I started to write about how Maman and I and my {beloved} Aunt J went to see An American In Paris.

About how downright incredible the singing and dancing and stage scenes were and just how nice it is to go out and see a show.

About connecting with family and loving on those who love us so well.

Except nothing about it felt authentic. Those words are true above. It’s not about making false or glossed over statements.

It’s about me being honest with myself; vulnerable.

I’ve been struggling. Today was my due date.

Having pushed this day out of my mind for months now, I think I honestly thought I would be okay. It would be a day, just like any other.

Except it’s not. And I’ve felt anything but okay.

Grief is so strange. So non-tangible.

And it’s strange to think … there was someone else, someone who was meant to be here. Except they weren’t.

I still feel the absence of this little big soul. I think a part of me always will, and that is normal.

I’m trying to love this now as it is, trusting that all is happening and has happened in my favor, for my best interests and protection.

My life is so full, so much beauty and love surrounds me. And, I’m thankful that I feel this pain. That I am reminded that when the dull pain in my heart hits, it’s just telling me that I’m loving big.

And I can never go wrong with loving.