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.