I’ve started this blog because I know how heavy it can feel to carry grief as a parent. There are moments when the world keeps moving, but inside it feels like time has stopped. It can be hard to put these feelings into words, and even harder to feel like anyone else understands.
This space is for us — for parents who are grieving, who are remembering, who are just trying to find their way through each day. I don’t have all the answers (I don’t think anyone does), but I believe in the power of sharing stories, being honest about how we’re feeling, and reminding each other that we’re not alone.
Some days grief feels sharp and overwhelming. Other days it’s quiet and steady, sitting just below the surface. However it looks, however it feels, it’s valid.
If you’re reading this, I want you to know that this space is for you, too. A place where your grief can breathe, where your love for your child can be spoken, and where it’s okay to simply be.
As the years pass, I feel my connection with my daughter shifting from earthly to ethereal. I know she is still with me — with us — and she always will be, in her own way. I don’t often look at pictures or videos anymore, but when I do, I feel that deep longing and remember our time together as something very different and very special.
Almost ten years have passed since she earned her Angel wings, and so much has happened since then. I look forward to the day I will see her again, but in the meantime I continue to live my life in the way she would want me to — certain that she is guiding me, never far, only a step away. She is pure love, vibrating at a higher frequency I cannot see, but I can feel her presence and recognise her signs.
So if you are struggling today, if your grief feels raw and you cannot function, if today feels unbearably heavy, please know this: you don’t have to carry it alone, and your precious child is never far away.
With you, in remembrance and love.
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