy, as we had some appointments that required his presence.
I wish I could say it was a good day. But in all honesty it wasn’t. It was a really hard day. In general, the days feel less heavy recently than they used to. They pass with relative normalcy, for the most part. Of course if taking your 2 year old to the cemetery on a frequent basis is normal. But generally, that 3 month mark was “magic” in a sense. The super sadness lifted and life continued to move on, and we started to move on with it, and that became ok. But Thursday was a very hard day. I figured I was due for a bad one since I’d had so many good ones recently. And that’s ok. Or so I tell myself. I know it is, but spending a bunch of time crying in front of multiple people hurts my pride. And I battle my pride, a lot. So Thursday ended up being one of those days where I was reminded that I’m not as awesome as I think I am. That I am very needy. That I am very broken. That I don’t heal myself. That I have many issues that need addressing. That I need a Savior.
Picture and sweet reminder sent from my sweet friend at the beach.
Spending some extra time remembering our precious little one in Heaven.