The joy of the Lord is my strength

There's been a change this week.

I can feel it. I can feel something deep inside of me. I can see it. I can see it in my face... in my eyes. I can hear it. I can hear it in my laugh... in my voice.

It feels, looks, and sounds a lot like something familiar. Something I knew once upon a time.

Happiness.

Yes. I don't know why the sudden, more frequent shift has taken place, but I know that it has. I welcome it with open arms. I know God is healing me, running His sovereign loving hands over my wounded heart. Today, for the first time since we lost Avery, I feel genuinely happy.
I never thought I would ever feel that way again... or at least not so soon anyway. But there is no denying what God has done in me. I have prayed for it and hoped for it. I have wanted to live happier for my daughter's memory. I want to think of her and smile, instead of cry. I feel like I am finally beginning to achieve that. I know I owe it to God, but also to the people who have really been there for me, and that also includes this beautiful community of "Baby Loss Moms." Surrounding myself with so many lovely women who know exactly what this is like has done so much for my heart. (I love you all.)

By no means possible am I "over" my daughter and what has happened to us as a family. I will always miss her, despise her absence, ache for her presence... But that doesn't mean that I have to dwell in an empty shell of a person, as a sheer suggestion of who I used to be. Happiness does not mean I love or miss Avery less. It is okay for healing to take place.

It's been just about five months since I last held Avery. In the beginning, I embraced my pain and didn't desire progress or improvement. I just wanted to drag myself into a dark hole and fall asleep forever or pray to pass away. I think that's part of the grieving process. At first, we don't want to get better. Getting better feels like moving on or not caring, but really it isn't. We do reach a point though... a turning point... Where we are willing to try. Willing to get better. I reached that "willing" place at the end of May, almost two and a half months after losing Avery. Now, I think I have crossed out of "willing" into "being." I'm being more myself, being happier, being more alive.

No one is the same. No one has the same time frame. There's no limit on grieving time or healing time. I believe I will grieve Avery as long as I live. But that's just the thing. I am still living. I have to live the life Avery never got to. I want to live for her. I want to smile all the smiles she'll never smile. I want to laugh all the laughs she'll never laugh. Well, not this side of Heaven anyway.