Two hours from home.
Brian has been driving through the night, and our trip is almost over. It’s so hard to believe we are returning home, and Aria isn’t with us. This is an outcome I never considered as a possibility. I had so much faith that Aria would pull through. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I’m not sure if the shock has fully worn off yet, maybe it never will.
This is the last big step of our journey. Once we walk into our home, as hard as it will be, this is where we can really begin to heal. I’m looking forward to regaining emotional stability at some point, and being able to feel a little closer to my old self. I’m looking forward to hearing Brian’s laugh again, and his happy spirit returning to his body.
We are such a far cry from who we once were, but I suppose it’s not a terrible thing. Aria changed us. She touched our lives in a way that only she could. I wouldn’t give up my memories of her for anything. As painful as they can be, she’s worth every tear.
I really hope she’s proud of us. We’re trying so hard to be strong, although most of the time it feels like we are barely hanging on. I hope she understands our tears are just drops of love overflowing from our bodies. I feel this loss in depths of my heart I never knew existed. It is an indescribable mix of pain for the child I lost, and joy for having the opportunity to be her mother. Our time together was unfairly short, but it was nothing but pure love.
Our girl would have been one month old today. I’m not sure how time has managed to go by so quickly, but I’m thankful. I am glad the days aren’t dragging on. But if she was still here, I would be looking at her growing body and begging her to stop growing up so fast. Since she’s in heaven, she is my forever baby. I’ll always see her as the sweet two pound, eleven ounce little girl I once cradled in my arms.
Happy one month birthday, Aria. I hope you have a wonderful day up there. Send your Mama a rainbow when you get the chance. I love you.