I didn’t know how the world could keep turning  when Jensen was born. When the sun rose a few hours after his silent entrance in this world, I wanted to scream and pretend he was still safe inside of my belly. Then when I woke up the next morning at home, feeling empty and alone, and realized the world is going to keep turning. No matter how much I protested.

When the first week rolled by, I couldn’t comprehend that time just blew past. It went was just gone, just as Jensen was and I could never get any of it back. All the days mashed together and I thought maybe I would be able to distinguish days in the following months. My mind had to be able to compartmentalize and get back on track.

I was so wrong in that assumption.

Somehow it’s been six whole months. Six months since Jensen was born and I last felt him. I wish this wasn’t my life. If I could choose, I’d have a happy six month old smiling at me right now, instead of me typing this post. I would give anything to have him here with me and sharing his big, growing cheeks with you all.

But I can’t.

My reality is posting how I’m doing six months after his birthday and what I feel like he would be doing. It’s educating others on pregnancy and infant loss awareness and giving Jensen a voice. Instead of showing you all the new things he’s eating and getting in to, I’m mothering his spirit and memory by participating in Capture Your Grief and preparing buttons for remembrance walks. A stark difference of how I wanted my life to be. How it should have been if death didn’t steal him away.

At six months people are literally trying to drag me out of this ‘rut.’ They throw babies in my face and want me to go, go, go. Most of the time, I just follow along; I don’t have the energy to say no or put up that fight. Honestly, I understand when people see me that can see sadness. It’s because I’m sad, but there’s no fix to this ‘rut.’ My child died and I’m trying to figure out my life after loss. The world doesn’t make sense to me right now and I’m not giving myself a time limit to get to a point where I have it together. I just need the support and love during this time.

On the other hand, I feel love and growth. There’s so much support and people holding me up at every turn. My heart is full of Jensen and his time here. It’s also constantly making space for the memories that I share with him now, even if he’s not here. There’s these moments and beautiful people who I would never have met if he was still here. Not that I wouldn’t give all that up for Jensen to be here. There’s so much healing and love that happens in my life, every single day after loss. I recognize that and happiness is sweeter now. All the little things that I encounter mean so much more because I know how bad it can actually get. There’s many moments I thank Jensen and know he’s sending me them. Those times are what hold me here.

Jensen, my sweet child of mine, I love you. Happy six months in heaven. Half a year up there must be like a dream to you. I hope some gold confetti that you’re playing in will find its way to me. It’ll reflect the light that you send. I hope the sweetness of your big day will help anchor me, even when I feel like I’m floating away. All day today and everyday, I’ll send my love to you. I’ll speak your name, as I do each day, and be proud to let others know my son is six months old today. I miss you. I love you.