Tuesday, we meet yet again. Instead of the happiness of each passing week I wanted with Jensen, I get further away from my last connection to him. I wish I could say each lessens the pain, but it doesn’t. Moving forward and processing grief is more complicated than that. His absence is so loud and the only thing I can focus on, especially on Tuesdays. I can imagine him everywhere I go, so I’ve been trying to fill the blank spaces with what reminds me of him. Continuously incorporating him so beautifully into our home and always in our hearts.

Today I can’t keep my eyes off of his new block; his ‘J’ block. It stays in our living room, where his swing would be. I look over there and imagine him so happy and content going back and forth. Then when I’m spiraling into the darkest parts, I look
at his block. His initial means so much to me. Anthony call him Baby J as soon as we found out he was our little boy. I feel like once I got pregnant, J’s popped up everywhere. It seems fitting to keep them in our house and all around me. Even after we have his pictures hanging up, his J will always hold so much hope and happiness for me.

In the past fourteen weeks grief has taught me so many lessons; many I never wanted to learn. Here’s just a few things I’ve learned:

• Motherhood is hard.
• Jensen can never be replaced.
• A broken heart can still beat.
• Survival mode is exhausting.
• Grief has no rulebook.
• People you thought would be there for you disappear.
• Friendships can bloom from pain and destruction.
• Silence is so loud.
• Mommas can live without their babies.
• Love never dies.

I always planned on teaching Jensen as many things I could. Instead he’s taught me more than I ever thought he would. Jensen has gifted me a greater purpose in my life and shown me this love that’s so indescribable. I hope he knows how thankful I am for him, especially on these neverending Tuesdays. Although I never wanted to find out this way, it’s a gift he brings me each and every single day. It’s a constant feeling of joy that he brought into my life and the emptiness of him not being here. Grief truly is a dance of love and loss. My sweet, little love knows all the secrets of the world and will continue to guide me through my life.

In the fourteen weeks Jensen has been in heaven, I can finally acknowledge the steps I’ve made to survive. This grief literally swallows me whole sometimes. Just being able to say that Jensen is safe in heaven and go through each thing he has taught me is such a big step. Reaching a new milestone doesn’t always bring happiness, it can just be a sense of not being stuck. I will grieve my son till the end of time, but I have to survive for him. Each of my next steps in life will always be for him and letting him know that even in the darkest times there is light. It must make him so happy to know that he is and will forever be the light in my darkness.