It's funny how grief, sorrow, and longing work. There are moments in which you can easily meander through your day without really facing your feelings. And then there are days in which you wake up in a fog and can't seem to wrap your brain around what you've faced. You get absorbed in a beautiful - and sometimes sad - book containing essays about love. You forget the important paperwork you needed to take to the doctor for your adoption physical since your home study is about to expire and has to be renewed. You wonder if you are truly losing your mind or if the medication needs to be changed - again.
And you get really angry with God that you have to fast to have your blood drawn, because "if we had a baby by now, we wouldn't have to do this." And then you acquiesce and submit, knowing that He still has a plan - even if you don't know how it will play out. You see all the family pictures at Nanny's house and smile about a live well-lived and a legacy that reaches into 3 generations and 6 great-grandchildren. And you feel an immense hole in your heart as you miss the portrait of number 7 that should be hanging on the wall. And for the first time in a long time, you are able to voice your feelings to your wife - a small miracle in itself.
It turns out that just voicing how you feel actually relieves some of your sadness. It doesn't take it away, because BSD will always be a part of your family. His monogrammed bib, hat, and onesie still sit atop the highest shelf in your closet, and you don't have any plans to get rid of them. And while some days might be more difficult than others in terms of facing your sorrow, you know that just by facing the day, you are brave.
